Get your motor runnin'

22 May 2022

What now? 

Had the climax come at the wrong part of the trip? How could the rest live up to the past two days?

Me in the snug back seat

In the calm glow of satisfied success we got into the Merc - Dan driving, Harry in the front because of his long legs, me in the back. We snaked our way out of London after fond farewells to our hosts, Paula, Tom and Max. Paula had provided us with a most excellent array of English snacks and 'sweets' which were most appreciated. Prepared to roar off to Liverpool we hit roadworks after making sure we avoided the congestion charge area.

Eventually we hit clear roads and the motoring adventure began. Unbelievably the boys acceded to my desire to play spotify DJ and I hit them with a barrage of Dad Rock: Highway Star, Paranoid, Born to be Wild etc. Just south of Birmingham we made the first services stop and had a rank cup of Costa Coffee. 

In seemingly no time we entered Liverpool around 3.30pm and found our way to Orrell Park to locate our very pleasant two bedroom digs. We had noted a  pub (the Windsor) with a beer garden about 400 metres away and so raced down there to catch the final round of the Premier League season. 

I'd like to say that when we walked in you could cut the tension with a knife. But no. Wolves had scored early and the mostly Liverpool supporting crowd was calm enough 'early doors'. We couldn't get a seat so we went to the other end of the pub where the Everton game was being televised and I couldn't help noticing the blueness of the dress of those around us.

Everton basically collapsed against Arsenal, so the focus shifted to a different blue team, Manchester City who were taking on Aston Villa. I was shocked how brazenly the Everton supporters' loyalties shifted. So here we were: Liverpool supporters one end; Everton supporters the other. A recipe for trouble or a reflection of the famed 'friendly rivalry'?

A £10 round

Liverpool equalised to make it 1-1. The red end went off. Then Villa scored, cue more red end going off. Villa scored again; more red excitement. But the problem for them was that as scores stood City were Champions. Liverpool needed to take the lead, which they eventually did, but only after City had scored three quick goals - each of which was met with roars of approval from the Everton fans goading their red brethren. We thought momentarily that it might kick off but the tension fizzled out as City prevailed.

We settled down for a quiet and very low priced drink (£10 for three pints) now the pub had emptied a little. Dan had a chat with a young man at the bar who was intrigued by his accent. We befriended him and his mates and settled into some good natured cross-cultural/linguistic discussion. A lot of laughs. We also encountered 'in the flesh' the we-hate-England attitude of some Scousers. It's disturbing but entirely understandable. I asked the boys if they were interested in Rugby League or cricket. Nope.

Now hungry, we set off down the dismal streets of roller doors in search of a 'chicken and a coke' which we eventually found. We resisted, however, the opportunity to try Unicorn Poops. 

Then back to the pub's 'beer garden' to round out the evening, a great way to end another day of this crazy football/family excursion.

Some things are meant to be

21 May 2022

So. 

The big day. 

The reason we are here. 

But we had things to do in preparation. Dan and I got up to go to Kennington to have breakfast and pick up the hire car. We had a fullish English breakfast (sans black pudding) at a greasy spoon near the Oval. Given the previous night's consumption it went down very well.

On to Europcar where we went in expecting a VW Polo but after being offered an upgrade emerged with a sleek black Mercedes. As sole driver Dan was elated at the prospect of driving around England and Scotland in such a beast.

After parking back at Clapham, we donned our red and white stripes and toddled off to the tube, full of anticipation and nerves that were soothed by an overriding sense of confidence. After all, we couldn't come all this way and lose. Could we?

Dan, who once more was impeccable in his tube decisions, got us to Wembley Park Station effortlessly. (With a bit more practice he could become a professional tube guide). On the tube an incident occurred which spoke volumes about the differences between English and Australian (Melbourne) cops. At one stop a grey-faced Sunderland supporter vomited out of the train onto the station platform. The attending cops insisted he leave the train to make sure he was ok to continue on his journey. Melbourne cops would have acted with less grace and kindness and probably arrested him with a degree of physical force.

Anyway. Onward we charged through the howling tube.

