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.