Growing up in Sunderland I was a pretty regular attender for a few years at Roker Park, watching my heroes in their seemingly never-ending struggles to either avoid relegation from the first division (as the Premiership then was) or win promotion from the second.
I would walk on a Saturday afternoon across the Wear Bridge and down Roker Avenue to pay my half crown to stand behind the goal in either the Roker or Fulwell End. There I would marvel at the acrobatic defiance of Jimmy Montgomery in goal, the ball skills of George Herd and Harry Hooper and most of all the calm commanding presence of Charlie Hurley at the heart of the defence.
I still think that Stan Anderson, Hurley and Jimmy McNab were the best half back line I’ve ever seen. I was less impressed though by Don Kitchenbrand and Ambrose Fogarty. Surprisingly, I don’t remember much about Cloughie – just the incident when he sustained his serious knee injury.
Supermac
As a teenager I had a friend from Cramlington who was a Newcastle fan and we used to go together on alternative Saturdays to Roker Park and St James’ Park and cheer for our respective teams. You could safely do that in those days. By then my visits to Roker Park would often include a short detour to the Blue Bell at Fulwell.
When I joined the Sunderland Echo as a trainee reporter one of my jobs was to help get the Pink out on Saturday afternoons in time for the often disconsolate crowd streaming back over the river. My role was to work out the new league positions; not straightforward in the days of goal average, not goal difference, and without even a pocket calculator.
As life moved on, football came to play a smaller part. But I have always taken quiet satisfaction in Sunderland’s historic FA Cup victory of 1973. I wasn’t there to see it, but I was at Wembley to share in (not gloat over) one of Newcastle’s disappointments: the League Cup final of 1976 when Supermac and his teammates were defeated 2-1 by Manchester City.
As a Sunderland fan I have always had to suffer being the butt of Geordie jokes. Heard at a pantomime at the Theatre Royal in Newcastle: “That Alan Brown (Sunderland manager) has got thrombosis. Yeah? Yes, 11 clots on the brain”. Groans. And at the Royal British Legion Club, Jesmond: “Two men are in the pub on Saturday afternoon. ‘I see Sunderland have lost again.’ ‘How do you know?’ ‘It’s quarter to five.’ More groans.
But I don’t ever remember being called a Mackem in those early days. I don’t think it came into general use as a term for Wearsiders until about the 1980s.
Shooting at Geordie drones: who, me?
So, Bill Corcoran: though I still support Sunderland, I am pleased that Newcastle have won a domestic trophy at last. I look forward with hope to many Premiership derbys to come , when you can shout in friendly rivalry for the Magpies and I for the Black Cats.
And no, it wasn’t me (if anyone) hiding in an attic in Larkspur Terrace with an air rifle shooting drones out of the sky over the Town Moor during the celebrations. Would I do such a thing?
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