Sunderland 1-1 Newcastle

[Guest You FCB Get Out Of Our Club]

Some cracking reads here for people who have half a clue:

 

EYEWITNESS

pb

 

Derbies: The 80s

Remarkably, we only played the Mackems three times at their place in league matches in the 1980s and the coppers would probably say that was a blessing. The decade started well for us at SJP on New Year’s Day when a promotion-hunting United battered the Wearsiders 3-1 and a superb volley from Tommy Cassidy, a memorable virtual first touch and goal from Peter Cartwright and Alan Shoulder tucked a penalty away to put us in an excellent position in the league. After that it all turned to shite, Sunderland got their shit together and as we made the trip to Albania-on-Wear in April, it was the Red & Whites closing in on promotion and us sinking into mid-table mediocrity. The April ‘80 fixture was probably the last game where the Polis was on the back-foot as thousands of Mags poured down Sea Road from Seaburn Station and had the run of Roker Avenue. Sunderland was and is a tough working class town and its catchment areas included a lot of hard blokes from shipyards, collieries and the same kind of tough working class background to those on the Tyne etc. But the truth was around the 70s and 80s, Newcastle had a far nastier edge than Sunderland. I’m sure some budding sociologists could explain it but Newcastle, as a prominent regional capital had a certain sense of itself as a fortress city and had a far bigger element that had been into the SKIN culture and moving over to the nascent “casual” scene. The infamous Bender Crew and later the Newcastle Mainline Express (Gremlins came later) provided Newcastle with a fearsome reputation to match anything Chelsea, West Ham, Leeds could throw at us but Newcastle’s real strength was in the readiness of its average match-going punter to get stuck in when occasion demanded. Its just an opinion of course but Newcastle was probably more influenced by fans of the Old Firm and the Scottish national team at the time than it was by the dressers from Merseyside and Manchester (who we hadn’t played for a few seasons anyway because of our relegation).

Our support was more clan like and when we travelled en-masse we did so generally speaking in tight groups of mates based around the places where we’d grown up: Longbenton, North Kenton, Newbiggin Hall, Big Lamp, Elswick, Scotswood, Cowgate, West Denton, Walker, Benwell, Byker, Battle Hill, Wallsend, North Shields from along the North side of the Tyne but supplemented by similarly predisposed groups from Winlaton, Blaydon, Dunston, The Teams, Bensham, Felling, Deckham, Birtley within Gateshead and further down the Tyne from various townships in Hebburn, Jarrow and South Shields where the patterns of support between Mag and Mackem become mixed. And of course within the Black & White hinterlands of Northumberland: Blyth, Ashington, Bedlington, Cramlington (Milburn Country) as well as North West Durham. This meant that when it looked like kicking off, Mags, more than likely would be standing next to at least half a dozen lads they had known for years, grown up with, who they could trust and would stand next to each other. That might apply to some other clubs, but likely not Sunderland to the same degree with their support drawn from a more disparate base.

 

Newcastle’s support was tight, probably not in a formal football firm kind of way outside the Bender Squad but certainly as a group of mates who you’d have to face if you did the dirty and fucked off when backs were against the wall.

 

Sunderland was different. Back then they called themselves “Geordies” and took offence when we took the piss out of them with the “Mak ‘em and Tak’em” taunt. In truth this applied only to those Sunderland fans from the shipbuilding areas of Southwick and Pallion but it opened up the schism that has always existed within a support drawn from a more fragmented geographical area which endures to this day. There are Sunderland fans from South Tyneside and Durham etc with a fervent loyalty to SAFC with absolutely no affiliation, affection or even sketchiest knowledge of Sunderland as a place. That compares poorly to Newcastle, where the club and city is interchangeable, the expression The Toon applying to both club and the city centre its based in. Newcastle, as a city (always massively bonnier, more livelier a place than Sunderland ever was or ever will be) attracting a loyalty and love from those inside and outside its boundaries within its catchment area. Sunderland doesn’t have that. And never will. Aways in our shadow.

 

To be honest, Sunderland was more of a family style club and not predisposed to the pagga in the same way Newcastle was despite an underbelly of hard, working class support. In football violence terms, Sunderland got their act together in the mid-90s. It was by and large all over by then and they had missed the boat. In 1980, Newcastle had the massive Roker End and its not exaggeration to suggest we had around 10,000+ in Roker Park in a decent attendance of 41,752 (superb at the time given the declining popularity of football, the state of stadia and the fact both clubs were in Division 2).

