Eventually the dust settled on both the débacle at Shrewsbury and an apparently fractious loss at Tottenham. Unfortunately I didn’t see the latter, not even on tape, so I can’t comment thereon. When I got the news all I did was shout at bookshelves and drawings for a few minutes. Sensibly, the shelves and drawings didn’t argue.

But it was odd how the fans generally accepted the loss at Shrewsbury. I expected a more shrill reaction, the usual sort of contemporary footy tribal crie de cœur: search for the guilty, prosecution of the innocent, witch hunt by the vicarious media, that sort of thing. But not a bit of it. It was an accurate reflection of how our fans behaved at the match itself. Muted and restrained. Result and team performance apart (which was one very good reason for destroying your dining room in privacy after sending ‘er indoors and the kids to her mother’s), it was a creditable experience. Our fans even made an effort to shake hands with their Salop counterparts and offer congratulations. Maybe the recent national downturn in fans’ behaviour is merely a blip. I hope so. Then again, maybe we are so inured to recent years cup disasters this one was just the latest. Whatever, if we had to lose, this was the way the fans should behave. They were a credit to the club and themselves.

I have no time for inadequate loonies who think every game should be a competition of who can hoot the loudest and most stupid nonsense at opposition fans, let alone betwixt fans of the same club. It would be nice to think we are about to see a situation where spontaneous encouragement became the norm again. But I wouldn’t hold your breath. There are few sadder sights than some tubby middle-aged, flag-waving orangutan on his feet urging the crowd to join in with some juvenile nahnah nahnah nahhh “song.” Needless to say, letting the same clown near a computer is like urging a chimp to don a tutu. It’s a safe bet the culprit has a CV of organised violence dating from the unlamented social history of the seventies and eighties. Of course it wasn’t always so but the way these unhappy noodles prate on about it, especially when wet-eyed and afloat in alcohol, you’d think they constituted the majority at that time.

For the record, no they didn’t. They were a tiny collection of cowardly, inadequate, paranoid thugs who brought the game to its knees. They were as despised as loonies then, just as the empty-headed residue are despised now. It took a major national political effort to eliminate the worst affects. After their tide went out we were still left with the scum to clean up. Hence for example the horrors of match policing in north-east England.

So it was even odder when we lost at Tottenham and a small number of our fans, Melledrew Tendency to the marrow, then acted with the kind of scattiness which typified Walter Smith’s tenure. Successive losses obviously encourage a Freudian necessity to blame someone or something, almost anything. Apparently a peculiar combo of errors and good play opened the floodgates to standard hysterical reaction. The way some of them carried on you would have thought Moyesy has had no affect thus far. You would have thought too that his options weren’t decimated by inevitable and long-known suspensions and injuries. Still, that is the modern game: performance-on-demand. It is of course a ludicrous and impossible state of affairs which can only encourage re-emergence of organised hooliganism. As I have said in previous reports we are already again faced down that road. Team sports are not, and never can be, merely performance-on-demand. If you think it is you best go watch a TV soap opera or take up knitting. Adversity in sports is not for you.

On the other hand one of the best experiences is the sound of a crowd generating a spontaneous and genuine feel for the game as it unfolds, in full support of their own team playing well. You can’t manufacture that kind of thing. All the replicant shirts in the world can’t reproduce it. Like virginity, either it is or it isn’t. It exists somewhere in primeval human chemistry and mood. It is a behavioural hymen waiting to be splendidly infused at every game. And as we all know, each game is different. Which is another reason for getting shut of phoney public address hooray henries who try to whip up the crowd. I have yet to hear or see one that is anything less than toe-curling or uncomfortably, vaguely reminiscent of a Riefenstahl movie. It reminds me too of a lousy stand-up comedian who tells his unimpressed audience that one day he’ll come and watch THEM work.

