With only international football available at senior level, Pete Sixsmith followed personal tradition and went in search of a decent Saturday game. He went in vain (I sensibly waited until Sunday and saw my daughter Nathalie score a brilliant goal for Acton Ladies during a (wo)man-of-the-match performance, as voted by teammates, that helped secure a 2-1 win over a club glorying in the name of London United). But back to Pete and his journey into the footballing void …

When you reach the age I am now at, (58 a couple of weeks ago), you know that the good friends you have will remain so until that great referee in the sky calls you to the dressing room. Hopefully, He of the omnipotent ways is not as clueless as the likes of Rob Styles and Steve Tanner – but that’s another story.

I have a few really good friends who I could count on in a crisis. They are the ones who would mortgage their houses to bail you when the internet poker sites will no longer take your credit cards or when the bank refuses you any more money to spend at will in Threshers.

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Tanner a bag anyone? Pete Sixsmith was not impressed by the refereeing of one Steve Tanner as we slumped to yet another defeat, this time at Man City. Apologies for the delay in posting Pete’s thoughts – the Randall Roadshow (which, incidentally, found McCartney’s tug to be a stupid and unnecessary act) is a bit tied up preparing for departure from the Middle East…

This is how the conversation went at 3.15 on Sunday;

Steve Tanner: “Well, Mo, did he pull his shirt?”

Mo Matader; “Yes, Steve”.

ST: Did he prevent a clear goalscoring opportunity, given the fact that the ball was in the goalkeeper’s hands and Wright-Phillips was yards off it?”

MM: “I’ll have a think about that one Steve”.

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The Man City game was my last before leaving the home of City’s benefactors, Abu Dhabi, to return to Europe. I had hoped for a special performance to mark my final day, while here, of Sunderland football. It came, but not from the Lads…

That feels more like it. No more effete, elitist notions of 11th or 12th top safety. All thoughts of “moving up to the next level” put on hold. Another game + another display of kamikaze defending + another punchless quest for goals = another defeat = another desperate relegation scrap …

There’ll be plenty from Pete Sixsmith on all that. So let’s get in first by congratulating Sunderland Ladies – pictured above, courtesy of Sunderland WFC – on what The Guardian elected to call “the surprise of the season”: reaching the women’s FA Cup final with a 3-0 win over Chelsea at the Stadium of Light.

This line from the official site of the women’s team says it all:
Sun 22 Mar Chelsea H FA Cup Stadium of Light 2.00pm 3-0 Gutteridge; Williams (2)

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We put the same questions about Man City v Sunderland to a good pal, Iain Burns*, who flies high in commercial aviation but has been conditioned by experience not to allow his expectations for City to rise too far above ground level. But he’s a fan of Sparky, sees Sunderland as the sort of team that simply doesn’t turn up when they play at City and believe the Blues will easily be strong enough to see us off…

This has been an extraordinary six months in the life of Man City.
How do you rationalise all that has happened?

It’s hard to rationalise in some respects. One minute you’re being thrashed 8-1 by Boro with Sven at the helm, the next you’re dubbed the richest club in the world and snapping up Robinho for a record British transfer fee. To say that’s a quantum leap is putting it mildly. But what’s happened has happened and the new club owners, well not so new now, do give City fans some real hope after years in the doldrums and a vision that we can realistically – but not anytime soon – start to compete with the big boys of the Premier league. But the reality is that Abu Dhabi looked to invest in the greatest league in the world and saw that City had a good number of benefits to offer.

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Just ahead of our visit to Eastlands on Sunday, Pete Sixsmith remembers – without false affection – visits to Man City’s old ground. For “Stand up if you love Sunderland”, read “Stand up and enter the criminal justice system”. Pete tells an amusing story that, but for a burst of common sense from the beaks, might have taken an unfunny turn…

It was a huge barn of a ground, without the feel of history that Roker Park had in abundance. It had hosted a crowd of 84,000 in the 30s but it never convinced as a major ground like Hillsborough or Villa Park. However, it has three very vivid memories for me.