 

Newcastle had wiped the floor with the resistance Sunderland had put up and any on the R&W side that refutes this is clearly in denial. Mags were everywhere, on the Fulwell End (though not in the thousands as they had been in the 60s) and there were loads in the Clock Stand Paddock. Sunderland did their best to move them out but failed. Of the match itself, I can’t recall much other than Cummins scoring the winner and as the end of the game neared with the vital 1-0 in the bag for them, I’ll give credit where its due to the Fulwell End, which belted out a deafening version of their Elvis anthem and the line: “Wise Men Say Only Fools Rush In But I Can’t Help … Falling In Love With You … Sunderland, Sunderland!” It was the first and last time I was impressed by Sunderland’s support.

 

 

But for me the most memorable derby was the away game on Monday April 8th 1985 – not because of the game (it was absolutely shite and memorable only for the Robert’s Robots all-silver away kit we were decked out in) but because it was the day we took the Fulwell.

 

Being brought up in Durham we weren’t really in the Tyneside hooligan cliques but we were solid Mags made up from a canny little crew from Durham, Bishop, Aycliffe and Darlo. We travelled on the same service trains with the lads from Newcastle and stood with them around the country and when the crack started about going in the Fulwell, we were up for it.

 

I was in my late teens and thought I was invincible even though I was bricking it. I knew I had lads around me I could rely on and who would watch my back. About 3-400 of us had tickets for the Fulwell and agreed to go in in dribs and drabs. The four of us from Durham got a lift through to Roker and despite the trepidation, took our place in the middle right of the Fulwell with the agreed signal of ‘United, United’ to be set off about 15 minutes into the game.

 

As usual, the plan went to shite when about 5 minutes in, the ‘NME’ chant started followed by ‘United’ and then pandemonium. We looked for our lads and started hitting the Mackems around us and they scattered. We found some of our own and had a little band that handed out some grief but they just backed off and ran away. It was fucking amazing – most of my muckers were at the Roker End where the Mags were housed and it took Sunderland ages to get to us but by then, we had taken the piss.

 

We more or less made our own way out of the Fulwell with no resistance – they were humiliated. As we walked round the side of the pitch, the smiles broke and as we walked past the Clock Stand, they did their usual big time bollocks with nowt to back it up. A few coins and ‘V’ signs were thrown but they were nowt. As we got towards the Roker, the ‘Geordie Aggro’ chants were deafening and some lads broke into a run with arms wide as if we’d won the FA Cup. It felt great to be completely honest.

 

I had fallen off the hooli map by our next visit in September 1989 - the idea of doing time just for getting done at a football match didn’t appeal. I got the service train through and we made our way up to Joker Park with good lads for a dull but typically frenetic derby and another 0-0 with very little incident. A few of the younger lads had been causing mischief and seemed to have had very little resistance but we had decided beer and chanting were a better option for us. Our free scoring forward partnership of Quinn and McGhee were pretty well shackled to be fair and the Mags in the crowd of just under 30,000 (the Roker End had been severely reduced in capacity between our 1980 and 85 visits) went home happy that we hadn’t been beaten at the dark place. Our transport back to civilisation was uneventful and once again, they didn’t turn up to see us off.

 

Although there weren’t many, the derbies were great and April 8th 1985 lives with me still. I know stadiums are much better these days but for anyone who stood on the Roker End with his Mag brethren in the 80s supporting our just a righteous cause, it was a fucking great place to be!

 

PINK LANE LOVE CHILD

 

EYEWITNESS

liam O

 

Derbies: The 90s

Sunderland 0 Newcastle United 0, Joker Park, 13/May/90. Att: 26,641

Our first visit to Joker Park of the 90s came for the first leg of the infamous Play-Off Semi Final on 13/May/1990. We were resplendent in that Green and Yellow striped number I suspect is due for the “retro” treatment any time soon. And we had a far better side than the Mackems having been nip and tuck with top two Leeds and Sheff Utd all season and some distance ahead of the lumpen-proles from down the road who were in recovery under Dennis Smith following their hilarious McMenemy inspired sojourn into Division Three the previous season. In truth they had done very well to finish 6th in the division and had over-achieved. We on the other hand, with a potent and experienced side containing a prolific forward line of Micky Quinn and Mark McGhee bolstered by Roy Aitken in midfield from Celtic had let ourselves down with a late stutter on the run-in which was in hindsight, portentous of this whole new Play Off thingy. We maybe weren’t as good as a Leeds side who would win the First Division the following season but we were better than Dave Bassett’s Sheff Utd.

 

I don’t know if it was just me but there seemed less appetite for the pagga on both sides than had been witnessed in previous seasons and whether this was as a result of the country’s youth going crazy for Ecstasy/Rave in the aftermath of the 80s version of the Summer of Love or if the horrors of Hillsborough little more than 12 months previously had imbued a collective guilt in everyone other than the hardcore radgies for years of acting up at the football, I don‘t know. Or maybe I was just lucky. Of course there was the usual “performance” from our lot on The Fulwell End and scuffles in the Clock Stand but until Hardyman attempted to decapitate Burridge when our veteran ’keeper had saved his last minute penalty (and was duly sent off) there was an absence of the real poison from a significantly below capacity crowd of 26,641 (which every single one of the 30, 40-something Sun’lun Til I Die merchants at the SoS these days were at of course (cough)) than I’d known in previous games, despite the stakes being so high. The game ended 0-0 and we and they imagined United would finish the job at SJP a few days later. Fuck!

