Gus has breathed new life into club
SUNDERLAND are safe from relegation and Gus Poyet must be considered for the manager of the year.
It’s been a remarkable achievement.
When he took over from Paulo Di Canio, the club was rooted at the bottom of the table – cut adrift from the teams above.
Sunderland AFC were a joke. The club was in a mess and it was looking like it was going to be one of the most disastrous seasons for some time.
Only a few weeks ago, we were hammered by Tottenham and even the staunchest supporters thought that we were doomed.
Of course, being one of the club’s biggest fans, I thought that they would survive.
Poyet galvanised the club, took us to Wembley and achieved mission impossible.
The fans can now relax for a few months and look forward to another season in The Premiership.
I hope that the powers that be can keep Gus Poyet at SoL and promote him to manager instead of head coach.
He has breathed new life into an ailing club and deserves the plaudits for his success.
Mick ‘The Pen’ Brown
Such is nostalgia
FOR many years I used to live on the very edge of High Barnes estate, near Grindon fire station, which has since been pulled down.
I would be sent to bed at about 7pm back in those days.
Instead of going to sleep, though, I would open the window of my back bedroom on certain nights and listen to the Roker Roar as Sunderland would either score or even save a goal.
It was clear as a bell over the miles.
After an hour or so, the crowds would leave and the peace and quiet would take over. That is until the hammering from the many shipyards would take the place of the stillness after the roars.
Some time later, tiredness would drift over me and I would close the window and crawl under the blankets.
Here another sound would take over, depending on how I was lying. This sound was like footfall on gravel, which puzzled me as no gardens were covered by gravel in the area.
We liked our grass those days as apposed to today where the tendency is to concrete over everything, leading to flooding because of a lack of drainage.
I subsequently realised that I was listening to my blood coursing through my ears.
Now, in my elder years, but not that much elder I hasten to add, I have moved away from the old domicile.
The Roker Roar and the shipyards are silent and the only sound you can hear at night is traffic in the distance.
Ah me, such is nostalgia.
Alan ‘The Quill’ Vincent,