The obvious one is 1973, when I stood in a crowd of 52,000 and began to believe that the team that Stokoe was putting together could really do something. Micky Horswill chipping Joe Corrigan is forever emblazoned on my memory – as is Rodney Marsh’s push on Monty for the equaliser. I was fuming at the time – but without it, Roker’s Greatest Night would never have happened.

Then there was 1991 when we took 12,000 fans to City to roar us on in a game that we needed to win to avoid relegation. Of course we lost, but not before Marco had scored one of the finest goals I have ever seen from a Sunderland player. I ended up drinking vodka and weeping to Cavallieri Rusticana on the back step of my brother’s house in Southport, bemoaning the fact that we never seem to get it right. Some things don’t change!
The most eventful visit to Moss Side was in October 1988 and a nondescript 1-1 draw between a Sunderland side establishing itself back in Division 2 and a young and thrusting Manchester City side on its way back to the top level.

I rarely leave a Sunderland game before the end. I stuck out the 4-1 home defeat by the Mags, remained at Ewood Park when we lost 6-1 and sat grim faced through the last 10 minutes of the Wigan game when we clearly had no chance of equalising. I did leave Goodison last season as the sixth went but only because I wanted to get back to The Slopey Floor pub for a pint of Cains.

My crime? I had jumped up when Gordon Armstrong headed home Billy Whitehurst’s cross. It was a crime because I was not in the Platt Lane Stand, where my fellow red and whites were sat, but in the steep and cavernous Main Stand. Because we had taken an extra pint of Holt’s finest in The Eagle, our taxi drew up outside Maine Road at 2.55 and the four of us dived straight through the turnstile into the Main Stand in desperate need of a gents.

As Gordon gave us the lead, I was approached by a Sergeant of Police who said “Oy, you, out of here now” and grabbed my arm. I felt that this was a violation of my human rights (once a bleeding heart liberal, always a bleeding heart liberal), and declined to move unless I was asked politely. After a little pushing and shoving I told him to “F*** off”. He responded by arresting me.

I was taken to the station, charged and placed in a cell. I was released at 6pm, made it back to the station in time for a direct train and sat and fumed all the way home.
On my return to Shildon, I contacted my solicitor (a mate but also a Mag), my employer and my trade union and told them what had happened. The consequences of a conviction were not good and I was told that my job was in jeopardy if the worst came to the worst.

Two months later, we trooped off to Central Manchester Magistrates’ Court. I had witnesses with me who would testify that the police action was heavy handed and that I had not shouted at the officer. In his statement he said that I had screamed in his face with such force that I had almost knocked him off his feet. Hmmm.

My brief was brilliant. His view was that the sergeant was correct in that he had been sworn at, but not in the way that he described. He teased out of him that he was an experienced officer who was used to dealing with Friday night revelry in Stockport and that being sworn at was, however unfortunate, part and parcel of his job.

But think about it. Had I been a 17/18 year old without a solicitor buddy and a burning sense of injustice, I would have ended up with a fine of £100 (a weeks wages 20 years ago), criminal record and a complete and utter contempt for the forces of law and order. These were the days of Thatcher and her contempt for football fans and the general feeling that the game was dying on its feet.

It’s not a story I am particularly proud of , and although I bumped into my solicitor a couple of weeks ago and we had a little chuckle about it you can rest assured that I will be extra careful at the City of Manchester Stadium on Sunday – a ground which has as much character and atmosphere as a B and Q Warehouse. Billy Whitehurst, where art thou?

Last time we played Man City, we persuaded Bob Willis, Sunderland-born but a lifelong City fan (his family moved when he was a baby), to preview the game. A fat lot of good that did us. A three-nil home defeat, and – back from the desert for the weekend – we were drenched by torrential rain coming away from the SoL. Oh, and City fans complained that the interview wasn’t interesting enough, which sounded a bit like a Mrs Richards moment from Fawlty Towers.
Taking no chances this time, we decided once again to raid the ranks of the Abu Dhabi Media Company editorial staff for the return game at Eastlands. Nick March* knows how to string a few words together.
We should, of course, be approaching Man City away with the cushion of four or six points from the last two home games. We know what happened to them. Nick, in the first of Salut! Sunderland‘s two previews of Sunday’s game, tells of his fondness for Sunderland, tut-tuts at the deepening gloom among SAFC fans about the remainder of this season and even predicts that we’ll snatch a draw…

I have to admit to a soft spot for Sunderland, as the first cup final I watched on TV was the 1973 final. It was magical. I imagined every Wembley final would be that good. But it’s more than one vintage final that makes me like your club.