 

Sunderland 1 Newcastle United 1, Joker Park, 17/Nov/91. Att: 29, 224.

 

After the play-off semi final defeat a year and a bit earlier, we had consoled ourselves watching the Mackems being absolutely murdered on the wide open spaces under the Twin Towers at Wembley by a vibrant Swindon Town side managed by Ossie Ardiles and deploying this clever “diamond” formation. Tyneside toasts were raised to The Robins and we settled down in the knowledge that although losing out on a chance to get back to Division One had been whisked away from under our noses by Sunderland, they, at least wouldn’t be plying their trade in the top flight due to a handy looking Swindon team. In the days before mobile phones and the internet I didn’t know the Mackems had been promoted ahead of Swindon due to some bollocks financial irregularity until I picked The Chronicle up on the way home from work. I can vividly recall feeling physically sick and spent the journey home on the bus with a face white with temper, unable to compute how we had become victim to this grotesque calumny? I wasn’t alone.

 

Happily the Mackems were unable to take advantage of this lottery win of good fortune and despite the Premier League and the riches SKY would present only being around the corner they failed to invest even modestly in their squad and bombed to another relegation. And here we were back on the way to Joker Park for our first meeting since that appalling night at SJP when Jim Smith’s team let us down so badly. Ardiles was our manager with a promising batch of young players but the old guard of a year previous were past their prime and well, a bit shite and what players we did have were injured and for the first time in my living memory we travelled to Wearside more in hope than expectation.

 

Our young’un had just passed his driving test and got himself a brown mini. It doubled in value when he put the petrol in. We made a diversion to the High West Jesmond salon of a piss artist who writes for this fanzine these days and drove to Joker. We parked, for some God only knows reason (my suggestion) in the Blue Bell Car Park. In those days, the Blue Bell was known as their “lads’” bar (though no-one used those kind of expressions then) and the post-Hillsborough guilt was well and truly wearing off as we observed a mob of Tyneside’s finest spilling out of Seaburn Station and the Polis having no success in keeping them in any kind of order. The three of us, confirmed soft-shites to a man, melted into the background but as the United column turned from Sea Road onto Roker Baths Road we decided to morph into the escort as it paused outside the Blue Bell (which had its doors firmly locked) and a few bricks went through its windows. This was getting tasty. After the match, a nervous teenage Tyneside driver, would send a belligerent Mackem over the top of his bonnet as he drove through the lights at the junction as Mags and Mackems got down to it as the bark of Police dogs provided the soundtrack.

 

On we went to the Joker End, where a lightweight, teenage mob of Sunderland were waiting but their numbers were far too few to cope with a full trainload fresh from Seaburn Station and they scattered as the escort began its enthusiastic trot towards them and those Mags in the turnstile queues turned to join in the fun and games as well. Sunderland were game but just didn’t have the numbers to cope and our lot seemed well juiced up despite the 12noon KO designed to prevent alcohol fuelled disorder. It was as futile then as it is now.

 

I can’t remember how much the tickets for this game were but I do remember I didn’t have one. That small problem was remedied by passing a crisp tenner to the old fella on the gate and I clicked through without any problem.

 

The game was absolutely shite but my fears we’d be on the end of a beating hadn’t taken into account how really poor Sunderland were. That said they did go 1-0 up under laughable Man Utd flop Peter Davenport if I’m not mistaken but in those days they contented themselves with waving their seven figured hands about rather than run on the pitch to do their rain dance. But there were plenty looking over the shoulder as Mag infiltration of the Fuckwit End and Clock Stand Paddock had been completed with the usual piss-taking from the away end.

 

Into the second half and a pitifully ill-equipped United side under the increasingly questioned stewardship of Ardiles was beginning to get a grip on the game but make no mistake about it, despite their general level of shitey-arsedness, Sunderland had a better side out than us. We were up against it. But I can see the equaliser now though from our perch towards the back of the decrepit Roker End (red concrete terraces anyone?) as the ball fell free to Liam O’Brien (we were in what was then a retro 70s number of yellow shirts ) who clipped it lovely over the head of Tony Norman in the Sunderland goal and falling forward under the wave of Mag humanity. Minutes later Steve Watson, who was about 11, missed a golden opportunity as his header flashed wide of an empty net. We wouldn’t have merited the win but in truth as we celebrated the final whistle, the draw felt like a victory as Lee Clarke came to the away end waving his crutches. We’d gotten off the hook.