Talking of comedians, I was vastly amused to hear The Big Yin caught one more empty-head trying to burgle his gym. I mean, what was the loony thinking when he broke in? The penny might have dropped when he found himself not only in The YIN’S property but in his GYM to boot. What did he think all that equipment was FOR? Macramé? I have no idea if the dipshit’s allegation of assault is true or not but all my worst animal instincts hope it is. Come to think of it, I wish The Yin had tied the thicko’s arms and legs to each end of his rowing machine then for two hours set it on opposing automatic like a Tudor rack, made a pot of coffee, and then, and only then, called the police. I jest of course but you get the gist.

Alert observers will recall the last burglar caught and “restrained” by The Yin was named Pratt. I relish with glee the image of Pratt and the latest prat ending up in the same cell to compare bruises, stretch marks and mended limbs. Frankly I think The Yin should go for a hat trick in this. It might get him fit enough to play again. Furthermore, the vision of three battered slobs in one cell has me in convulsions of mirth. I jest again. I have to say this to help a tiny number of you understand the basis of irony and avoid useless emails.

Match eve, and Tony and The Duke both signed three years contracts in the full glare of a televised press conference. It’s safe to say the signatures were a great deal more important than all the phoney glitterglam. Of course both signatures are absolutely vital to our future since the two young men have the world at their talented feet. They now have to decide what to do. Like The Dawn of Man in “2001” they’ll doubtless think of something. If they can miss out on the bit at the water hole we might dodge a few more yellow and red cards.

Best sights and sounds of the conference were (a) Moyesy telling adolescent Rooney to drink from a glass, not a bottle, (b) Moyesy telling the assembled hacks he bet THEY weren’t as good at their job at seventeen, and (c) Moyesy talking of this phenomenal talent in the academy and then it gradually dawning on the thick hacks that he meant Tony Hibbert. Since I believe (a) drinking from a bottle is slobbish, vaguely disgusting and naff, that the collective noun for (b) is A Shite, and that (c) was the equivalent of a public execution of hack phoniness, then you can see why I went into transports of delight. It was a PR tour de force.

Moyesy is a gift from Nivarna to us proles, a sort of Caledonian Zorba who appears to deal with life in exactly the right way: think about it, go for it, love it, and let the chips fall where they may. And if it goes wrong get up and do it all over again, no regrets, until you get it right. There’s a lesson there for the more timorous and hesitant of action. What the fuck have you got to lose apart from stuttering apprehension and navel-gazing? All of which bodes nothing but good for The Duke and Tony and their respective futures. Plainly Moyesy can show them how to navigate the early years but once they get out into the ocean they’re on their own like everybody else. It’s going to be an interesting voyage for everybody.

The burglary and the signatures were subjects of footy chat when we assembled pre-match in the first floor Blue Room at Walton Social Club, formerly an unlamented Conservative Club. It couldn’t last with the latter name of course. History has imploded the tories in provincial Britain in a manner which gives me much savage satisfaction. Not that it bothered the establishment – all they did was hire Blair and operate Newspeak in the media they own. That’s in addition to adoption of an American-style one party state with different factions. But nobody discussed the woes of the tories and the cloned substitute prefect in Downing Street. Everyone was far too busy quaffing and talking footy.

We also discussed the important issue of players in-and-out during the so-called “transfer window.” (Don’t you just HATE these Americanised terms? Not content with invading every small country they can lay their greedy oil and blood-covered hands to, they have to napalm our language too.) Since our beloved club is on the bones of its arse we didn’t have too much to discuss. Not that any other club has much to chat about on it either. As we all know, inevitably the “free market” in football has almost brought the game to its financial knees. In our case the main incoming player was 30 years old Brian McBride of, erm, the USA. Irony, irony, all is irony.

Davey was restored after suspension, Wrighty after injury, Sandro at right back (aargghh), and we had a front two of The Rad and Macca, North America rampant. I was delighted to get the chance to see Kevin Phillips for the Mackems again, a player I admire a lot.

