Crucial victory the best hangover cure

I WOKE up on Saturday with no enthusiasm for football. I lay bleary eyed beneath the covers, due to Friday night’s excesses, watching Sky Sports News.

It seemed Harry Redknapp was about to be appointed manager of The Scum (Newcastle United).

Whatever you think of Harry; I like him. His teams play good football, I enjoy his post-match craic and his daughter-in-law is really hot.

But if he got the job at Newcastle I’d have to start hating him. Then came the news, breaking story from St James’ Park. Here we go I thought, but no. The big news was that Redknapp had turned them down. Mint. I was so overjoyed I even sent a bogus text to SS News congratulating Redknapp on his decision, reminding the viewers that it was 52 years since The Dark Side had won a trophy and that Sunderland were the kings of football. I’m not sure that it was broadcast because I had to go out, but if you were watching or heard a message read out from Roy Keane’s brother, The Temple Acre Tavern, Cork, well that was me.

Talking of good local bars I headed for mine to take in the afternoon’s sporting events culminating in the battle of the Uniteds at Old Trafford. I watched as Fergie wandered to his seat with his entourage of world-class coaching staff whilst Newcastle’s stand-in boss Nigel Pearson was flanked by former Sunderland masseur Mickey Holland. What is going on here I thought?

The man the SAFC players called Mickey Fingers, the guy who used to drive Peter Reid’s car behind the team bus so our former gaffer could get home quicker after away games was now seemingly second-in-command at NUFC! I knew he’d gone there of course, but are they so desperate for coaching staff that the club masseur is now the number two there? If that raised a smile then the second-half annihilation of United by United raised six massive roars of delight in every bar in Sunderland. Not that there was any Man United fans in these fine drinking establishments you understand. The joy of watching our nearest and dearest being swept apart by champagne football was the get well soon football medicine we all needed after Sunderland’s recent diabolical form. And the medication was going down very well indeed by this stage.

In fact the medicine of Heineken Export in my case, went down so well that I can’t remember going to bed. Sunday started with a series of phone calls from mates suggesting I get out of my pit and go to the match with them.

Now not being a regular churchgoer (Grandma if you’re reading this that’s just a lie to make the readers think I’m angst ridden, you know I go to St Mary’s every week) the only reason why I’d get out of bed before midday on a Sunday is to make a cup of tea. Indecently, I’ve started buying the Mango and Passion fruit variety since I noticed Keano drinking some at a press conference last year.

I digress, who in their right mind wants to go and watch football early Sunday afternoon when your team have played rubbish for weeks? Well 37,369 turned up at the SOL for this one which I reckon is pretty good since we were all half asleep until Kieran Richardson blasted us ahead after Kenwyne Jones made Sol Campbell look like an old man by leaving him for dead. Redknapp’s men may not have been at full strength but we didn’t care, we had to win this one to close the gap on the three teams just ahead of us in the table. Bolton, Wigan and Birmingham are all on 20 points and if were we to lose we’d be third bottom and they’d all be three points clear of us. A win on the other hand would not only put us level on points with the aforementioned crucial three, but also five ahead of second-bottom Fulham.

So it wasn’t just important that we won, it was vital. We needn’t have worried though because Richardson made it two soon after and although I spent most of the second half biting my nails down to the quick, for once we were always in control in what turned out to be our best performance of the season so far.

So after waking on Saturday and hating footy, I’m now in love with it again. Fickle footy fans...