When a penalty means just a little more as Grant Leadbitter gives us another Sunderland moment to treasure

The same end of the Stadium of Light, the same result.

Two goals to remind us why we bother. Now, more than ever.

The story of goal one

A little older, a little wiser, Grant Leadbitter noted.

Otherwise, there wasn't much to separate that nerveless penalty against Peterborough United from that long-range stunner against Arsenal all those years ago.

Twelve years in which everything has changed and nothing has changed.

Players have come and gone, managers too, too many to count.

New owners, new hopes, false dawns, brief moments of elation and bitter disappointments aplenty.

Saturday October 4th, 2008.

Forgive the slightly hazy memories of the game itself.

Mr Wenger, reading the reports back now, seemed unimpressed with Sunderland's passive approach.

Craig Gordon, clearly, must have had one of those afternoons that underlined an immense promise and a then British transfer record.

This much, though, I do remember.

The relentless rain before kick-off, stood drenched to the bone on Millennium Way.

"Brand new issue of A Love Supreme, only £2.50.” I never shifted more than that afternoon, sympathetic sales aplenty.

Up to the Premier Concourse, as per.

That familiar, piercing winter wind. Teeth chattering, body shivering. Pass, pass, pass from Arsenal.

Then almost from nowhere, that strike and that explosion. That celebration.

Leadbitter, 25 yards, the underside of the bar and then in.

Arsenal equalised, and there would no doubt have been frustration. But this was Sunderland striving for more.

Welcoming the very best (once we had risen to salute and Thierry Henry and we'd so again, not too many years later), but competing with them every step of the way.

Within weeks Newcastle United would finally be bested on home turf, Kieran Richardson with that strike every bit as memorable as Leadbitter’s.

Keane, of course, barely lasted another month, any momentum grinding to a shuddering halt. Sunderland, that.

Even so. A good point, a good day, a good time.

The story of goal two

Twelve years on, a ball struck very bit as sweetly but whereas then there had been a roar, now we have to settle for something rather more underwhelming.

These are the moments when the quiet is all consuming.

There are times when you can convince yourself that this is all normal. After all, there's the familiar blur of noise from the players themselves and look, there's even a Mr Ferguson swearing at a referee.

You can still hear the despair at a pass misplaced, the frisson of excitement in the moments when it begins to click.

These, though, are the moments you feel it.

The absence of noise, the abandoning of inhibition, the jubilation, the community.

You feel it in the build up to kick off, the Stokoe statue alone and unloved, the sea of red-and-white that never emerges.

The outpouring of affection for a Premier League penalty, and the most worthy and deserved of scorers.

In all of these games, there are moments where you feel a collective sense of going through the motions.

We play on though the crisis around us worsens and the financial apocalypse draws ever closer.

We're playing on through a sense that we don't really have any choice.

We play on because, on balance, it's probably better than not.

We play on because although so much of this feels forced and sterile, it's better to have this thing that binds us together in good and bad than to not.

We play on for moments like this, that pierce the detachment of the behind-closed-doors football and give us something to hold onto.

A player that came back to his childhood club determined to put it back where it belonged.

It hasn't happened yet, the reasons for that myriad. Many of them don't even relate to what has happened on the pitch.

Leadbitter pushed Sunderland as much as he could in those first months.

There was a truly remarkable rearguard at Fratton Park, a showing scarcely credible in its discipline and execution during what must have been the toughest of times.

Not long after, it can be easy to forget, only the fingertips of Dillon Phillips had stopped him from making it 2-0 at Wembley.

Difficult days followed, met with dignity and honesty.

Twelve years on, those bonds remain unbroken.

Owners come and go, managers and players too.

League One, please God, with all the time wasting and frustration and missed opportunities, will one day come and go.

The pandemic, please God, will eventually come and go.

That pride, though, those clenched fists after goals that mean just a little more, goes nowhere.

Even as recently as a few weeks ago, such a turnaround on the pitch felt unlikely.

That can be part of it, too, when you're right at the heart of it. The pressure can be bigger, the criticism particularly stinging.

These are still early moments in what will be a long, punishing season. Bad days are as inevitable as the good ones.

Yet Leadbitter is on song, a relentless pre-season regime bearing fruit.

Sunderland is a club still grappling with itself, trying to find a way back to where it belongs even before this new and difficult normal took hold.

For many, it has not always been easy to feel that connection and that bond that should always be strong.

This enforced distance makes it all the harder.

Which makes every interception from this most tenacious of Mackems, every tackle snapped into, every raking crossfield pass completed, is something to treasure.

A reminder, when sometimes it doesn't always feel clear, why we bother.

There'll be another goal for him, on this turf, on a brighter day.

Then, we'll feel and share that ecstasy as the Stadium of Light rocks again.

Something to hold onto.

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