There are some more common ties that bind the two sets of fans: you Rokerites know as well as we do what it is to suffer the ignominy of relegation to the third tier of the league, be reborn and then watch your hopes turn once more into dust.

Like City, Sunderland fans are also very familiar with the sensation of not really going anywhere fast or worse still, years of only seeming to go backwards. We’ve both had our share of dreadful managers too; for your Howard Wilkinson, I give you Phil Neal, Frank Clark, John Benson, Alan Ball.

And then there’s the stadium thing. When City moved to Eastlands in 2003 I was certain it was going to transform our fortunes and I’m sure when you summarily dispatched a dreadful City team on opening night at the Stadium of Light you felt the same way too. Only good times were ahead, weren’t they?

And where once you were the “Bank of England Club” we are now the ones bristling with new money, desperate to join the Champions League party. But I’m not holding my breath. Knowing City, our invitation will probably get lost in the post.

Now your questions:

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We were unlikely to remain silent for long on the shambles that was yesterday’s game against Wigan. Did I read somewhere that Dean Whitehead was blaming the fans and the pitch (the pitch presumably being the same one Wigan had to play on)? Pete Sixsmith, in deeply troubled mood, finds other issues to address, but few answers…

So, it wasn’t just the team who messed up on Saturday, my counting skills were found to be deficient – but not as much as their alleged footballing skills.

I texted my seven-word verdict (or six as it turned out) as I watched the last five minutes of the game run down, feeling that the chances of an equaliser were about as remote as me laughing at a sketch on the BBC’s Comic Relief marathon.

As the whistle went to bring the proceedings to a close, I was fuming. As I walked back to the car I was fuming. As I drove away I was fuming. I have rarely fumed as much.

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Until nearly midnight (albeit UAE time, four hours ahead of the East Stand), Salut! Sunderland was shortchanging its readers. Sixer’s Sevens stretched to only six words, the first four in the headline plus “equals relegation”. I added “pitiful”. But enough of the fence-sitting; here’s what we actually thought of Sunderland’s performance….

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As he reflects on the withered romance of the FA Cup, the modest allure of the Carling Cup and the concentration of meaningful honours to a few brands that happen to be named after football clubs, Jeremy Robson puts Cristiano Ronaldo on the spot: “Were you as bored as me, watching on the box as United strolled to a 4-0 sixth round win at Fulham?” …

We’ve recently had the FA Cup 6th round. What a tedious and predictable affair it all was. The elimination of predictability was exactly what cup competitions were for. Not any more. The quota for shocks and surprises ran out last season.

It was not unusual during the 1970s to observe an FA Cup final manager field a couple of “ringers” the Saturday before the big day at Wembley to avoid his side being weakened through injury or suspension on the big day.

This was an offence which was punishable by the FA, which generally took a dim view and would fine the offending club for cheating.

It may sound rather like something from the Victorian era and indicative of the Corinthian spirit.

However, the rules clearly stated that the club is required “to field it’s strongest possible side”. While that spirit has been eroded to the point of anachronism, there does remain an occasional glimmer which suggests that there is at least a moral which should not be forgotten.

Most recently Martin O’Neill offered to take 300 disappointed Villa supporters out to dinner after they complained about travelling to an away fixture in the UEFA Cup, only to find that they were effectively watching their reserve side.

This was presumably something they could achieve on Wednesday nights for a couple of quid, or at no cost whatsoever if they were season ticket holders.

Well done to Mr O’Neill, although it’s doubtful whether the offended fans will be following Villa to European fields again with the UEFA Cup being so markedly reduced in value as a result of participating clubs not taking it seriously. There are bigger fish to fry, it seems, but where are these clubs fishing exactly?