Arriving at Wembley Park was an experience. Pouring off the train into Wembley Way was something I wanted to experience in slow motion. Reality intervened and we were drawn up to Wembley Stadium like moths to a flame. Sunderland take over', 'Sunderland til I die', 'by far etc' broke out at regular intervals carrying us up the slope. 

  

We couldn't connect with the Northern Branch so we went in alone. Our fear that our lost printed out tickets had been purloined were allayed when we got through the turnstiles with no hassle. We faced a mountain of escalators that took us up to the concourse at our level. After buying probably the best pie (Chicken Balti) I've ever bought at a sports stadium and drinking a surprisingly refreshing pint of Budweiser we were ready for our final ascent to the summit of section 549.

The next 2 hours is a blur. We scored early (Embleton); we scored late (Loch Ness Drogba). Alex Pritchard is a brilliant player. We won comfortably. Each goal prompted wild celebrations. We sang all the songs we'd learned. It was amazing to be with so many (c. 48,000) like minded football supporters who all wanted the same thing. A mild disappointment amid the joy was the piped music which might have allowed the supporters to sing their songs. As it was we did a great job of singing Wonderwall, Every Little Thing etc.

We waited as long as we could to soak in the atmosphere of a Wembley win and made our way down 10,000 steps to met up with the cousins and find a pub.

Dan decided he'd shout a round at the 'beer garden'. £60 for two large jugs! I don't think he'll let us forget it. Next stop Trafalgar Square. Almost as many as the night before but the energy was clipped. The satisfied joy was no match for assertive expectation. But maybe I'm trying to rationalise my own evacuation of energy. I was stuffed tbh. We took our leave and went back to the tube.

Dan spoke to a Sunderland supporter in the tube who asked him where he was from.

'Australia,' Dan responded.

'You've come all the way from Australia to watch Sunderland. Fook off!' was his good-natured reply.

So we did. But not before Dan took us to Battersea Power station once more. A small loss in a day of utter victory.

Nags Head Soup

20 May 2022

Liam, Mark, Kate

Having reconnoitred the scene of the crime to come the day before, we had a relaxing morning and headed to Covent Garden to connect with the northern branch. We met my cousin Mark and his sons Liam and Ben and their cousin Kate at the semi-legendary Nags Head pub, pre-armed with 14 cans of lager (which disappeared in no time). Probably 1000 Sunderland supporters had gathered to drink and sing and prevent the occurence of any other form of activity.

Dan, Liam, Mark, Harry, Ben

We were excited to meet our relatives. I hadn't been with Mark since Christmas 1997 and apart from that the two groups had had no physical contact. I think it's fair to say we hit it off and enjoyed the rest of the day. Enjoyed perhaps undersells the experience.

The first task was to learn the words of the songs to be sung. 'Sunderland til I die' and '...by far the greatest team' we were across but the rest were new to us. Harry approached the learning experience with gusto and Dan and I were not far behind him.

The song that came to dominate the experience was 'Sunderland take over' which seemed to resonate throughout the area. Another notable was the Shearer song which taught us that Alan Shearer is a wanker who wears a wanker's hat. Delightfully childish and enjoyable but if I may offer one criticism: it was sung too often. I'd rather hear and sing positive songs about our greats. In keeping with this I loved 'Niall Quinn's Disco Pants' and SuperKev.

Speaking of delightfully childish, the Lee Howey chant made me laugh:

LeeHoweyLeeHoweyLeeHowey; 

Your brother is a **** [you know how to find out if you need to]

Anyway, we settled into a great rhythm and Dan went to get reinforcements including a four pack of Fosters (which we had to explain was a beer Australians rarely drink). 

Something that took me by surprise was the use of pyro (flares and fireworks) and its apparent acceptance by supporters.

Trafalgar Square

As evening descended it was time to migrate to Trafalgar Square where the noise of the Nags Head was amplified by maybe 15,000 gathered Sunderland supporters. On the way into the Square I was apprehended by a cop who sheepishly asked me to hand over my opened beer. I complied. But talk about an exercise in futility. Thousands of cans made their way into the square to be drunk by a wholly joyous and positive crowd.

