Written by Gabriel Aaron Ridley — RR reader & SAFC fan
So, as we enjoy this summer with a grin on our faces, as we stare into the horizon with the promise of showcasing the Premier League’s finest back on Wearside after eight long years, let’s reflect on how we got there.
’Two seasons, two relegations, too many low points to chart for Sunderland Association Football Club.
The Wearsiders’ fate was finally confirmed on Saturday when they were beaten at home by fellow strugglers Burton Albion, a defeat which completed a slow and painful slide into the third tier for the first time in 30 years.’
Reporting for the BBC, this is what the football community knew to be true after one of England’s biggest clubs were condemned to a second consecutive relegation. If it wasn’t bad enough for the Sunderland faithful, the club were about to embark on the darkest days in their club’s entire 145-year history.
Four treacherous years to escape their self-inflicted fate of competing in England’s third tier, the beautiful and historic team from Wearside would have to bear through play-off heartbreak, embarrassment, desperation and challenges that were all engulfed by the obligation of maintaining a status higher than that of League 1. Players inevitably come and go, some making a lasting impression, and other’s perhaps not. The consistent element? The fans who begrudgingly consumed what their club had become but still managing to find the enjoyment of supporting their team, walking through the turnstiles and hoping for something to give them hope they are back on track.
The history books will tell us that a play-off final appearance, cruelly ruined by a last second winner by Charlton Athletic, and a play-off semi-final defeat at the hands of Lincoln would show the club were in a promotion chasing position. Only issue, was there was no promotion to show for it. What will never go away, however, is the arguably most humiliating defeat in the club’s history. A six-nil defeat away at the hands of Bolton Wanderers. Not one, two, three, four or five goals that were responded too by the Black Cats, but six. So why is it that this game proved to be a catalyst event in the turnaround of fortunes for us?
Charlton Athletic v Sunderland - Sky Bet League One Play-off Final Photo by Harriet Lander/Copa/Getty Images
Lee Johnson was relieved of his duties. A positive thinking coach who had his team playing an all-out attack style of football but proving his inability to affectively coach a defence in a league all so unforgiving. This would prove to be his downfall, and a decision that was vindicated by the Sunderland hierarchy as they brought in the man to get the job done. Step forward Alex Neil.
A miraculous run, a rich vein of form, and change in shape and personnel to follow before Alex Neil’s never say die army of black cats purred their way onto Wembley’s famous turf. Sunderland had been there before, and not succeeded. The difference this time, was everyone and their own mother knew that Sunderland were going to beat Wycombe. A Wycombe team guided by the experienced Gareth Ainsworth who had been there before, they didn’t stand a chance. On the day, two homegrown local lads stepped up to make the difference…sound familiar?
Elliot Embleton with a screamer, a young Anthony Patterson making his Wembley debut, and then who the supporter’s only refer to as the ‘Loch Ness Drogba’, Ross Stewart sealed the deal with a finish to the bottom corner to send Sunderland back to the Championship. Pandemonium mixed with relief; the dark days were over.
To the fiery crucible that is League 1 - thank you for teaching us one vital lesson: no matter what troubles we face, we wouldn’t wish the struggle of trying to escape that division on anyone. As entertaining as some in red and white would find it, probably not even the team on Tyneside.
When we introduced Kristjaan Speakman and young Kyril Louis-Dreyfus into our ranks, the objective was clear, the path an obvious one, but the plan was one to be debated and analysed at every opportunity. A 5-Year operation was set-out by those at the helm to restore the Black Cats to the Premier League, starting with promotion from League 1, and then from the Championship. Who are we but not opportunistic supporters to take pride in the fact that we only needed 60% of the time they set-aside to complete the mission? Much was said about ‘the model’ which we have now proven to be extremely efficient, but to execute under the intense scrutiny that was thrown their way deserves a huge amount of credit. For all of its flaws, the model delivered us a behemoth payday of over £200,000,000 for our promotion campaign.