We had our usual first minute chance, another clear header which Stubbsy thoughtlessly bulleted into row Z of the Park End. Six minutes later he had an even clearer chance, left side goal area, nobody near, and glanced it wide. Then Stevie butts one against their left post and back into play. Uh oh you thought, one of THOSE days.

For half an hour we had one of our relentless spells of pressure, the sort which would be deadly if we had a forceful centre midfield. Alas, we haven’t. We scamper and chase a lot, hence the pressure, but the final ball usually escapes us by millimetres. Once we get to that point we resort to fruitless high balls. On this occasion we were fine wide right (Stevie) and wide left (Nace) but Gemmo and Li Tie in the centre were lacking for different reasons. Gemmo, we know, can win any ball he sets his mind to…………whereas his passing is much of a muchness. Li Tie is exactly the reverse, moreover he has not yet attained full fitness at this level. I am optimistic he will. He’s a very determined young man and a willing learner. If he can get through this barrier, he’ll make it. Sadly, his present form has led to him being the target for the Melledrew Tendency and other associated empty-heads in search of a scapegoat. I hope he can play himself through it all.

The weakness in centre midfield led inevitably to the ball being played wide left and right. Unsy and Sandro took full advantage during different phases of the game and got crosses over all afternoon. To my amazement, out-of-position Sandro got into a contest with The Rad as our best player. In my view The Rad took it in the end for his completely unselfish never-ending work rate. While we were playing well it was an exhilarating sight. The ball pinged around the place and had a truly woeful Sunderland running in circles for most of the game.

Naturally a lot of eyes were on McBride to see how he could cope with the English game. Like Joe Max, he’s another gutsy Can-Do Yank, but taller and more varied in his control. He’s difficult to knock off the ball too. Early on, he gave their centre backs a torrid time until they started to go through the ball at him and slow him down with painful knocks below the hips. But he behaved impeccably and hardly ever retaliated. He has all the courage and deadliness of Joe Max in the penalty area plus slightly better heading ability. Towards the end of the first half it all began to take its toll. I thought he might not reappear for the second half.

As we failed to score after half an hour I turned to Peter and said, “You can write the fuckn script for this. I bet they get a breakaway in a minute and score.” Everyone else was saying the same thing. So, naturally, no sooner said than done. A few minutes later they made their second attack of the game through the middle. Phillips checked back, slightly left centre, about five metres outside the D, and then threaded a wicked defence splitting ball inside our right defence. Whence came Kilbane closing fast at an angle and he hit a slow ground shot inside Wrighty’s left hand post. In truth it was their first genuinely threatening moment.

A few minutes later Phillips hit a right footed curler from left side penalty area and Wrighty had to make a magnificent save to keep it out. Another goal then and it might have been game shot. It would also have been furiously unfair. But that’s football.

The Gravedigger came on for Li Tie at the start of the second half and eventually ended up in his favourite position wide right but you have to say it hardly made any difference to the flow of the game. Not that it made much difference to those in the crowd who are plainly pro ‘digger. Every time he took a corner he got a storm of applause. Behavioural psychologists could study this with profit. Beats me, but what the fuck do I know?

About five minutes after the restart we got back level with a goal which demonstrated the gulf between the two teams. Stevie got the ball centre mid right, about ten metres outside the box. In one of the worst defensive gaffs I have seen this season he was faced by three hopelessly mispositioned Mackems marking nobody. Well, you never look a gift horse in the mouth do you? Sandro was unmarked wide right, but Gemmo (also unmarked) went on a diagonal left-right run to the right side of the edge of the box and Stevie pushed one through to him. Unmolested, two touches later he got a high cross to the far side of the box just beyond the penalty spot. Where Macca checked back slightly and executed an immaculate overhead bicycle kick which took a flick off a defender before bouncing over the line. If you believed the thick media, Americans aren’t expected to do this sort of thing, only Brazilians.