Harry wearing the appropriate
Sunderland top for an Australian
 while drinking the most inappropriate beer 

 For me it was a brand new experience but legend had prepared me for it. People dancing in the fountains and climbing the various statues abounded. We had to keep an eye on Harry who was threatening to get in a fountain.

Eventually we declared it was time to go back to Clapham. With one of our number worse for wear we navigated the tube - though Dan who normally did such a magnificent job led us up the dead end to Battersea Power Station and we had to retrace our steps.

We got home in one piece and without disturbing our hosts too much (I think/hope), we went quickly to sleep.

Tomorrow would be the biggest day.

 

“The river glideth at his own sweet will”

19 May 2022

Two days before the match so time to tourist. We decided to check out a river cruise from Westminster to Greenwich return. The idea was recommended to me by a twitter friend who knows his onions; so why not? Dan pre-bought the tickets and we turned up at Westminster Bridge about 11am after a leisurely start to the day. I had saved Wordsworth’s sonnet on Westminster Bridge on my phone to recite to the boys as an appropriate starting point. I was told quite bluntly what to do with it only a few lines in. Oh well.

This City now doth like a garment wear

The beauty of the morning; silent, bare,

Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie

Open unto the fields, and to the sky;

All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.

Then again, fair enough boys. A few things have changed since Wordsworth’s days.

The trip was fascinating and enjoyable. The patter of the “I’m not an official tour guide” tour guide was witty repartee interspersed with truly interesting factoids. Leaving the bridge at the lowest point of the tide we learned that the Thames, in its London reaches, is a tidal river (which explains something of the opening page of Conrad's Heart of Darkness). Other gems included the canal that branches off the river and wends its way oop north. Tower of London. New Globe. Some tremendously old pubs dot the banks nestled between some signs of ostentatious wealth. One of them was a scene of press-ganging in the past and Charles Dickens frequented a number of them. All of this was conveyed breezily by our cheeky-chappy narrator and we arrived at Greenwich full of cheer and facts.

We decided to stay on at Greenwich for lunch and to check out the observatory. I was intrigued to see the datum point for how we measure time globally.




After a pleasant couple of hours we headed back. The same cheeky-Chappy was telling the same stories with the same punch lines. Rather than being bothered by this we sympathised with his having to repeat the lines throughout the day, debating the number of times he would have to deliver it. I went with 12. And to be fair we learned some new stuff as well. Did you know the Big Ben is not the tower but the bell? And a Union Jack is a union flag displayed on wooden mast on a vessel.


This, for example, is not a Union Jack.



He also pointed out that the Houses of Parliament is the world’s largest example of Gothic architecture.

So, back to Clapham. We stopped at Borough Markets for a snack and then returned to Clapham for a pub meal, in time to see Everton save itself from relegation and us from the vague, unhappy prospect of having to endure Jordan Pickford play against Sunderland next season.

Oh. That’s right, there’s a game on satda. I’d nearly forgotten.

Up the Junction

18 May 2022

So we’re staying with Aussie relatives in Clapham, which is a great launching pad. After a pretty good night’s sleep (considering the potential for jet lag) we were off to London, fuelled by god’s greatest creation, Vegemite. 

Beginning at Clapham South station and led by Dan (who had done it all before) we were soon at Charing Cross station. The tube is an amazing thing. You could make any number of criticisms about it but it feels super efficient and got us where we were going throughout the day in no time. I think our longest wait on a station was 2 minutes. 

First stop Trafalgar Square, the scene for Friday night’s impending gathering of Sunderland supporters, MPS’s assertion of the no public drinking in Westminster rule notwithstanding, The square is both quite impressive and smaller than I had expected. The water in the fountain is also freezing cold.

We went for a coffee in what seemed to be a ‘traditional’ cafe but turned out to be a franchise. I asked for two long blacks and an iced chocolate and was met with a blank stare. The problem was partly linguistic and partly that long black is still not a thing in the UK. I settled for the Americano and Harry got a HOT chocolate.

