Undoubtedly, the installation of floodlights at Grounsell Park has made our home ground
an even more enticing
place to watch football. Midweek games under lights are a winter treat, whereby the overhead illuminations somehow
manage to psychologically block out the bitter chill and blustery winds. Now we’ve got our own lights at the stadium,
we’ll be able to enjoy those extra special evenings. However,
I must admit that
seeing our towering columns and lanterns has helped my thoughts
to turn back to my first visit to the Stadium
of Light; not the real one in Portugal, as I’ve not have the privilege
of seeing Benfica at home, but the one on Wearside
that’ll hopefully be in the Championship next season.
Sunderland left Roker Park, their home for 99 years, following
their debut relegation from the Premier League in 1997, moving
to the amusingly named Stadium
of Light in time for the start of the next season. Beginning with two away defeats
to Sheffield United and Port Vale, they sandwiched their grand opening of the new ground with a 3-1 win over relegation-bound Manchester City on Friday 15th August, in front
of 38,227; just over a fortnight later, 10k less rocked up for their first Saturday fixture, when Norwich City were the visitors.
At
the time, I was doing a spot of freelance
football writing
for a whole variety of publications, one of which was the monthly
magazine When Saturday Comes. As Bolton Wanderers, Derby County and Stoke City were also opening
brand new grounds at the start of the 97/98
season; the editor
had the bright idea for a feature
of sending fans of the locals rivals of the Trotters, the Rams, the Potters and the Black Cats to cast a cynical
eye over these new sporting developments, then chip in 500
words about their day out. So it was a Bury follower,
a Forest fan, a Port Vale supporter and yours truly were given free tickets
and fifty quid to write their impressions about the ambitious projects
of their nearest and dearest.
Back in 1997, I was still a zealous
Newcastle fan, even if Dalglish
was starting to make me question my faith in The Magpies. Coincidentally, Newcastle didn’t have a game on Saturday 30th August, as an away trip to Liverpool was pencilled in for Sunday lunch
time; in the event this game was postponed until 20th January 1998, when we lost 1-0 courtesy of a Michael
Owen goal, as the former Diana Spencer died in a car crash in Paris in the early hours of the next morning, necessitating the cancellation of all British
sporting events. All was not
lost though; Channel 4 still showed Lazio against Sampdoria that afternoon. Interestingly, Bolton Wanderers still played their first game at the Reebok the day after, on Monday 1st September, when poor Robbie
Elliott broke his leg on his home debut for the Trotters after transferring from Newcastle.
Deciding to take my investigative journalism seriously on the day of the Norwich game, I took the train down to sunderland and met up with Tom Lynn, the then editor of a now long defunct
Mackem fanzine,
The Wearside Roar and a few of his mates in The Museum Vaults, which is about the closest you can get to an alternative pub in their town centre. What became
immediately clear
from chatting with these
lads was their utter
lack of faith
in Bob Murray as a chairman, Peter Reid as a manager and the squad of players they had at their disposal.
The new ground
was seen as architecturally
impressive, but almost a white elephant
as they’d slipped
out of the top flight because it was felt the club had taken their eye off the ball on the pitch to concentrate on this new development;
it’s like putting lipstick on a pig, was one of the more memorable
quotations the embittered cross section of the fanbase provided
me with.
Apart from seeing an England v Slovakia Under 21 international at SSoL (no sniggering please)
in June 2002 when Shola Ameobi was mercilessly barracked from kick off until full time, rather like he is at SJP
these days I suppose, I’ve never subsequently been to a sunderland home game,
so I’ve no way to compare my experiences at the Norwich City match, with the way the ground or their support
has evolved.
What I most remember was the confusion
at the turnstiles, as none of the entry
points were numbered, leading
to a free for all, both inside
and outside the ground
in terms of gaining access
and finding a place to sit. For the opening
fifteen minutes, people were aimlessly wandering around looking for seats; many tickets
were duplicated and this caused much consternation, especially as the stewards were as unsure of the layout as the punters and could only advise bewildered fans to sit where they could find a space. Starting
as they meant to go on, the Mackems had issued
me with a freebie via WSC, though
not in the press
box as I’d hoped as that was still “under construction,” showing the builders
had been forced
into a bit of a rush job to get the place ready for the start of the season. Eventually, I ended up quite high up behind
the goal, in an almost empty section,
which afforded a perfect
view of the Canaries’ Darryl Sutch grabbing
the only goal that was the winner on 76 minutes; it wasn’t the seat, row or even stand on my ticket,
but it would
be extra special
for me.
Following the 1985 apparently cordial
League Cup final,
when Norwich beat sunderland 1-0, as an unhelpful distraction to the fruitless
battle against relegation from the top flight both clubs were engaged in, fixtures between
the clubs had been designated as qualifying events for The Friendship Trophy. I didn’t see Norwich presented
with this at full time, nor indeed did I see much evidence of any old pals act on the pitch or off it, certainly not from the home fans anyway. I always find the beatification of Niall Quinn by sunderland supporters to be quite hilarious
in many ways, mainly because it involves an utter rewriting of history.
When he signed for them back in 1996, they were up in arms at the arrival of this donkey
and his performance versus Norwich
seemed to show he’d not won many of them over
in his first year at the club. For a start,
the myth of sunderland somehow being an Irish friendly club was laid firmly
to rest that day, as Quinn was repeatedly called a “Fenian” by large numbers of the increasingly agitated
Wearside support. Then again, Norwich Robert
Fleck, a gentleman definitely of the other tradition, received
a huge volume of abuse as well.
Sutch’s winner was followed
by the first recorded
instance of the famous Wearside
fire drill, where any opposition goal after the hour mark is celebrated by a mass desertion
from the stands, accompanied by the deafening sound of seats tipping up, eclipsed
only by the booing at fulltime which, in this instance, were accompanied by calls for both Murray
and Reid to go. Heading
back to the station (no Metro back in 1997),
mackem fans relentlessly moaned about their club, while taking time out to abuse random
knots of away supporters who’d had the temerity
to support the better
team on the day. I stifled
both chuckles and outrage
before making the 5.30 train back to Central
and civilisation.
That season was to end with Michael
Gray missing the penalty after the 4-4 draw with Charlton in the play-off final, while Newcastle would end up 13th and lost the cup final, limply surrendering 2-0 to double-winning Arsenal.
Sad isn’t it that my happiest memory of the 1997/1998 season was seeing the Mackems
losing at home. Still,
football was to change forever
on 22nd August 1998, when I saw Heaton Stannington overcome Spittal
Rovers 2-0 on my first visit to Grounsell Park, but that is definitely another
story…
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