And another five minutes later we were in front. The Rad’s eye-catching Mr. Everywhere performance finally paid off and Macca got his second goal. This time it was a neat move through the middle. The Rad got the ball left side D and took it parallel right. He also took two defenders with him before swivelling and knocking a devilish short pass to Macca on the edge of the box. A quick touch killed it just as a Mackem hit from the rear but he had the presence of mind to drag it right as he unbalanced. Still not fully balanced he hit a right foot ground shot which had his hand in the air in triumph the second it left his boot. The Street End was uproarious.

By this time Macca was plainly and absolutely gas-bagged. His shorts were sagging as much as his socks. Even then he almost snatched what would have been a legendary hat-trick. He had to go off through sheer exhaustion and SuperKev took his place with twenty minutes left. As he went off the fans gave him the sort of ovation which leaves you in no doubt how fans everywhere yearn for a hero. It would be nice to think he could keep this up. Three goals in two games speaks for itself. He looked completely shattered even during his post-match TV interview.

After which, inexplicably, we had another game where the flow completely reversed in the closing stages. Wrighty spilled a corner and then made an incredible save from a follow-up Phillips special hit with stunning power. Thereafter The Mackems had a lot of the ball but fortunately for us no idea of what to do with it. If this is their normal form they look doomed to me.

So we got our win and kept fifth position. If we can consolidate or improve on this it will be a wondrous state of affairs created by Moysey. This has created a sort of hiatus in how the fans react. After five years of watching shite you can scarcely blame them for not quite trusting the fate unfolding before them. Actually, it’s a sort of attractive fatalism keeping hysterical fanaticism and self-deception at bay. In short, they’ll believe it when they see the end of season table. Quite right too.

Since it looks like Pax Americana will drag wheedling and canoodling Poodle Blair and his political whelps into a short imperial gunboat action in Iraq by March at the latest (it’s the heat, you know), maybe it is time to reprise John Kennedy’s warning of June 10th 1963. You can again read and listen to it here:

http://www.cs.umb.edu/jfklibrary/j061063.htm

Then judge what was lost and where we might be now if he hadn’t been murdered. Then think of the likely fate of innocents in Iraq. Then think of how desperate Palestinians reacted murderously to brutal Israeli suppression. The cycle isn’t new. Every country the British Empire fled from had similar reactions. The right wing establishments of America and Britain merely perpetuate it, sometimes even encourage it to suit their own ends. They put our young men and women in harm’s way to suit their own twisted ends. But not in my name they don’t. Not ever.

Football? Oh aye yeh……………………………………………

Quotes

Moyesy says: "We played some really good football, there were excellent displays by lots of the lads, and we could have had a few early on and then when Steve Watson hit the post.I know we were nervous at the end - at 2-1 you can always see it slip away with the opponents having nothing to lose and throwing men forward. In the end we had to rely on Richard Wright to make a few saves. Sunderland fought hard, but we were on top for the majority of the game apart from little pockets when they did well and then at the end."

Sausage says: "Who sang Born in the USA?"

Kipper says: "Shut up yer divi"

Team News

I think there will be quite a few changes for Saturday's game. If Richard Wright is fit he will play if not I think Gezza may get the nod.

I also think Unsy could find himself on the bench with Joey going on the right and Pisto on the left. The Gravedigger will come back after his enforced rest. We need a big game from him, he owes us. Scot could the one to miss out.

With Super Kev fit he will come back refreshed and partner The Rad upfront. Whoever plays this is a critical game for us and one we need 3 points from.

Moyesy said:"Sunderland are maybe a little like Everon have been in the past whereby they have to try and go away and shut up shop to grind out results. It will be a tough game for us, there is no question about that." (17/01/03)

Jogger's eleven to start: Wright, Yobo, Weir, Stubbs, Pistone, Watson, Li Tie, Gravesen, Naysmith, Radzinski, Campbell.