Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more.
Despite never actually wanting last season to finish, I must admit the enforced breather from football was actually quite lovely in the end. Yes, we had the World Cup, but that was all just quite nice and enjoyable. I wouldn’t claim to speak for all, but there was no actual jeopardy or elation to be found in the World Cup for me. And that, dear friends, is what football is all about.
One thing that hasn’t been absent since May, however, is the discourse,
noise and speculation that comes with the off-season. Incomings, outgoings, injuries, squad depth and contracts have been covered at length on these very pages. Some fans are relaxed and trust the club completely that we’ll finish the window in a strong position. Others are a little more nervy.
We all want the same thing, essentially, and neither side is necessarily right nor wrong (other than those who feel the same as me being right).
But today, none of it matters.
Today, it’s all about one thing and one thing only.
Sunderland are back. The Match is back.
Admittedly, this section is a tad less relevant given we’re starting with an away day, but The Match being back means so much more to people than just the 90 minutes of football.
It’s the matchday rituals we all have. The lucky items of clothing, the scarf your grandad wore to Wembley in ’73, the same pubs with the same people and sometimes without those we’ve lost along the way.
The sea of red and white (or pink today) becoming increasingly visible as your journey progresses. The smell of fried onions and the sound of burger vans sizzling as the general hubbub of excitement is punctured with random shouts of certain players being shite.
The sound of turnstiles clicking (and beeping now, such is modern football).
Some will be experiencing this for the very first time today and will have no idea which completely random and unremarkable thing they’ll remember for the rest of their lives. Others are seasoned veterans who will be repeating traditions they’ll no longer remember the origins of.
Whatever your previous experience of The Match is, however many years you’ve clocked up, we’re all just delighted it’s back.
Meanwhile, if you listened to what feels like every pundit or washed-up ex-player with a podcast, we should all be terrified about what awaits us this season.
If I had a pound for every time I’d read or heard phrases such as “underlying numbers”, “second-season syndrome” or “European distraction” over the past few weeks alone, I could personally pay the €60m release clause for Geny Catamo out of my own pocket.
This isn’t even to say they’re all completely irrelevant points (although they are). The point is, we’ve all had a lifetime of being told Sunderland can’t do this and Sunderland will never do that.
And maybe that used to be the case.
But things are different, aren’t they?
“Doing a Sunderland” now means the complete opposite to what it previously did. We now have little interest in being told what our ceiling is, and that’s mainly down to one man – Régis Le Bris.
When asked on Thursday about the lack of belief in Sunderland across the wider footballing world, he answered:
“They said we would finish mid-table in the Championship, we were promoted. They said we would be relegated by Christmas, we finished seventh. We will keep doing things the Sunderland way…”
That’s just the perfect quote.
Keep underestimating us and see what happens.
If Régis is happy to place his phallus on the table in such a manner, then who am I to doubt him? I would follow him to battle, and I invite you all to do the same.
Ears back, chest out.
A lot has been made of the ‘TIL THE END’ motto that the club so perfectly nailed. My own understanding of the motto has always been linked to a quote from the late, great Tony Benn:
“There is no final victory, as there is no final defeat. There is just the same battle. To be fought, over and over again. So toughen up, bloody toughen up.”
Dan Ballard’s header wasn’t the end. Tommy Watson’s winner wasn’t the end. Securing Europa League football, somehow, wasn’t the end.
The memories made will last a lifetime, but those moments are over. Finished. They are history, and today we start the battle again.
To Portman Road we go.
It’s time to zip up and wade in. It’s time to bloody toughen up.
No backward steps.
Ha’way the fucking Lads.
Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more.
