Tough at bottom but win brings relief

LAST week was the worst seven days I’ve had for some time. We sent our penultimate magazine of the season to the printers, ready for release prior to Sunderland’s match against Hull.

There are must win, crunch clashes and there are fixtures like this. Hull at home could only be described as a definitely, definitely, must, must win game for both sides.

It’s stressful enough putting together a monthly publication and trying to keep it up to date in the busy world of football, but at Sunderland it’s often impossible. The pressure was building on Ricky Sbragia so much ahead of Phil Brown’s visit that we sent the magazine to print at the very, very last minute, just in case Saint Quinny became Big Bad Niall and made a brave decision regarding the tenure of the dug-out. He abstained and it will be a shock if Ricky gets his P45 before June.

I’m not sure how Quinny copes with the stress of it all, but it’s honestly made me just about physically ill. Back in the 1990s there was a Sunderland fanzine appropriately titled ‘It’s The Hope I Can’t Stand’, which just about summed me up pre-Hull.

If there’s one thing that drives me insane in life, it’s being in limbo. As much as I often wish it wasn’t a trait of mine, I just can’t cope with uncertainty. I’d rather realise and rationalise with the worst case scenario than be in purgatory.

We’ve dropped out of the top flight enough times to know the drill, but the thing that’s frightening about this one is what it means in terms of the bigger picture. If we go down this time Newcastle will probably survive, which is just about the ultimate double whammy. It’s horrible being beaten by your local rivals, but having them relegating you is taking it to another level.

This scenario has meant I’ve spent my time recently snapping at work colleagues and losing all lucidity with a femme fatale. To be fair, without realising it, I’d become a complete and utter nervous wreck. I kid you not. If Ricky left during the week, it’d have meant changing most of a magazine that has a 14-day production schedule within 24 hours. Coupled with our impending doom it removed any enjoyment of Saturday for me.

I didn’t wake up on the morning looking forward to the game, in fact I barely slept the night before so I simply got out of bed and ran four miles to produce some endorphins and release some angst. By 5.53pm on Saturday as most of the 42,854 people around me celebrated as if we’d won the league itself, I felt drained. Then a massive wave of relief flowed over me, quickly followed by exhaustion, and then something I’d not felt all day, hunger.

My stomach had been tied up in knots so much with worry that I’d not even considered eating. I can’t have been the only man on Wearside to have skipped a breakfast and lunch or two last week.

As I watched the team embrace each other at the final whistle I felt a pang of anger towards them. I wondered if the players had a performance-related salary whether we’d be in the same position. I suspect if Djibril Cisse was paid per goal rather than per fur coat, he’d have achieved more than just two strikes this year.

I’d tried the same thing before the game with our magazine sellers, introducing a commission-based wage instead of the usual guaranteed wedge to try and reward our best people and up sales. The top workers earned double earnings, but strangely enough, within five minutes of the game ending I had two texts of resignation from our worst salesmen, who wanted out now there was no guaranteed cushy pay packet and they had to graft to earn their crust. It’d be interesting to see if this ethos would work with Premiership footballers too.

Eventually the enormity of beating Hull hit me and I was able to relax and enjoy watching Newcastle lose against Spurs whilst scoffing a lovely Sunday dinner in my local.

Now that I’m almost totally chilled out after a weekend of fantastic football results, I intend to spend the next few days firing off texts and e-mails apologising for being so stressed out and snappy in the hope everyone’s still talking to me!

* Read more from Martyn McFadden on www.a-love-supreme.com