What a night this is gonna be
I think I’ll let the world start without me....

You know what they say about being careful what you say? If you’ve seen the latest ALS, you might have noticed that my favourite opposition player is listed at Thierry Henry, partly because his footballing excellence wasn’t tarnished with the strutting arrogance of the likes of Cantona. No sooner does that get published than Tut plays netball and sets up Gallas to put the French through at the expense of the Irish. Even Quinny was angry, so it must have been bad, but Tut made it even worse by, during his confession, telling an interviewer that his opinion didn’t matter, because “you aren’t the ref” and thus putting himself in the same bracket as Maradonna. His subsequent statement that he wants the game replayed puts his integrity in question…

Y'see I sold my soul, to pay for my dinner.
My stomach grew fatter, but my heart grew thinner,
I ain't foolin' I'm fallin', I wasn't wicked, just weak,
I ain't lyin' I'm dyin', crippled by deceit

Just how sincere is he really being?

At least Joe Jordan, following his handballed goal against Wales all those years ago, has made no comment whatsoever on his alleged offence. On a slightly lighter note was David Ginola’s admission that he feels ashamed of his country’s qualification – in fact, he said he was “gerbsmacked.” Beautiful piece of Clouseau English.

Taking advantage of our lack of a game, I was on Holy Island in time to see Benty receive absolutely no service whatsoever from a pretty inept England Second Eleven, but still manage as many attempts in 55 minutes as Rooney did in 90. I trust Cappello is perceptive enough to see that Dazzler did enough to justify at least another try-out, and his animated response to yet another example of Wright-Phillips beating a man then forgetting what to do next probably proved that he is. Considering Holy Island’s isolated location, there were a surprising number of Sunderland supporters there, including the Island’s resident mad Dutchman and the bar manager from Ryhope. Happy days, and plenty to talk about after dark – that and putting together my Christmas list. There aren’t many books on Sunderland that I haven’t read, and there’s one on my list for this year – Stokoe, Sunderland and ’73 by Lance Hardy. My era, my team’s greatest moment in living memory, so if it’s the only thing in my stocking next month I’ll be happy.

Last night was one of our irregular Bittermen FC reunions, consisting of a dozen or so old crocks drinking beet, playing doms, and talking shite. It’s what makes playing Sunday morning football every bit as good an experience as playing in the Prem. I think.

So we started with a sort of one upfront type of thing...
Fulop
Bardo Mensa Da Silva McCartney
Steed Hendo Cana Richo Reid
Lonesome Bent (nah, doesn’t sound nearly as good, does it?)

Away we went, and Arsenal quickly got into the groove that has won them so many plaudits this season – they can pass the life of a game. What we had to do was to make sure that they didn’t pass us. And we did. Very pretty though Arsenal were, and nice to watch, we kept them at arm’s length and stopped them getting in the killer ball. Steed even got in the best effort of the half with a swerving shot that was just wide of the post, and we looked very much like a side just waiting for the visitors to lose the ball. We stifled much of their creativity, and there were very few times when they actually got the ball into out box. They tried to do what makes them so attractive to watch, but we matched an nullified them at every turn – and played some nice football as well. The one-touch stuff we produced on occasion was an absolute delight, but the first half always carried an air of two teams waiting for something to happen.

It didn’t, in terms of goals, but we were sort of happy with the way we’d held Arsenal at bay. The second half brought a wee bit more purpose from the visitors, but, again, we matched them and produced some really slick passing movements. Considering we were missing Ooh Ahh up her rises Michael Turner, the supposedly makeshift central defensive partnership of Mensah and Da Silva looked as cool as a lollypop on the way back from an away game. Never looking that quick, Da Silva was always in the right place at the right time, and Mensah always strong and assured. As Arsenal tried to come at us more, so we used the space they left to our benefit and set Benty away several times. The caginess of the first half was replaced by a bit more urgency, but we always looked like we could control what they threw at us. One of the very few corners in the game, on the left, was swung in by Reid - surely the best Irishman playing football at the minute – and after a knock or two, Bent was there again for 1-0. Twenty to go, and you could be forgiven for just wishing the minutes away. In truth, it was good to watch, and the nervousness on the terraces was only down to our history and not our ability. Make no mistake, Brucey has got a bunch of players together who can assess and nullify the best of opposition, and then play football as well.

A couple of substitutions, a lot more good play, and we had Campbell and Zenden on for Steed and Reid. Both played well, and added more fuel to the fire that burns beneath the “Bruce is actually a bloody good tactician” hearth.

When the final whistle went, there was a warm feeling around the ground, the sort that makes you want to cuddle the bloke who’s been sitting next to you for the last decade. Job very well done

Man of the Match? Tough one. I did have Hendo in mind, but having had time to think and digest, I’ll give t to Da Silva. Always there, always ready. Cracking game though Jordan. Keep it up and you’ll be in South Africa next June.

You pull back the curtains, and the sun burns into your eyes.
You watch a plane flying across a clear blue sky.
This is the day your life will surely change.
This is the day when things fall into place.

Keep the Faith

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