 

Sunderland 1 Newcastle United 2, Joker Park, 18/Oct/92, Att: 28,098

 

So much had changed in the 12 months between our visits to Wearside and its pointless recording them painstakingly here but just by way of summary - Ardiles-sacked-relegation-battle-Kevin-Keegan-appointed-as-manager-staring-relegation-to-the-third-division-in-the-face-we-survive-KK-forces-a-new-way-of-thinking-onto-Sir-John-Hall-there-is-investment-in-players-we-start-the-92/93-season-like-a-train-and-its-the-start-of-five-unforgettable-years-in-the-history-of-Newcastle-United. You know the script.

 

Back then of course, all we were thinking about was promotion and extending our winning run at Joker Park. Amazingly, it had been thirty-odd years since we’d won on Wearside (though that was mainly due to them being in the lower reaches for much of that time) but we travelled in good heart with ex-Mackem players Venison and Bracewell with something to prove and the team brimming with attacking talent - Peacock, Kelly, O’Brien, Beresford and Lee led by a an ebullient Kevin Keegan who had us eating out of his hand. It was a great time to be a Mag. We knew we were more than a match for the lumps down the road but they were determined to stop our run.

 

The sharp autumnal but bright sunshine was almost identical to the year before as we again kicked off at noon but whilst the Joker Park traditions of Mags on the Fulwell were observed this game marked a turning point in the histories of the two clubs. We were simply all over them. Our passing and movement was completely on another level and it was miraculous how we’d only gone in 1-0 at HT thanks to an own goal courtesy of Gary Owers under pressure from the excellent David Kelly. I’d travelled on the train this time and the away end seemed fuller than the previous year. Perhaps the old gadgies on the Joker End gate cleaned up? But at HT at only 1-0 we wondered if the Mackems would come out revved up and go for it.

 

They did and for a while it seemed perspiration over inspiration might win the day as the Mackems, through Gordon Armstrong (the spottiest, ugliest bastard to ever have pulled on a football shirt) who equalised at the Fuckwit End. Armstrong, apparently was brought up as a Sunderland fan by his old man despite living in Newcastle all of his childhood and regular piss-taking and a couple of back-handers had hardened his heart to all things Black & White and as he ran to the Joker End to celebrate his goal in front of the Geordie congregation you could see the years of humiliation and pain on his dish. Or perhaps he always looked like that.

 

Shortly afterwards, we were given a free kick outside the Sunderland box at the Joker End. The wall lines up and on TV, Lennie Lawrence, the then Boro manager utters an incredible prediction: “I fancy Liam O’Brien over the wall”. In it goes from the boot of our Dublin magician and the whole ground is frozen in time as the ball sails unmolested into the top corner. O’Brien knows before anyone else and is off running in euphoric celebration. Tim Carter, the Sunderland goalie, whose appalling kicking amused us throughout the game, appears to be the last to know. It is a picture-book goal and the Joker End is going mental, as bodies tumble forward and collapse like folded cardboard. Poor Gordon loses it as the away end asks in unison: “Armstrong, what’s the score?” He’s subbed for his own sanity. We sit on the game and see out the result. And that’s why we sing “Any, Any, Any O’Brien”.

 

Sunderland 1 Newcastle United 2, Joker Park, 4/Sep/96 Att: 22,037.

 

In the September of 1996, Sunderland weren’t much to us. The truth was we had left them way behind with their succession of knuckle head managers (Butcher-Crosby-Buxton) and the truth was at that time our rivalry with them had just about expired from our point of view. 1996 was the year our title tilt had come narrowly to grief, pipped as we were by a resurgent Man Utd in one of the most memorable title races for decades prior or since. In the summer, United had broken the world transfer fee and bought Alan Shearer from under the noses of Man U and we had started the season optimistic a forward line of Shearer-Ferdinand could take us one step closer to silverware. Our rivalry with Man Utd, whilst being fleeting, maybe lasting around 5 or 6 years, had been real and the club down the road, in the second division, playing at a decrepit Joker Park and often unable to fill it to its 22,000 capacity were by and largely irrelevant.

 

Not that we were irrelevant to them. For a measure of their inferiority complex you can go no further than the Sunderland Echo’s famous headline announcing the arrival of Alan Shearer in NE1 - “Oh No, Look Who The Mags Have Signed”. On their front page. From 92 onwards, as KK’s team of entertainers captivated the football loving nation, Sunderland slunk in the NE shadows; resentful and filling with bile. Their unhappiness at the progress of our football club extended to a bitter resentment of the changing Tyneside skyline and the renaissance of Newcastle and the evolving Newcastle-Gateshead partnership that was putting the NE’s regional capital on the international map. Sunderland was like a fat schoolgirl sitting awkwardly next to a young, vivacious beauty queen. We only took notice of them to take the piss. They hurt like hell.

