Yesterday, Sunderland visited Stamford Bridge and handed out a hiding to the befuddled Premier League champions and league leaders. A Black Cat cherishes the moment.
As a fan of Sunderland, yesterday was one of those days that I can only ever dream about. You know the kind of dream I mean – one where your team visits the home of one of the game’s giants and hands out the kind of spanking that would have Max Moseley purring in admiration. The only difference between that kind of dream and yesterday’s actual reality was that I wasn’t kitted and booted up and on the pitch myself, scoring all of the goals and being rewarded with blow jobs from my grateful team mates’ WAGS afterwards.
Before the kick off, Sunderland fans could get a healthy 250/1 against the mind-blowing 3-0 final scoreline. In truth, we could have had five or six and no one would have begrudged us the big win. It was astonishing to watch – everything we did went right, hassling Chelsea’s Premier League-winning mob from front to back and taking our chances clinically when they arose.
Every one of the three almost-edible goals had something about them. Nedum Onuoha’s slalom dribble evoked Ricky Villa in the 1981 cup final and will almost certainly be the goal of this decade; Asamoah Gyan’s clinical finish added weight to the theory that he could be a snip at £12 million; and Ashley Cole’s sublime own goal from the Chelsea dead ball line, that was helped in courtesy of a Danny Welbeck deflection was just fucking hilarious.
Yesterday was what it is all about. Better than sex with The Saturdays on Christmas Day.
For Sunderland fans, it was almost beyond comprehension – like being dosed up with the world’s most potent drug when all you were expecting was a kick in the knackers. Plus there was plenty for the Chelsea-hating neutral to get their teeth into as the champions’ unblemished home record was shredded over 90 delirious minutes. The amount of well-wishing I received on Twitter from fans of other teams proved that yesterday’s result united the nation in a way that nothing since the death of Princess Diana has.
I’ve seen Sunderland lose 3-1 at home against Charlton, with all three Charlton goals scored by hapless Sunderland players. I’ve seen fans fighting with stewards in an attempt to break out of the Stadium Of Light after we went 2-0 down after half an hour against Middlesbrough. I’ve seen us set the record for the lowest ever points total in the Premier League (19) only for us to break that shameful record a few years later by being even worse (15). Then there was the obscene, nay borderline-pornographic 5-1 scudding we received at Newcastle just a fortnight ago (which oddly, doesn’t seem to matter now).
Those incidents just scratch the surface – there have been hundreds, possibly thousands of moments of misery and doom in my 30-plus years of supporting Sunderland and yet I’d go through ALL of it again in a heartbeat for another day like yesterday. Yesterday was what it is all about. Better than sex with The Saturdays on Christmas Day.
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