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!