 

Under Peter Reid, they had been promoted. Premier League football was coming to Joker Park in its last ever season as they prepared to move to a new budget-build stadium (now showing serious wear and tear after less than 15 years in existence) built on reclaimed colliery land and with Government grants. Ironic the SMB should refer to SJP as the “landfill” in the circumstances really.

 

Roker Park was to host one last derby match, albeit a pale shadow of the ones of yore when a huge Joker End housed 20,000 and more. Sadly, with the connivance of Northumbria Police and amidst safety concerns Joker Park was not a fit venue for a fixture as toxic as a Tyne & Wear derby, the clubs had agreed not to sell tickets to visiting fans and make the games home fans only. There was outcry and a campaign to over-turn the decision supported by fans on both sides attracted support from across the region. But it was futile. Kevin Keegan with a thus far (and indeed subsequent) 100% record in derby matches would lead his Newcastle United side of super-stars to a hostile Wearside without an away enclosure to urge his men on.

 

That’s not to say there weren’t Mags inside Joker Park. There were. And I was one.

 

In anticipation of the visitor ban not being over-turned, I’d decided to join their membership scheme (Gold Card?) and got myself a ticket for the Fulwell End. I’d deliberately chosen there as I didn’t want to be a sitting target in the seats where my strangerness would be more easily picked out and I didn’t want to go in the Joker End as I thought if anywhere our lot would be, it would be in there and I’d risk being clocked by Mags I knew and things could get out of hand if we scored etc. I wanted to be on my own and be able to move around in case I felt I was getting sussed.

 

So I took a big deep breath and switched to the train from the Metro at Heworth. More Mackems got on at Brockley Whins, East Boldon but for all the world I looked like someone coming home from work rather than off to the match. I was dead early, so had a mooch around, even stopped off in The Cambridge pub for a pint and bought a copy of Sunderland fanzine, A Love Supreme on sale outside their main stand. I found myself on their main terrace, down near the front, with 20 mins before KO, a Billy No Mates as back in NE1, a packed Newcastle Arena prepared to watch the pictures being beamed back.

 

There are some Mags who sneer at everything about Sunderland; the club, the town, accent, their childish, Americanised Black Cats mascot, ridiculous second hand Stadium name, their support and their peculiar hybrid, made up Mackem identity and by Christ I’ve joined that scorn down the years. But as the Fulwell End filled up with its fans fresh from the pub, I can’t say anything more than the atmosphere as the teams kicked off was anything other than excellent, really hostile and full on and whilst the overwhelming amount of Sunderland fans just got behind their team, I was mindful of several street rats roaming the gangways looking for Mags. But I was keeping a low one, even feigning mock-excitement when Sunderland pressed forward.

 

Sunderland, vastly inferior to United technically, were high on adrenaline, knowing how much the fixture meant to their fans who had had their noses rubbed in the shite for so long. Kevin Ball, a Music Hall joke of a footballer was running around like a headless chicken but you just knew they couldn’t keep it going for the whole game and I gave them an hour before they would be blowing out their arses. The same was true of the crowd who slaughtered Shearer on his every touch.

 

And they went 1-0 up. I don’t recall how now (handball?) but Sunderland were awarded a penalty at the Fulwell End and Martin Scott rammed it home as Joker Park exploded and I found myself being hugged by a couple of fat Mackems in replica kits who looked like they thought they had just won the Champions League. Maybe in their heads they had. As things settled down I felt myself being watched by a couple of lads. Or was paranoia kicking in? I may have had the wrong look about me as Beardsley jinked and shimmied and played a few decent balls, so as soon as they took their eyes off me to watch a passage of play, I was head down, under the barrier and away, out of their suspicious gaze. It was moody, it wasn’t enjoyable and on several occasions I questioned my own sanity and wondered if I shouldn’t chuck it in and fuck off home. But I was confident we’d win and wanted to be there to see it.

 

Sunderland had shot their bolt earlier than I thought and as Ginola, Beardsley and Co. began showing their class it was just a matter of time before we’d score and so we did with Beardsley (header-what the fuck?) and Ferdinand (header-natch) getting us 2-1 ahead with a good 30 minutes left.

 

For the equalising goal there were cheers in the main stand, Clock stand and the Joker End, followed by rucks and stewards running around. I didn’t notice anything on the Fulwell End but I certainly wasn’t up for taking on a dozen or so disappointed half-pissed Mackems and kept my expression like a sphinx.

 

The last 20 minutes were played in a truly eerie atmosphere. Joker Park fell virtually silent and you could hear the players shouting to each other across the pitch. Their fans knew there was no way back for them and they drifted home. I was going nowhere, hopeful of a third goal but it wasn’t to be. At the final whistle, the Mackems roused themselves to slaughter Shearer one last time. He stood in that blue away kit and raised both arms smiling into the Fulwell End to make it all worthwhile for one daftie stood there.

