Kieran Richardson, two goal hero
Picture: Peadar O'Sullivan

Pete Sixsmith flies home from Amsterdam a little the worse for wear, but in good spirits after a convincing win over Atletico Madrid …

A bit of a lie actually, because this is being written from the study at Sixsmith Towers, while the cat re-acquaints himself with the furniture by sharpening his claws on it. The spell check is on, so any problems in that department should be solved.

An early morning alarm call enabled Mr Horan and me to grab a quick breakfast at the excellent Bridge Hotel and move onto the transit town that is Schipol airport. We did it with a slight beery hangover, having drunk in our adopted bar in the Nieuw Maarket until they closed at midnight. The excellent, pub brewed Mannke Monke (Droopy Monk), beer tasted all the better after a very competent 2-0 win over Athletico Madrid.

It was a good result and although it may not send shock waves throughout the Premier League, it made the 2,000 plus Red and Whites in a red and white dominated arena, look to the coming season with more optimism than after Friday’s drab and error ridden show against Benfica.

Many were surprised that Bruce picked the same team, but it can be seen as clever motivation. “I don’t believe you are as clumsy and careless as you were on Friday. Go out and show me what you can do”. They did. Malbranque was outstanding on the left and was given the instruction to go wide of the full back, but also cut in when given the chance. At times, it was like seeing Bullet Mulhall or Magic Johnson again and although the penalty was a soft one (The Eredveise must have an awful lot of penalty kings, if these two refs were anything to go by), he forced a number of errors out of the Madrid defence.

Kenwyne (spelt K-E_N_W_Y_N_E – not quite the home of Horace Batchelor’s Infra Draw Method) played him in with a lovely ball and once again looked the player that Dr Robson, who God preserve of Utrecht, suggested was as indispensable as selling your own liver. He should have scored, but his all round game brings other players in and his partnership with Campbell or whoever, could be extremely fruitful. And don’t forget his contribution to the defence. He won two towering headers when we under pressure in the second half. He also linked up well with Kieran Richardson, who seemed very happy playing just behind the front man. Does SB see KJ as another Emile Heskey?

Defence and midfield were sound and the number of misplaced passes was miniscule compared with the inaccuracies of Friday. Ferdinand tackled well, Nozzer concentrated and both full backs were tighter. In the centre of midfield, Leadbitter and Henderson did their best to show Steve Bruce that there was no need to spend money on Cattermole.

So, it was happy Sunderland fans who descended the 9 flights of stairs from Riff-Raff Corner in The ArenA (sic), only to be met by a locked exit gate and Dutch police demanding to see proof of British identity. Rumours of Feyenoord fans infiltrating the Sunderland area or police looking for fans involved in fights in the Red Light District were put forward, but it was a disappointing example of how the seemingly liberal Dutch have an authoritarian streak in them.

This had been illustrated earlier in the day, when we had visited the excellent Museum of the Occupation. Here the Dutch face up to what happened to their nation between 1940 and 1945 and give a very convincing answer to the question, “What would have happened if we had been invaded in 1940″? The answer is that, like the Dutch, we would probably have got on with life and although some actively collaborated with the Nazi’s, most just kept their heads down and grumbled in private. The Resistance movement was made up of women who sewed the feet of German soldier’s socks together rather than gangs of gun wielding partisans, but they made their dislike of the invader known in many ways. As awful as Frank Rijkaard spitting in Rudi Vollers face was, it was seen in the Netherlands as a belated reaction to the ignominies heaped on the Dutch people in those dark days. The Museum is opposite the City Zoo and is well worth a couple of hours of your time if you are visiting the city.

Well, another pre season trip over and probably the most enjoyable yet. More observations on Holland and the Dutch to come later! Steve seeks to strengthen the squad by recruiting and releasing and having watched the You Tube video of Cana, he looks interesting. Could be an interesting afternoon at Parkhead on Saturday.

Two goals from Kieran Richardson, the second a corker after a great pass from Stokes following good work by Carlos Edwards, saw off Atletico Madrid.

Stand by for some positive thoughts from Pete Sixsmith …. maybe tomorrow.

No pre-season victory, even when it is at the expense of a leading Spanish club, carries a huge amount of weight, any more than a defeat by a similar margin to a top Portuguese side suggests doom and gloom for the season ahead.

But tonight's was a good performance with plenty of encouraging snatches: impressive wing play, convincing defence work, good goalkeeping when it was needed and a classy second goal to kill them off. And still without any of the new signings.

Be realistic about the nature of the competition and achievement, but take heart – and yes, Bill (see comments) have a laugh at Newcastle United, too.

Once bitten twice shy. Pete Sixsmith’s eccentricities with spelling know no bounds, as a reader gently observed after his report from the Benfica game. Pete’s poor editor had no idea where to start on this one, a detailed account – littered with proper names Salut! Sunderland wouldn’t recognise if they fell in its soup – of his day off from following Sunderland. It’s a good read all the same and ends on a happy note …

It’s a quiet Sunday morning in Amsterdam. People are walking or cycling to work. There is a peaceful air over our part of the city. It’s the calm before the Steve Bruce Revolution hits the Amsterdam Arena at seven o’clock tonight.

