Why I’m not *quite* Ready to Go and move on from Wembley

We’re closer than ever to our first home game of the Premier League season. The first time we’ve been able to say that in over 3,000 days.

I am excited to be back home, especially considering what happened the last time – the sounds after Ballard’s winner are still ringing. I’m looking forward to seeing the same regular faces and experiencing the buildup and all that comes with it: seeing the lineup at 2pm, hearing the blare of the foghorn and then the unmistakable sound of Provokiev. There’s simply no other feeling like it.

However, I have to be honest.

I’m not quite “ready to go”. I’m still happily living in the bubble that the Coventry game and Wembley have created.

If I get a moment spare, I’m watching Tommy Watson passing it into the net and being drawn to a different set of limbs celebrating. If I’m finally able to get my two year old daughter to sleep, I’m watching Le Fee kiss the ball before putting in a pinpoint corner. Nothing to watch on TV? Give it two minutes and I’m suddenly watching Mayenda channel his inner Randy Orton. I’d like to think (perhaps more hope) that I’m not alone in this situation.

But why am I addicted to these two games?

Simply put, being a Sunderland fan doesn’t often come with moments of elation like we’ve just witnessed. Like thousands of others, I’m conditioned to misery and woe. I’ve tried my best to remain positive whilst watching Phil Parkinson attempt to manage (and I use this term in the loosest sense possible) the football team that I’ve loved since childhood. I’ve seen James Vaughan somehow manage to score a goal and cup his ears towards his own fans. I’ve seen Darren Bent relegate us whilst wearing a Burton Albion shirt. When I thought things couldn’t get worse, I’ve seen us sign players (I use this term in an even looser sense) like Callum McFadzean. I’ve seen Charlie Methven in person and he winked at me. Even Mick McCarthy wouldn’t have been able to carry on with things like this.

What’s hit me most, though, is that I’ve lost my dad recently – the person who introduced me to Sunderland AFC and the person that I should be cursing for what I’ve just mentioned in the last paragraph. His health wasn’t amazing; in a way, he was blessed with poor health during our “banter” years. Though he wasn’t able to attend games in person, he would religiously watch our matches on television and be suitably exasperated. Coming from a shipbuilding background, he was a quiet man. Our conversations would be centered around football. Most of my best memories with my dad stem from following Sunderland. Most notably, I was with my dad and my wife in April 2015, seeing Defoe’s goal fly in and the celebrations spilling into half time. That’s something that I’ll never forget. I’ve been eternally grateful for the Sunderland AFC Heaven Branch and the help that they’ve provided. The memorial garden is where I head to before every home game – a new part of my matchday routine.

My dad passed away in March 2024. He was a fan of Tony Mowbray and he had fond memories of the League One playoff final. He was a particular fan of Jack Clarke’s goal against Reading. Thankfully, he didn’t have to experience Michael Beale.

When the final whistle went at Wembley and whatever non-human sound / shout / scream came out of my mouth, it was my dad that I thought of. I know that he’d have loved the last minute winner and the poetic justice of seeing Tommy Watson score the winner after putting up with abuse from a select group of our own “fans.” I know that he’d have loved the celebratory scenes with the players after the Sheff Utd game. He might even have joined in with ‘Sweet Caroline’.

And that’s why I’m not quite ready to go. These moments aren’t just fleeting highs; they’re the stories we tell. They become the folklore we pass down. My dad gave me Defoe against the Mags; he gave me the curse and the joy of being a Sunderland fan. Our promotion and all that’s come with it is what I’ll one day give to my daughter. It’s the core memory I’ll use to explain to her why we put ourselves through it all.

So, I’ll cling to this feeling for a bit longer. When I take my seat for the West Ham game and Republica starts to play, I’ll be ready for the new season.