I hate the automation; the robotic and soulless droid-like phrasing, but AI was invented to write about games like that — simply to spare Sunderland-supporting writers from reliving the sheer gutlessness of it all.
Régis Le Bris’ sides have never heard of the word “capitulation”. Indeed, “There isn’t a direct translation for it in French,” I wrote, before discovering that there actually is, and it’s literally like-for-like: “la capitulation”.
Regardless, the point remains. Le Bris’ sides rarely get
walked over and our success both this term and last has been built on principled discipline, rigid strategy and undying belief.
Is that thirty-minute showing what dropping a monumental bollock feels like? It’s been so long that I’d forgotten the sensation, as had thousands of others as we collectively headed to the bars for a premature half-time pint.
I think we took the phrase Welcome to Sunderland a little too literally. “Here, lads. Here’s four goals — three of which will come in a quicfire six minutes. Make yourselves at home, feel free to walk around naked, eat our food and maybe invite your mates over.”
Paradoxically, for the most part, we weren’t as poor as the scoreline suggested. But we were also spanked 5-0, and made a string of calamitous errors. Football, eh?
For the opening fifteen minutes, we were brilliant, and the fluidity in our build-up was some of the best it’s been this season, with intricate flicks and neat interplay between Brian Brobbey, Enzo Le Fée and Chris Rigg. Dan Ballard also got in on the act with a marauding run that resulted in an “almost”.
That was a microcosm of our display; the story of our evening, and our profligacy came back to bite us on the arse.
While we failed to take our chances, typically, Nottingham Forest were clinical with every sight of goal. Six shots on target, five goals. There was a fragility to Sunderland after that opener, and Vitor Pereira’s side sensed that.
After their midweek rendezvous in Europe last Thursday, the Europa League semi-finalists hadn’t lost sight of the precariousness of their domestic situation as they looked to create further breathing room between themselves and the perils of the Championship.
They played with urgency and every time they got forward, there was a genuine threat through Morgan Gibbs-White, Omari Hutchinson (who was excellent, by the way), and Igor Jesus.
A special mention to the Forest fans, who brought with them arguably the best chant any set of away supporters this season: “He walks on the Trent, he walks on the Trent…Igor Jesus, he walks on the Trent!”
We’ve come to believe in miracles of our own on Wearside in recent times, so credit where credit is due.
After half time, our fans embodied what it means to be a Sunderland supporter. Following last week’s comeback, and the “Til the end” mentality that’s become such a staple of our identity of late, we still managed to instil a semblance of belief in a team that was up against it.
Unfortunately, Nordi Mukiele’s disallowed goal, which took an age for a VAR review, was enough to suck the life out of the place, and Elliot Anderson’s stoppage time goal was just a reminder that it wasn’t our day.
These results happen. It’s how we respond that’ll teach us more about this squad — as well as Le Bris’ and Granit Xhaka’s leadership.
