Christmas, a time of celebration, festivities and most importantly peace to all men.
Unless you lived in the north east of England in 2014, yes the wonders of the fixture list had thrown up a Tyne-Wear derby just four days before Christmas.
In the weeks leading up to the two big days, all I heard was my friends at University from outside the region cheerfully discussing the prospect of Christmas at home with their families and the excitement that brought.
Whenever these discussions occurred my stomach started churning, all I could picture was me and the family sat around the table desperately attempting to avoid all talk of a crushing defeat. The Turkey tasting even dryer than usual, the Lynx Africa gift set from a distant relative proving, even more, irritable and the combination of dad jokes and cracker jokes testing your patience yet more.
I couldn’t think of anything worse than the over the top, cheesy Christmas songs, paper hats, “family films” and other assorted artificial joy being enforced on me just days after a derby defeat.
Naturally a Sunderland win would make all of the above totally fine, and add to the magic of Christmas.
I just couldn’t see it. Rationally, there was no reason why we couldn’t win, we had the upper hand in derbies scoring eight and conceding just one in the three previous derby wins.
Newcastle also went into the game on the back of two hammering’s in North London and the pressure on the unpopular Alan Pardew to record a derby victory was immense. Added to this they were also going through a Goalkeeper crisis, with the inexperienced Jak Alnwick forced to start the match.
If anything, this made matters worse, I knew, all things considered, Sunderland should win but we never did things easily and four wins in a row, away at Newcastle just four days before Christmas, no, these things just didn’t happen.
It was also the first time I would be going to an away derby, so I undoubtedly would be a curse. To say I was pessimistic was an understatement.
When the day finally arrived that toxic derby day mix of nerves, excitement and anticipation swirled around in the pit of my stomach. Which was not helped when I met up with everyone in the pub before the metro journey to Newcastle, where at half little after half nine in the morning a friend who was up from Folkstone decided it would be a tremendous idea to buy a bottle of champagne.
As the loud FTM toast was made, suddenly I got started to feel more confident. The talk was changing from severe nervousness to increasing confidence, we couldn’t lose to them lot. We just couldn’t. They were awful, we were class and we were going to beat them in their own backyard yet again. Of course, the increasing alcohol consumption had nothing to do with this.
As we boarded the metro our derby day juices really started to flow. All the usual chants of an anti-Newcastle persuasion began, Alan Shearer still hasn’t got a birth certificate, Lee Howey’s brother is still a rather unpleasant chap and the Geordie’s are still saying 5-1, while we sang three in a row.
The nearer we got, the more the chants intensified and as we pulled into central station a large shout of “hawayayayayayayaya” spread throughout the carriages and that was it we were in enemy territory.
During the short walk to the ground where we were greeted by Newcastle fans giving us 5-1 gesture and engaging in the predictable waving of the keys. That classic Geordie wit, eh?
Then for the energy sapping walk to level 7, I had been warned about this ascent, but I decided that despite being massively unfit that I could run up the steps, I got up around three flights of stairs before clutching the bannister for support. By the time, I staggered to the top I was expecting a cheering crowd and Rocky theme tune to greet me.
As we took our seats the players were warming up when what we thought was devastating news filtered through. Anthony Reveillere had sustained an injury in the warm-up and Coates would have to come into the side with Jon O’Shea was moved to left back. My thoughts immediately switched to 2008 where a Jonny Evans injury had resulted in Paul McShane deputising and well, we all know what happened next.
As customary in derbies, both sides started at a frantic tempo and Lee Cattermole continued his record of upending a Newcastle player within the opening minutes, Daryl Janmaat being the recipient.
Despite the late changes to Sunderland’s starting eleven, it was the visitors who had the better of the first half. Connor Wickham nodded over an Adam Johnson cross from barely a yard out and an exquisite chip from Larsson found Fletcher who unfortunately volleyed against the bar.
The second half started with Steven Taylor hitting the post from close range, much to the delight of the travelling Sunderland fans.
Then midway through the second half, Sunderland missed perhaps the chance of the afternoon when Jordi Gomez was left unmarked in the penalty area, only for the Spaniard to slot wide of the post.
Sunderland were nearly made to pay for their missed chances when Newcastle dominated possession and territory in the closing stages. First Perez and Armstrong tested Pantilimon before a frantic, game defining minute on the stroke of 90 minutes.
Smelling blood, Sissoko let fly from outside the area forcing Pantilimon to make a flying save to deny Newcastle what would surely be a winning goal.
Then the unthinkable happened, Buckley headed away the corner and the ball broke to Adam Johnson who skipped past two Newcastle players who desperately tried to bring him down, before finding Fletcher, who crossed for Buckley. As the ball broke to Buckley the crowd held its breath as he squared it to Johnson who slammed the ball past Jak Alnwick to seal the game for Sunderland.
What followed was quite simply, scenes.the whole Sunderland bench leaped up and down hugging each other, Gus Poyet leading the celebrations stood arms open fist pumping with a look of total ecstatic bewilderment on his face.
Up in the God’s absolute pandemonium broke out. Bodies flew in all different directions, limbs got caught up underneath others and people hugged and kissed random strangers with tears of joy flowing from their eyes. We had done it! Or had we? Seb Larsson squandered a glorious chance to wrap the game up just a minute later but Sunderland survived the five remaining minutes and the goal celebrations were repeated all over again as the full-time whistle was blown.
In a vein attempt to drown out the delirious Sunderland support, Merry Christmas (War is over) blasted out the speakers, which naturally led to everyone swaying from side to side belting out the festive classic.
Around fifteen minutes later, the players came out to do a “warm down” and slid on their stomachs in front the of the Sunderland end and received a heroes reception.For the first time in a while, there was a genuine connection between the players and the fans.
An hour later back in a Sunderland, we all exchanged stories of injuries we’d sustained celebrating the goal and described the moment when Adam Johnson’s shot hit the net over and over again. As the goal got shown on the TV screen yet again the whole place erupted in cheers. I simply smiled to myself and said “bloody love this football club me, like.”
Merry Christmas one and all. Keep the Faith and most importantly FTM.