 

For the history fans out there this was the last ever derby at Joker Park. We won it. Just as we’d won the first ever derby there ninety-eight years earlier on 24/Dec/1898 (3-2) with the notches from Willie Wardrope and Jock Peddie (2) in front a similar sized crowd to the last one (25,000). Sniff.

 

TONY GREEN FAN CLUB

[Guest alex]

Quality reading Stevie.

[Guest You FCB Get Out Of Our Club]

Sunderland was different. Back then they called themselves “Geordies” and took offence when we took the piss out of them with the “Mak ‘em and Tak’em” taunt. In truth this applied only to those Sunderland fans from the shipbuilding areas of Southwick and Pallion but it opened up the schism that has always existed within a support drawn from a more fragmented geographical area which endures to this day. There are Sunderland fans from South Tyneside and Durham etc with a fervent loyalty to SAFC with absolutely no affiliation, affection or even sketchiest knowledge of Sunderland as a place. That compares poorly to Newcastle, where the club and city is interchangeable, the expression The Toon applying to both club and the city centre its based in. Newcastle, as a city (always massively bonnier, more livelier a place than Sunderland ever was or ever will be) attracting a loyalty and love from those inside and outside its boundaries within its catchment area. Sunderland doesn’t have that. And never will. Aways in our shadow.

 

I don't think I've ever seen the dynamics of Newcastle and Sunderland's support base, ethic, and catchment particulars explained better than that in terms of the football clubs and cities.

[NJS 4378]

Sunderland was different. Back then they called themselves “Geordies” and took offence when we took the piss out of them with the “Mak ‘em and Tak’em” taunt. In truth this applied only to those Sunderland fans from the shipbuilding areas of Southwick and Pallion but it opened up the schism that has always existed within a support drawn from a more fragmented geographical area which endures to this day. There are Sunderland fans from South Tyneside and Durham etc with a fervent loyalty to SAFC with absolutely no affiliation, affection or even sketchiest knowledge of Sunderland as a place. That compares poorly to Newcastle, where the club and city is interchangeable, the expression The Toon applying to both club and the city centre its based in. Newcastle, as a city (always massively bonnier, more livelier a place than Sunderland ever was or ever will be) attracting a loyalty and love from those inside and outside its boundaries within its catchment area. Sunderland doesn’t have that. And never will. Aways in our shadow.

 

I don't think I've ever seen the dynamics of Newcastle and Sunderland's support base, ethic, and catchment particulars explained better than that in terms of the football clubs and cities.

 

Your're right Stevie - I know we've sparred about people from ST but I know SAFC fans from Shields who fit that description to a tee and everyone I know who supports NUFC is proud/comfortable of the association with the city.

[Nobby 0]

Quality Stevie

[Barney 0]

I enjoyed that, cheers.

[Guest You FCB Get Out Of Our Club]

Aye they're good reads, the 1991 game was me first away game remember it like it was yesterday, most mental celebration ever when we equalised, something like 50 people were taken out by St John's Ambulance it was that mental. See 1991, it hadn't changed at all from the early 80s so I had a good glimpse about what it was all about.

 

Today it's sterile as fuck, I'm just grateful I so what it was like before the death knell of the all seater stadium, I know with younguns it's through no fault of their own and I feel sorry for people who started going to games after 1993, because you can't even compare the experience sadly.

[NJS 4378]

Aye they're good reads, the 1991 game was me first away game remember it like it was yesterday, most mental celebration ever when we equalised, something like 50 people were taken out by St John's Ambulance it was that mental. See 1991, it hadn't changed at all from the early 80s so I had a good glimpse about what it was all about.

 

Today it's sterile as fuck, I'm just grateful I so what it was like before the death knell of the all seater stadium, I know with younguns it's through no fault of their own and I feel sorry for people who started going to games after 1993, because you can't even compare the experience sadly.

 

They'd chopped down half the Roker end by 85 - it has to be said the full Monty was one hell of an end.

[Guest You FCB Get Out Of Our Club]

Aye they're good reads, the 1991 game was me first away game remember it like it was yesterday, most mental celebration ever when we equalised, something like 50 people were taken out by St John's Ambulance it was that mental. See 1991, it hadn't changed at all from the early 80s so I had a good glimpse about what it was all about.

 

Today it's sterile as fuck, I'm just grateful I so what it was like before the death knell of the all seater stadium, I know with younguns it's through no fault of their own and I feel sorry for people who started going to games after 1993, because you can't even compare the experience sadly.

 

They'd chopped down half the Roker end by 85 - it has to be said the full Monty was one hell of an end.