The following events had me even more puzzled.

Harry Redknapp recently fielded a weakened Spurs team in a fixture prior to the League Cup Final which, had Spurs won, would have qualified them, most bizarrely for the UEFA Cup in which he had earlier in the season fielded a weakened team.

I don’t quite understand why you would devalue one competition, in the hope of winning a competition which would provide entry to a competition in which you have a record of fielding weakened teams!

It’s all becoming far too complex. At least we know that Man Utd’s reserves are probably capable of winning any one of the cup competitions.

It leaves a bitter taste however, as Wembley finals were once regarded as the pinnacle of a player’s career, a one time shot at glory for a lucky few. Their modern day collection of superstars didn’t even appear on the bench. If clubs don’t take Wembley finals seriously then what is the point of the competition? Indeed what is the point of football at all?

I’ve recently taken to turning off the television when Man Utd look set for yet another uneventful straighforward win. The FA Cup quarter final at Fulham was the latest casualty of my off button. At 2-0 up after 20 minutes away from home, I was sat there on the sofa wondering what the point of it all is. This is not a sport, a contest between two evenly matches sides. It’s a procession without even the carnival queen (if I can refer to the cheating, diving Ronaldo as a carnival queen). He was probably sat at home, quite possibly as bored as I was with the whole thing. I wonder if Ronaldo was pressing his off button at the same time as mine?

So cup finals, European football etc are events which would be regarded as seminal moments for most of us have become pedestrian for the elite of the game.

We won the FA Cup some 36 years ago, and we still talk about it even now. We arguably won’t win it within the next 36 years, in which time I’ll likely be dead and gone, or by which time the FA Cup will have been rendered completely worthless.

You can’t win all the time of course unless you were in a position to change the rules to ensure that you can and do win all the time. For most supporters of most football clubs they rarely if ever win anything no matter how hard or long they try.

So let’s take stock. When a football club such as ours has been in existence for over a century there are likely to be some seminal moments. Achieving promotion, or winning a cup, qualifying for Europe etc. These are the achievements that most supporters would be happy with. The exceptions are followers of those clubs who think that they have a divine right to win every trophy for which they compete, even if their management should elect to field a reserve team at various points in attempting to meet the challenge of silverware on all fronts.

The nature of a “seminal moment” depends to a great extent on who you are, and what your history has been about. For Rochdale fans the prospect of a promotion is a seminal moment, having only achieved one promotion in their entire history, which was unfortunately followed by relegation a few seasons later.

For Sunderland there have over the course of the last four decades been a number of seminal moments if we can call them that.

The obvious one of course, which is so profoundly and indelibly etched into the very psyche of every single Sunderland supporter over ever since, and in fact so bleeding obvious that I don’t even need to mention it.

Can you imagine how sick of it we would be had the Mags done it the other way around with us losing in 1973 and them winning it the following year? Yes, I know inconceivable given the sad statistic that they are even less successful than we are, having won nothing at all since the 1950s. Thirty six years have passed and we welcome any opportunity to bore the pants off anyone who’ll listen to stories about that day!

So, apart from the unbelievable cup run and victory in 1973 what other events could be described as seminal. Not a lot really, but quite a lot of semi seminal moments where the ultimate dream was not quite reached. Such as;

* The season in the early 80s when Allan Durban was sacked before he had finished building a very good team – what might have been had he been given time

* The appointment of Lawrie McMenemy as a manager – arguably a seminal moment, but for all the wrong reasons

* Peter Reid’s two seasons finishing 7th and for bringing together Mr Quinn and Superkev

OK, not exactly seminal moments then. That I’ll concede. Maybe these were just a few occasions over the course of history, when aside from our countless promotions (and seemingly inevitable relegations!) when we stopped just being the also rans.

Even the possibility of mediocrity was a wild fantasy. We felt that there was something to look forward to with the possibilities of better days ahead. A few bright spots when we were able to rise beyond the mundane for the briefest time.

