As a few dark clouds began to gather over Sunderland’s season, a trip to sun-kissed Portugal – for our first European away day in 53 years – was exactly what the doctor ordered to lift our collective spirits.
I decided to make an extended stay out of this one, given that flights from London to Lisbon were about £200 cheaper on Tuesday compared with Wednesday. The first red and white shirts dotted around Stansted Airport were the first reminder that this was actually happening. We were travelling to Europe
to watch Sunderland AFC in a real competitive fixture – the latest in a long line of “pinch me” moments stretching back to that Championship play-off campaign.
There was a large contingent of Celtic fans around us at the airport, but thankfully both groups largely left each other alone; no one wants any sectarian nonsense to spoil a holiday.
To break up the journey, I spent the first night in Lisbon, in a ridiculously cheap hostel that a fully grown adult should probably not be visiting, but, as we all know, money is tight. The location was in Belém, in the west of the city, right next door to the stadium of Portuguese side Belenenses. For convenience’s sake, I really wished it was them we were playing.
With my usual matchday comrades all travelling via Porto, I took refuge in a sports bar to catch the Champions League and ended up watching FC Viking’s heroic late draw with Bayern Munich alongside a few Norwegians. They were probably even more grateful for the cheap beer than I was. They said they’d check out the Roker Report site, so if you’re reading this, I hope you enjoyed your trip, lads.
In the Cheers Irish bar, a group of German Bayern Munich fans approached me and took issue with my cheering for the late goal they conceded; a round of beers was the only possible route to redemption. We ended up having a brilliant night in the bars around Pink Street, and the first taste of European away-day life had been a great start.
After a quick coffee and pastel de nata, it was time for the FlixBus from the capital to Leiria. The hotel was a two-and-a-half-hour walk out of town, but thankfully Uber and Bolt stepped up. Hilariously, there was a business conference going on at the hotel at the same time, meaning we had the curious combination of Sunderland fans and Portuguese corporate types. The two groups got on very well, thankfully, even if we weren’t allowed to gatecrash their open bar.
Stepping into Praça Rodrigues Lobo, the scene was like walking into a dream. I think we’d all pictured in our mind’s eye what it would look like to see a stunning, historic European town square draped in Sunderland flags, with red and white shirts abounding and the dulcet tones of the New Monkey ripping through the air.
The square in Leiria felt like exactly that: the beautiful castle illuminated in the background, the songs, the plastic pint pots on the cobblestones. It was hard not to shed a tear, as trite and sentimental as that is.
After a delicious and affordable pork knuckle in red wine at the excellent Mata Bicho restaurant, we mingled with the familiar and new faces in the square. The conversations were mostly the same: “Did you come via Porto or Lisbon?” “Are you doing Poznań as well?” “Did you ever think we’d get here when we were 5-1 down to Rotherham?” But the answers were never less than fascinating.
Every fan will have their own story to tell from this adventure we’re all going on, whether they’re going to all the games or only watching from home, and there’s something really beautiful about that.
We made what proved to be a sensible call by ducking out relatively early to save ourselves for matchday – a decision that some of the more sore-headed fans at breakfast might have wished they’d also made. Thankfully, everyone was able to ease their hangovers by the swimming pool as we cooled off from the heat and mentally prepared for the evening’s chaos.
If the town square had been a remarkable sight on Wednesday, Thursday afternoon took it to another level. The songs being belted out from all corners were almost deafening, the beer flowed like a river, and the locals looked on in amazement and probably a fair degree of incredulity.
On that note, it can’t be overstated how welcoming the citizens and staff in Leiria were towards our supporters and, as you’d expect, the Sunderland fans returned the same courtesy. English fans might have a sketchy reputation abroad, but the vast majority of us just want a few beers and a daft singalong. The police were present, but mostly they’ll have had an easy time of it.
After another afternoon spent exercising the vocal cords and livers, it was time to make the short walk to the impressive Estádio Dr. Magalhães Pessoa. Our hearts sank a little when we saw the sprawling queues, but thankfully we’d left plenty of buffer time for once, and the searches and ticket checks were relatively straightforward. The climb to the top tier felt reminiscent of the Mags away, but it was well worth it to see the stunning view from the summit.
The game kicked off and it seemed both Sunderland and Torreense were in their away kits. If they were willing to change to pale blue, we should have donned the red and white, but I shouldn’t start ranting about the pink kit again on my first proper European away day.
The game was a strange affair, and the first half was one of real frustration for Sunderland, as some awful officiating denied us a perfectly good goal before their centre-half turned into prime Ronaldo to smash Torreense in front. Their small pocket of fans were a noisy bunch, and for some reason, their drum was a lot less irritating than those banged by League One clubs. The away end felt slightly flat.
We never do things the easy way, but the manner of Sunderland’s comeback win is probably more apt for our journey as a club than a 4-0 professional job would be. Ahoka’s header was a deserved reward for another promising performance, and we thought a jammy penalty decision would give Le Fée the chance to make it back-to-back winners in European games, but sadly, the ref did the obligatory U-turn after being sent to the monitor.
Anyway, a dodgy spot kick wouldn’t have sparked anywhere near as much joy as what actually transpired. With the clock counting down, Sadiki smashed home an unstoppable volley to trigger absolute delirium throughout the away end. Ultimately, we’d got the job done, and the football, for once, wouldn’t spoil what was a simply incredible trip.
The post-match party back in the square was genuinely one of those euphoric nights that none of us will forget. Every half an hour saw another rendition of I Can’t Help Falling in Love, blasted out each time with increasing gusto and slurring. The local bars clearly understood the assignment, as emergency beer kegs were deployed to make sure we didn’t have to cut the party early.
Writing this in a packed Lisbon airport while waiting for my delayed flight (cheers, Ryanair), I feel that strange sense of wistfulness that comes from knowing that, like all good things, these brilliant European trips do come to an end.
Thankfully, though, there’s another one just around the corner (with a quick sojourn via Bournemouth). Poznań should be a tougher test on paper, but if the Lech and Tyskie go down half as well as the Sagres and Super Bock, then we’re in for another all-timer.
See you there.