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So on the strength of one 2-0 defeat to Benfica in a pre-season game, a fan over at the normally sensible Blackcats list is already fretting about another relegation battle (“After 50 years of totally being convinced we are going to make good next season. I think the hope has gone!!!! When if ever, will we get some talent in the team worthy of wearing them stripes with pride and giving there all”).
But this, as has been pointed out, was last season’s team. No Campbell, no da Silva, no Lorik Cana, our new capture from Marseille, no whoever else is due at the SoL. Pete Sixsmith was there to apply wiser judgement, but he was pretty unimpressed too (while being rather fond of the Netherlands) …

The Sixsmith/Horan bandwagon rolls on from the lush green fields of Ireland to the flat polders of the Netherlands as we sample the delights of European football, European culture – and European prices.

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Did anyone ever seriously believe Peter Crouch, of whom it can at least be said that he's a man you can look up to, would sign for Sunderland? No, I thought not. Even without a Wag climbing a ladder to breathe down his neck, he'd simply have used us to drive a harder bargain wiv sam savvern clab innit. Pete Sixsmith, it is fair to say, quickly got over any sense of disappointment. No wonder. He's off to the Netherlands for our Crouch-free warm-up tournament …

If it’s pre-season you can be assured that Messrs Horan and Sixsmith will be taking to the road, track or skies to follow the team to whatever exotic location they are heading for.

Over the years we have followed the Fawlty Towers trail to Torquay, spending a delightful day travelling on a Virgin Cross Country train with the heating full on in our carriage while the sun blazed in through sealed, double glazed windows By the time we arrived in the land of palm trees and bloodshed at the Nell Gwynn tea rooms, we were as dehydrated as Mrs Richards was deaf.

It was a pleasant trip that included a cracking day on a steam railway to Dartmouth, a boat trip up the River Dart to Totnes and the best cream tea I have ever had.

The next year we set off to Seville, a journey that was clouded with sadness as my father died the evening before we set off and Peter’s daughter's father-in-law was terminally ill. The city of Seville blew away some of the dark clouds that hung over us with its Andalucian charm, although the football was a disaster and it was abundantly clear that we were going to be involved in a relegation struggle. Not even the sight of Emerson Thome’s mighty pecs encouraged us to believe that Reidy could turn things around.

From Seville we moved on to a place whose name strikes fear into the heart of both of us: Algeciras. I’m sure it has its charms, but they were not clear to us as we spent a wretched night there, watching a bunch of Spanish Third Division thugs play football like Featherstone Rovers on speed. George McCartney and Thomas Butler were sent off (Butler for assaulting the slob who had kicked his mate George all over the place) and how Kevin Kyle never twatted their barbarian of a centre half is a mystery to me.

The last two pre-seasons have been spent touring Ireland. Highlights like Galway Races, a six-hour bus trip from Belfast to Athlone with a stinking hangover and rain of biblical proportions in Dublin are well chronicled in the Salut! Sunderland archive.

This year we are heading for Amsterdam. Both of us have been there before on football trips with the gallant lads of Shildon Sunderland Supporters FC. We stayed in the Hotel Hans Brinker, named after the Dutch patron saint of mould on the walls and unspeakable things in the shower.

We did all the tourist things – Street of Windows, canal ride, Street of Windows, Flower Market, Street of Windows.

We had a pacy midfielder (no names, but you know who you are, *****) who even indulged himself in the company of one of the ladies who exhibited there. He knocked on the window, asked her how much it was and was told 500 guilders. “That’s a bit expensive”, he said. “Ah, but it’s double glazed”, came the reply.

We fly from Leeds/Bradford on a red eye express, which at least gives us an extra day to savour the Amsterdam rain and see if it is any different to the billions of gallons that have poured down on South West Durham over the last week.

We have a number of cultural events planned: the Rijksmuseum to gaze at the Rembrandts and the Rubens. The Van Gogh museum to gaze at framed lyrics of Don McClean’s song. A sad and lonely figure, old Vincent – a bit like Mike Ashley, only without the beer gut and bodyguards. When he cut his ear off he gave it to his girlfriend. She said: “Oh, Vincent, you really do love me." He replied: “Pardon?"

The football will be interesting. In 1963 we played Benfica (who were then European Champions- Eusebio, Torres, Coluna etc) in a friendly at Roker Park. We were assured by the then board that this was a precursor of our own (inevitable) entry into European football. I didn’t go because my dad said I had to go to school the next day and Billy Reilly’s bus would not get back until 11.30.

I remember waiting for the next morning's Northern Echo with eager anticipation and crowing with delight when I saw that we had walloped them 5-3. It said that young John O’Hare had scored a wonder goal and that he was a real star in the making. The crowd had been a disappointing 26,000 but the future looked bright. I can’t remember the other scorers, but I would imagine that Johnny Crossan and George “Bullet” Mulhall would be there or thereabouts.

As for Atletico Madrid, I remember them being involved in a wonderfully violent game with Celtic in the 70s which featured a long haired Argentinian winger called Reuben Ayala chasing a Celtic player down the pitch. And they had a lunatic owner who sacked managers if the wrong team lost a training ground match.

