Chelsea v SAFC - flashback version

It almost reads the same as Jim's account of the day but this is the way I saw it

Its almost inevitable that a Sunderland team travelling to Stamford Bridge is in for a pointless day, its also undeniable that Sunderland’s fans must be up there with the most loyal in the land when they go to see their heroes, 20 straight Premiership defeats and £48 for a ticket. Me and the lads had an honorary member of the gang for the day, Coxhoe Branch’s Jimmy Gilling. I was picked up at 6.45am in a state of distress following a “couple of pints” in Coxhoe on the Friday afternoon, it was a couple of pints with Shaun that turned into well over a gallon of John Smith’s finest. I am filling the back of Mr John Gilling’s Learner Driver Nissan Micra and I am feeling terrible already, hope Jim doesn’t touch those duel controls cos I aint got my seatbelt on! There are 4 cans of Stella in a Co-op bag that need to be drank on the train to save face though. Enter Durham train station, the platform is a sea of red and white (everyone with an abundance of alcohol), still I am out of sorts but the sight of boyhood hero Gary Bennett raises morale and just a couple of words with him made my day already – and its only ten past seven. We meet up with top Mackems Ash, Chrissy and Davey - Ashy armed with his super badge "Fuck Newcastle, We Are Makems". Coach C on the train is entered and we pleasantly ask some lads to vacate our table seats and theres a cheeky arsed young'un who stinks of egg sarnies. 1st can open as we cross the Durham viaduct – first sip was awful but it was nice by the time I finished it. No bingo this time, but 4 cans later, 6 for Davey, Jim enjoying his Tesco Sushi and me launching Davey’s breakfast bars to the back of the train, we arrive in London in the mood to enjoy the day.

Tube to Earls Court for a changeover, there’s a great sight to behold: a young Mackem in a Sunderland shirt with a can of Stella in his right hand amongst a group of Japanese tourists. A couple of tube stops later and a couple of renditions of the Jeff Whitley song, we arrive at Parsons Green, a swift 150-yard walk and we’re at The White Horse. First ones in, the selection of ales is bordering on ‘absolutely fucking shite’ and I make do with Carling, Jim is on the Strongbow (earlier he informed me it is stronger than Stella) while Ash and the big fella try a couple of cask ales. We took our place in the beer garden with an excellent vantage point to assess the passing beaver brigade, we met a girl from Washington (DC) who seemed friendly enough, the beer garden is filling up with a nice mix of Chelsea and Sunderland fans. I am on pint 8, feeling pissed and feeling good. Then heavens opened and it was a good job there was a huge canopy covering 90% of the garden – the unfortunate thing being we were part of the other 10% - we cower under the canvas while Ashy makes friends with General Custer and his umbrella. We decide that after 6 pints (£15.90 a round) we should make our way to Billionaires Row. Once inside the stadium it was a pleasant surprise to find we are in the upper tier of the Shed End so the view was a good one (but still, £48??)

The game starts, Jimmy has trouble applying his glasses to his head but already we can see we are going to have a new cult hero in Christian “you’re not getting past me you little shit” Bassilla (after 5 minutes he is nicknamed The Terminator) and at half time I think we have held our own against Britain’s top team. We have two celebratory pints of £3 Budweiser to toast the Terminator and quickly tell Park Hill’s Steven Rutherford to jog on as he is boring the shit out of us. Second half quickly under way, losing Stubbs was a shame and Chelsea’s first goal was nothing short of calamitous. Keeper throws ball to winger, winger lets ball bounce off heel, ball falls to Chelsea right-back with an amazing likeness to that of a malteser, malteser head blasts hopeful low shot, low shot goes straight through keeper. 1-0. Here we go again. 8 minutes from time signalled our exit as Drogba gets above Arca to put a splendid header into the bottom corner. 2-0. Time to go. We leave the stadium, and with there being 8 minutes left the tube station isn’t half chocka block with Chelsea fans. We make the executive decision to go to one of the pubs we were earlier told not to go in to. We’re well outnumbered, AND we’re shouting for Arsenal to beat the Boro but we’re having a good laugh with Michael Proctor and Frank Lampard’s long lost twins. Proctor has a quiet word in my ear, and told me ‘not to say anything’ but your mate ‘looks like Declan Donnelly’, never heard that one before mate. The pint count is up to 17 now and its 6.45pm. We need to be at Kings Cross for 7.30pm – think we’d better move on. Once on the tube train, Ashy’s 17 pints get the better of him and reacts to comments from Chelsea fans and in turn puts them back in their place. Arrive Kings Cross 7.20pm and Chrissy and me make an Olympic style dash to Pa’tings Off-Licence as we don’t want to be paying £2.60 a can on the train. In the shop, in true David James fashion, I drop a couple of Stellas on the floor and they subsequently burst open – which I had to pay for. Arms full of John Smiths, Stella and Strongbow and £26 lighter we sprint for our lives towards the platform and we catch the train just in the nick of time. GNER made the big mistake of leaving the buffet trolley on its own, we help ourselves to some Tuna & Cucumber sarnies and make our way to our carriage, we see “Mr Emmerdale” as Ashy recalls, but yes there is Rodney Blackstock posing for photos on my cameraphone as “my mam is his biggest fan”…… oh dear, its enough to make you stop drinking….

There are lads in our seats again, but since we are fuelled with Stella it’s a different kind of request to ‘vacate our seats’ – but they soon wimpered and moved all the same….By this point I am past speaking, I can only sing….we’re on our last warning with the transport police, and Jim is on his last warning from his good wife…..guy with buffet trolley comes up “Sandwiches? Drinks?” No thanks mate we’ve already eaten them…..

A dead throat from the Ten German Bombers song and its 10.25pm, “next stop Durham”, we have well and truly smashed the 20 pint barrier – we’re not proud of it but we didn’t half enjoy it – that’s what away days are all about, capturing the moment, letting people know who you are, drinking the town dry and most of all making sure you enjoy it whether we win, lose or draw. Apparantly I go to the Avenue for a couple more, Ash and Dave go to the Belmont Club, Chrissy goes to Subway

1am. I get home, the front door gets bounced off the radiator and I collapse onto the settee reflecting on what has been one of the best days out in recent memory. I salute the other 1800 fans who paid all of that money to go to the game. As for Sunderland, our day will come, I am sure of that….just hope it comes sooner rather than later......