They choppped it down in 1981 so that was the early 80s so technically it hadn't changed from then. I remember after that game feeling like there was gonne be a Hillsborough, everyone went for the exit, and they locked us in and everyone was pushing against the door, I was right near the front down the stairs and couldn't move for 5 minutes, proper scary experience.

[NJS 4378]

Aye they're good reads, the 1991 game was me first away game remember it like it was yesterday, most mental celebration ever when we equalised, something like 50 people were taken out by St John's Ambulance it was that mental. See 1991, it hadn't changed at all from the early 80s so I had a good glimpse about what it was all about.

 

Today it's sterile as fuck, I'm just grateful I so what it was like before the death knell of the all seater stadium, I know with younguns it's through no fault of their own and I feel sorry for people who started going to games after 1993, because you can't even compare the experience sadly.

 

They'd chopped down half the Roker end by 85 - it has to be said the full Monty was one hell of an end.

They choppped it down in 1981 so that was the early 80s so technically it hadn't changed from then. I remember after that game feeling like there was gonne be a Hillsborough, everyone went for the exit, and they locked us in and everyone was pushing against the door, I was right near the front down the stairs and couldn't move for 5 minutes, proper scary experience.

 

The worst one for that in that era was actually Hillsborough itself - we played them first game in 1980 I think and there were about 10k there and SYMM did the classic of locking the gates after the match. There was a huge crush which went back to the stairs.

 

There was a bit of bother seperate to that but a lot of people and coppers got hurt in the crush and the police injuries were reported as if it was a riot.

[Guest You FCB Get Out Of Our Club]

Aye they're good reads, the 1991 game was me first away game remember it like it was yesterday, most mental celebration ever when we equalised, something like 50 people were taken out by St John's Ambulance it was that mental. See 1991, it hadn't changed at all from the early 80s so I had a good glimpse about what it was all about.

 

Today it's sterile as fuck, I'm just grateful I so what it was like before the death knell of the all seater stadium, I know with younguns it's through no fault of their own and I feel sorry for people who started going to games after 1993, because you can't even compare the experience sadly.

 

They'd chopped down half the Roker end by 85 - it has to be said the full Monty was one hell of an end.

They choppped it down in 1981 so that was the early 80s so technically it hadn't changed from then. I remember after that game feeling like there was gonne be a Hillsborough, everyone went for the exit, and they locked us in and everyone was pushing against the door, I was right near the front down the stairs and couldn't move for 5 minutes, proper scary experience.

 

The worst one for that in that era was actually Hillsborough itself - we played them first game in 1980 I think and there were about 10k there and SYMM did the classic of locking the gates after the match. There was a huge crush which went back to the stairs.

 

There was a bit of bother seperate to that but a lot of people and coppers got hurt in the crush and the police injuries were reported as if it was a riot.

Forgetting about the Hillsborough disaster, every proper lad me age and above who experienced SYP, they all say they're biggest bunch of bastards in the full OB over quarter of a century, I've seen what cunts they are first hand at Brammal Lane in 94.

[2bias 3]

Fly out to Afghan on Saturday so absolutly gutted about missing this, 2-0 to us i'd go for, although missing Tiote will make a big difference!

[Nobby 0]

[Kid Dynamite 7025]

Aye, but its at Sam Jacks!

[Tom 14011]

Plus the only way you'll get in is if you go in hours earlier.

 

Local Pub who are showing it or internet stream. I get too stressed and that pub is a 50/50 split.

[PaddockLad 17243]

Aye they're good reads, the 1991 game was me first away game remember it like it was yesterday, most mental celebration ever when we equalised, something like 50 people were taken out by St John's Ambulance it was that mental. See 1991, it hadn't changed at all from the early 80s so I had a good glimpse about what it was all about.

 

Today it's sterile as fuck, I'm just grateful I so what it was like before the death knell of the all seater stadium, I know with younguns it's through no fault of their own and I feel sorry for people who started going to games after 1993, because you can't even compare the experience sadly.

 

After the match, a nervous teenage Tyneside driver, would send a belligerent Mackem over the top of his bonnet as he drove through the lights at the junction as Mags and Mackems got down to it as the bark of Police dogs provided the soundtrack.

 

That happened half a dozen cars in front of us...the car directly in front of us had 4 lads in it, a couple (stupidly?) wearing colours and when we were sat at the lights a team of half a dozen mackems appeared and the biggest thrust his torso inside the open window and tried to haul the driver out through the fuckin thing...his muckers were eyeing us (two!...no colours mind) suspiciously when the polis turned up and chased them off. It was after this incident that I realised the colour of adrennaline is brown

 

We didn't have tickets either, the mackems doing the "tenner at the turnstile" gig must've made an absoloute fortune that day, it was rammed more solid than I'd ever known the Gallowgate, which had been under crowd limits for some time around then iirc.