Like all the best teams they wear red and white stripes as do Paraguay, home of our new centre half, Paolo da Silva – not dos Santos as Micky Horswill called him on The World's Worst Radio Phone In aka The Three Legends. However, no sighting of da Silva or Campbell in Amsterdam, as neither have reported for duty yet.

Finally a word on the Peter Crouch episode: relief!!!

Keep an eye open for news from the Netherlands over the next few days …

We're off, and off to a flying start if off can mean a pre-season friendly and flying start can mean beating Darlo 4-0. Pete Sixsmith was there …

Darlington is my nearest Football League club and I have always had a soft spot for them. They were the first pro club I watched before Messrs Randall and Hurley diverted me to Roker Park. I have two good pals who are devoted Quakers fans (although neither bother with pre season games) and I go there three or four times a year.

f Newcastle fans are scrabbling around looking for a more idiotic owner than Mike Ashley, Darlington could give them a run for their money. In the 70s they were run by a man called George Tait (principal of The National School of Salesmanship, if my memory serves me correctly) who ran them into the ground, while in the 90s a Scotsman whose name escapes me,was described by a prominent local journalist as “quite the most obnoxious man I have ever met”. Then there was GEORGE Reynolds….

One of the things we should thank Bob Murray for is that he turned down GR’s offers of financial assistance in the 90s.

George then went and bought Darlington, promising them Premier League football, big signings and a new stadium. He got one out of three right and it was to the Whatever It’s Called This Season Arena, that 4,000 of us trudged along to last night. Pity only 1,500 home fans turned out to see The North East’s Only Premier League Team.

It was a training canter for the first team players in the first half, with all of them clearly under instruction to take it easy and sharpen up their fitness levels. Errors by the Quakers defenders and keeper allowed Reid and Richardson to score and at half time there were wholesale changes.

This is when it got interesting. We have a decent crop of young players and they had been told by whoever (probably Bally) to go out and show the manager and his staff what they could do. As a result, Waghorn, Colbeck and particularly David Meyler treated it as a full scale trial. Waghorn’s pace and Colbeck’s ability to spot a simple pass must have had Steve Bruce and Eric Black thinking about how to use them. But the star of the show was Meyler, who cruised around in midfield, fed Anthony Stokes and Roy O’Donovan an endless supply of quality balls and who tackled as if he were challenging Patrick Viera a la Gavin McCann many moons ago.

His father was a top Gaelic games player and young David has all the attributes of those practitioners – speed, wiriness and above all an absence of fearless. One for the future and perhaps even for this season. A loan spell in the Coca Cola League would be beneficial – somewhere not too far away from the Stadium perhaps.

As for our hosts – well, they looked scrappy and it could be a long season for them. Colin Todd is one of the best players I have ever seen in a red and white striped shirt and I hope he can make something out of the collection of trialists, free transfers and youngsters who turned out for him last night. Unfortunately, the words silk purse and sows ear spring to mind.

It’s getting closer. The signing of Fraizer Campbell from Man Utd was a welcome start to Steve Bruce’s transfer dealings; more news can be expected soon. Pete Sixsmith is already in pre-season training, and tells of a visit to Brighouse that included a few moments with George Mulhall, a fondly remembered winger of the old school who served Sunderland superbly back when Pete and I first started going to Roker Park …

The town of Brighouse, along with its smaller neighbour Raistrick, is synonymous with brass bands.

Who can ever forget cringing at Terry Wogan’s stilted movements as he “conducted” the band in The Floral Dance – and reached the Top Twenty with it. Goodness, he even appeared on Top Of The Pops complete with equally stilted grin amid the hot pants and short skirts.

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The response to our publication of extracts from Tash Scott‘s evocative account of her first visit to the Stadium of Light, from her home a long way away (Cornwall, but she’s as Red and White as her father and grandfather), spoke for itself. If ever a story deserved to be told if full, this was it. Here, then, is Tash’s tale, written at 14* …

Mum had once again decided that the house looked like “a bomb had hit it”, and sent me and my brother upstairs to tidy our mess ridden rooms. I stood tentatively in the doorway looking into the abyss. The bright sun was shining through the translucent window, covered in a thousand finger prints. It shone gently across my unmade bed as though it was a blanket laid neatly across the mess.

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That, says Pete Sixsmith (the only around here who seems to be working, but come back soon for the full version of Tash’s brilliant essay), is the question. He reports on concerns voiced elsewhere about our failure, so far, to land a single new player. Those concerns may be premature. Man Utd, having lost a special if immensely irritating Portuguese individual, have barely begun their own buying (albeit with less need than us) and already we’re fretting. But perhaps the thoughts being expressed just now reflect the impatience, suspicion and fear that, together with a weakness for being unfair constitute the essential attributes of the true Sunderland fan …

The first friendly is a week away. We have not signed one player yet. Bruce needs to get something sorted out quickly or else we will be left behind in the race for mid table respectability. This is not good enough for a club of our stature. We should be looking at Ibrahimovic, not Crouch, Vidic not Da Silva, Etoo not Bent.

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