I didn’t grow up in Sunderland – I’m a Northumbrian, born and bred in Morpeth. Back in the 1960s there wasn’t the same hype surrounding football, but I was mad keen, although I never really formed an allegiance with any team. I quite liked Everton because I liked Alan Ball from the World Cup-winning team, but in those days no-one was running around in replica shirts and shouting about one particular team. Obviously there were supporters of the visitors, although not many, and a few lads supported
Manchester United. I tended to go for the underdog, and that is probably true of any sport I take an interest in.
My dad never liked the city, so we rarely went into Newcastle and he was never keen to take me to a match. However, a friend of his had a season ticket at St James’ Park and would take me now and then. One of the first games I went to was a derby which ended 1 – 1, and I can remember keeping quiet about hoping Sunderland would win.
When I got to secondary school, a few friends would talk about going to the match and eventually my parents allowed me to go on my own. And this is how it began.
United buses (anyone remember them?) ran match specials – 30p return to Newcastle and 35p to Sunderland. So, a group of us decided we would try out the two grounds and picked a match at St James’ Park where George Best was making yet another comeback. We were in the Leazes End and the away fans were surrounded by a ring of police in the Gallowgate. I can remember feeling uncomfortable and definitely a bit scared, as the atmosphere was pretty intimidating, especially when rival Newcastle gangs started fighting amongst themselves in the Leazes.
The following week we went to Roker Park. It must have been my first time in Sunderland. The bus used to park down by the harbour in Roker and I can only remember that being a bit of a wasteland used for general parking. In those days we would be in Roker before 2pm and just walk up to the ground.
For this first match I can’t remember who we played or what the score was (StatCat can – it was Forest and it finished 0 – 0), but what I can vividly recall is how I felt.
Roker Park looked absolutely fantastic to me. The Main Stand with the car park in front, then the rows of terraced houses you walked past to get to the Fulwell End. It felt so exciting going through the turnstiles and climbing the steps to the back of the Fulwell.
And then the view! The entrance to the back of the Fulwell just framed the pitch. It looked so green, and the Main Stand, with its red latticework, looked amazing. Then there was the atmosphere – something I had never experienced at a football ground. There was humour, people were self-deprecating and it felt friendly. And, of course, the noise was incredible.
So that was it. I felt at home. This was my club (two of the other lads that day had the same Damascene moment), and I have continued going to watch Sunderland for over 50 years now.
I have always felt glad that I support Sunderland and I suppose you could say that vindication of that feeling came in May of last year. Walking out of Wembley with thousands of other Red and White supporters filled me with enormous pride, yet, weirdly, also with a sense of being an impostor. I am not from Sunderland. Yes, I’m from the North East, but I perhaps don’t feel fully what someone from the city feels.
I absolutely understand the sense of neglect that the place has suffered over the years and the pathetic ridicule directed Sunderland’s way. However, things are changing, and seeing the exciting developments taking shape in the city, then walking over the Keel Crossing to the Stadium of Light, just makes me so grateful for all things Sunderland AFC.