 

Don't know if this was the one where one of our lot was on the pitch before kick off, pretending to smash an imaginary ball into the net?...that may ahve even been at SJP now I come to think of it...anyone else remember that?

[Tom 14011]

Arrogant, deluded, Haven't won a trophy in decades etc etc...

 

Mackems

[ewerk 30569]

Arrogant, deluded, Haven't won a trophy in decades etc etc...

 

Mackems

 

Tbf most of the respondents have mocked the fucking idiot who proposed the idea. Imagine if they all judged us by CT's posts.

[ToonMarshy 2]

To be fair most of the lads on there are rightly thinking hes delusional! That and none of them at all seem to want to broach the subject of playing us at home this weekend - listing all the home games they are going to win, but no mention of the toon?! huh!

 

And i'm sorry but finishing up post when i glanced there was saying that signing N'somnia would boost their top finish chances.

 

Bloody hell

[Guest You FCB Get Out Of Our Club]

Aye they're good reads, the 1991 game was me first away game remember it like it was yesterday, most mental celebration ever when we equalised, something like 50 people were taken out by St John's Ambulance it was that mental. See 1991, it hadn't changed at all from the early 80s so I had a good glimpse about what it was all about.

 

Today it's sterile as fuck, I'm just grateful I so what it was like before the death knell of the all seater stadium, I know with younguns it's through no fault of their own and I feel sorry for people who started going to games after 1993, because you can't even compare the experience sadly.

 

After the match, a nervous teenage Tyneside driver, would send a belligerent Mackem over the top of his bonnet as he drove through the lights at the junction as Mags and Mackems got down to it as the bark of Police dogs provided the soundtrack.

 

That happened half a dozen cars in front of us...the car directly in front of us had 4 lads in it, a couple (stupidly?) wearing colours and when we were sat at the lights a team of half a dozen mackems appeared and the biggest thrust his torso inside the open window and tried to haul the driver out through the fuckin thing...his muckers were eyeing us (two!...no colours mind) suspiciously when the polis turned up and chased them off. It was after this incident that I realised the colour of adrennaline is brown

 

We didn't have tickets either, the mackems doing the "tenner at the turnstile" gig must've made an absoloute fortune that day, it was rammed more solid than I'd ever known the Gallowgate, which had been under crowd limits for some time around then iirc.

 

Don't know if this was the one where one of our lot was on the pitch before kick off, pretending to smash an imaginary ball into the net?...that may ahve even been at SJP now I come to think of it...anyone else remember that?

Was dangerously full, the fullest end I've ever been in, but like I say down the stairs behind the away end after the game most scared I've ever been at a game. Thought I was a gonna pressed 6 deep from the gates and the crush got more intense with every minute. In the ground it was fuckin rammed, we couldn't move but the ob dropped us off beside the sea and walked us down that terraced street beside the park, quite nice hooses there, got in about 30 mins before kick off, and it was fuckin rammed, but we pushed our way through to a little cranny just behind the fire escape with one step in front of the middle crush barriers, best perch in the hoose, so when we scored there was no crush just us in our mental celebration - look below I've illustrated where we were make it bigger by clicking it though. Honestly Liam O'Brien's goal that day was probably the best moment of my life to that point, meant more to me than the winner the next season.

 

* where we were them three blue stumps I've drawn

 

Edited January 12, 2011 by You FCB Get Out Of Our Club

[Gemmill 44811]

They've got some interviews on Look North with mackems, asking them what they think the score will be. They ask this one kid "Would you be happy with one nil?". His response is "Nar, I fancy 2-1. Y'knarr like how we've beyt them in the past."

 

Fucking hell, even after getting howked 5-1, they STILL always win 2-1.

[Renton 21588]

So, who's going and how are you getting there? I'm probably getting the metro - trouble is how do I get past here when I arrive?

 

Beeb

[Kid Dynamite 7025]

Do people still use Bitcomet!?

[Guest You FCB Get Out Of Our Club]

So, who's going and how are you getting there? I'm probably getting the metro - trouble is how do I get past here when I arrive?

 

Beeb

Getting the metro, mackems already talking about an ambush, they couldn't ambush a scouts march. They'll march us up from the metro at St Peter's. We're leaving as late as possible, probably get the 1118 metro.

[Feltch The Manfat 0]

So, who's going and how are you getting there? I'm probably getting the metro - trouble is how do I get past here when I arrive?

 

Beeb

Getting the metro, mackems already talking about an ambush, they couldn't ambush a scouts march. They'll march us up from the metro at St Peter's. We're leaving as late as possible, probably get the 1118 metro.

 

thers ne chance at all of an ambush

 

the coppers have built am 8 foot metal fence from the away end of the stadium up to st peters metro apparantly, both sides

 

both sets of fans wont be able to see each other never mind get at each other

 

Its because of all the carry on with firworks etc last time