So, what is the point in supporting a club like ours where even the competitions that we historically had some chance of winning have become devalued to the point that they are really worthless?

How delighted would the Spurs fans have been if their side had overcome Man Utd’s second string, or even third string in some cases?

The most successful clubs have devalued these competitions with their presence, but such is the disparity between the elite, the mega rich in terms of finance as well as resources that they can put out a scratch side and still come home with the cup.

What do their supporters think? If they gain any genuine satisfaction with the current state of affairs, they would have been delighted with the gladiatorial clashes of ancient Rome and the feeding of Christians. No wonder they turn up at Old Trafford to eat prawn sandwiches and gaze about.

Some time ago I heard a radio ad for Man Utd. It was encouraging fans to visit Old Trafford and take the stadium tour. See the trophy room, purchase a Ryan Giggs pyjama set, or and have a meal in some overpriced restaurant. (Can I have the Vidic burger please with Charlton chips?) Not once did it mention going to see a football match. Why bother with the football at all when associated product will sell on the basis of branding alone?

To some observers it must appear that they can’t win on this one because they always win. Damned if they do and damned if they don’t. The consequence is that it’s as dull as last night’s bath water.

I remember a story about Stephen Fry, who would frequently use a gent’s toilet as on his way to and from his local Tube station. After using the aforementioned gents for several months, he was stopped one day by a man in a uniform who asked him if he was a member. “A member of what exactly?” was Fry’s reply. “To the club sir, this is a gentleman’s club sir.”

Over the months that Fry had been using the facilities within this building he had failed to realise that the building was anything other than a toilet, a public convenience.

I wonder whether Man Utd fans, will ever reach some kind of consumerist nirvana where they become completely oblivious to the existence of football, where we no longer have Man Utd “fans” but Man Utd “shoppers” instead? Now that would be a seminal moment.

We live in an era where winning is the preserve of the carefully selected few in a self perpetuating extravaganza of increasingly meaningless competitions.

A top flight where there are only really three clubs with a squad that has a realistic chance of winning the title.

The rest of us are battling against the drop to a greater or lesser degree. Clubs field a weakened side so that they have a better chance of winning the cup that qualified them for that same competition in the first place.

During last season’s FA Cup runs by Cardiff and Barnsley there was a general uplifting of spirits in the wake of what appeared to be giantkilling acts.

Sadly it was more to do with the fact that the bigger clubs had become either offended by the consequence of their own arrogance or embarrassed at their own contempt for the world’s greatest knock out competition.

It took the history of the game to build what it was and the Premier League’s greed just a few short years to demolish the majority of what it stood for. With notable exceptions the bigger clubs have taken it more seriously than last season, with what appears to be some sort of “scorched earth” policy.

Bernard Ramsdale*. The name deserves to be chanted, with approval, from every part of the Stadium of Light. Just when it seemed Wigan had “done a Stoke” and failed to produce a fan to preview Saturday’s game, Bernard stepped up once more. This is the same Bernard Ramsdale who has already given Salut! Sunderland one of the best opposition fans’ previews – maybe the best – all season. Thanks to a top man and true fan – and check out the Latics site he helps to run, Ye Olde Tree and Crown – even if he does think Cisse may be bound for the JJB before too long…

Since we met at the JJB, your season has gone slightly better than ours. Is Steve Bruce right to complain about lack of recognition???

He is definitely right, but on the plus side people have been ignoring us since we became the last ever team voted into the Football League in July 1978! It hasn’t done us any harm though has it? No other club in the Premier League can claim to have come from non league football to being top of the best league on the planet in less than 30 years, can they? ??Many people confuse Latics’ lack of recognition as being caused by the local rugby league team, but they are not the problem. They actually have many thousands less fans than the football club and the last time they won anything black and white photography was just beginning to take the world by storm! The real problem was pointed out by Sunderland fans having a pre match pint in and around Wigan town centre prior to our game earlier this season. ??They just could not believe the number of people walking around the town on match day in the colours of rival Premier League teams. That, as they saw first hand, is the real problem with our lack of recognition, or support.??

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