Not really sure about what to do next we went into Waterstones and killed an hour. I remember 25 years ago I had visited a sports book shop nearby but it seems to have closed. We sauntered up to Seven Dials, stopping in a pub for lunch. I was a great little place and after a couple of pints and a very meaty burger we set off in search of Harry’s holy grail (not to be found as I expected), a new Sunderland replica top customised with Bailey Wright’s name and number (Tell him he’s dreamin’). We visited a couple of sports shops and found nothing. Though we did learn that Liverpool is London’s favourite team if shirt availability in Sports Direct is anything to go by. 

Fortunately Dan found Classic Football Shirts in Aldgate East and we were off via Piccadilly Circus. What a place. No 2022 replica shirt but just about every Sunderland top for the past 30 years. Harry was in hog heaven. Any Australian football fan visiting London or Manchester needs to visit. The shop also has a bar and so we settled in. Three hours and a few hundred pounds later and three pints each of a beautiful Danish beer we went back towards Trafalgar Square, minus the Bailey Wright top but happy with our haul. 

Wending our way home we stopped at a gastro pub at Clapham Common and worked our way back to the Vegemite stash. Being tired and emotional, I fell asleep watching the Europa final. 

Waiting at Tullamarine

17 May 2022

 

So here we are at the international terminal in Melbourne. We’ve made it through check in and customs etc and now waiting to go.

Harry’s reading his Mackem dictionary and doing some hilarious attempts to sound like a Sunderland fan. He needs to keep at it. 

Meanwhile Dan is pretending to do some work. (As it turns out he wasn't pretending. He got through a mountain of study on the trip.)

Ever on the search of omens I noticed this creature in one of the passageways. I’m reaching a bit.

Fools Rushing In

16 May 2022

Well. Here we go. An exercise in futility, romance, passion, guilt, regret. You name it, it's all there. We three wise men, Ian, Daniel, Harry Syson are headed to Engerland, specifically, Wemberley to watch Sunlun in the League 1 playoff final. Around 32,000 kms return from Melbourne.

Harry in his brother's Sunderland shirt
and South Melbourne scarf, off to watch
Brunswick City when he was about 7.

Every year I say to the boys, "Let's go and watch Sunderland stuff it up again." Every year, they roll their eyes and say "Yeah dad." Well this year I have followed through on my suggestion. I awoke last Wednesday morning, checked my score app and saw that Sunderland was through to the final. I must admit, my first response was "FFS, that'll be 10 grand then" my second was a delayed celebration and a realisation that yes, we were going.

If we could get tickets. My cousin and his sons had season cards and they were able to give me access to second phase ticketing. It was touch and go. I logged on 15 minutes before ticketing opened on Friday night and was informed I was 2637th in the queue! What! With a sinking heart I waited the second longest 15 minutes of my life. In the end it was pretty simple. I'd really had no reason to panic and the seats were ours.

So why Sunderland? I'll admit I'm a bit of a bandwagoner. Not having committed to a team by the age of 13 (QPR and Everton had been my early flirtations) I was caught up in my dad's obsession when we qualified for and won the 1973 FA Cup final, which we watched on a black and white television on Magnetic Island in North Queensland. I've been stuck on ever since.

Dan and Harry c. 2003. 

The propaganda begins with pajamas

It's a commitment I've passed/pushed/bullied on to Dan and Harry, each of whom has has occasion to ask me: "Why Sunderland, dad?" While all around them their Chelsea, Liverpool, Arsenal, Barcelona, etc. (you get the picture) mates were celebrating championships, they were celebrating survival miracles, 6 in a row, or bemoaning one more relegation. Whipping boys in schoolyard banter; much like their club.

This is where guilt, my guilt, comes in. Their persecution and loyalty deserve to be rewarded after all this misery. And so que sera etc.

I've thought about how I'll feel if we go all that way to see one more stuff up. While I think we will win, if we lose it will still be the trip of a lifetime. We'll get to Wembley, make contact with my relatives, put flowers on my grandparents' graves in Wheatley Hill. My sons will see a life they might have led in a not-so-alternate universe. 

I'll post as often as I can while the trip unfolds.

Haway the lads!