We nearly completed the impossible — something Ipswich would pull off the following season — by earning back-to-back promotions but we fell just short in the play-offs in our first year. What we learned, painfully, was that the Championship is a cruel Lady to dance with: graceful one moment, ruthless the next. Yet if you can master her steps, she’ll lead you from humiliation to competing with England’s footballing elite.
Sunderland v Burton Albion - Sky Bet Championship Photo by Nigel Roddis/Getty Images
We were but a fit centre-back over six feet tall away from beating a technically limited but brutally physical Luton side — and perhaps changing our fate. It’s a far cry from how our last season in the Championship ended: not with hope, but with heartbreak. A former cult hero, Darren Bent — once famous for scoring off a beach ball against Liverpool— then scoring with his head in Burton Albion colours to send us spiralling into League One.
As a kid, my Grandad and I adored Darren Bent. We would listen to him on the radio because we couldn’t afford to go to games. He even bought me the full maroon and beige away kit for my birthday, with Bent’s name and number proudly printed on the back. My birthday is at the end of December; Bent left for Aston Villa the following month.
My grandad passed away in 2015. And as much as I miss him, part of me feels glad he didn’t have to see a once-beloved player condemn us to back-to-back relegations. That along with the deep, lingering resentment of him making me fall in love with a club that specialises in disappointment and treats emotional stability as entirely optional.
To subtly navigate away from that sore subject, our second season back started off rather sourly as Tony Mowbray was relieved of his duties as Head Coach. The father figure who guided our young lads to Kenilworth Road to get bullied out of the playoffs, had to then watch on as the next two coaches that were chosen to fill his shoes could only combine to help us realise that they were nowhere near the level required to get us another chance of being promoted. Thankfully, we were saved by a mercurial winger known for tearing you apart again to the tune of Joy Division to keep us in the league with his heroic’s week in week out.
So, my question now, is who on earth at this point would have predicted the turn around the club would go on heading into our third season? Especially after the farcical process of waiting over a hundred days to recruit the unknown Frenchman by the name of Regis Le Bris, whom many of us would be underwhelmed with at the very least by his appointment. The fan base were longing for Will Still to take the reins after a flirtatious period where it looked as though it would happen but guess it all worked okay in the end.
As the day of visiting Wembley still hasn’t fully settled in for me, the build up to our visit was encompassed by a semi-final with Coventry, and a social media promotion campaign by the club’s media team working overtime as they got it absolutely spot on. The hype, excitement, build-up, designs and the phrase Till’ The End was a stroke of promotional genius and how true the lads lived up to that phrase, I don’t think anyone could have imagined what would unfold over that two-week period.
Sheffield United v Sunderland - Sky Bet Championship Play-Off Final Photo by Robbie Jay Barratt - AMA/Getty Images
I’ll hold my hands up and admit that the two games against Coventry had me writing off our chances. We were only battered 3-0 by them a few weeks prior bear in mind, so any fan who didn’t have faith in getting past them had my understanding. Those who thought we would, had only my admiration for their optimism. Headed into the first leg at their ground was daunting to say the least, but everyone who was watching could see that Le Bris had set us up with a prime Jose Mourinho style low-block and counter attacking set-up. As well as starting Dan Ballard, it turned into a masterstroke of a gameplan that worked to perfection. The pass around his man by Dan Neil, the vision of Enzo Le Fee, the pace of Wilson Isidor, and the finish that gave us the advantage. 0-1.
Jack Rudoni then scored at the other end. Brilliant. Knew it. Should have seen that coming. Sunderland do a Sunderland and here’s where Coventry force themselves back into the game and we end up throwing away an invaluable lead. We’ve seen it all too often before, that the pain is as routine as hearing your alarm go off for work in the morning.
Step-up Eliezer Mayenda. Bang, 1-2, 88th minute, thank you very much. See you at the Stadium of Light.
There’s a lot more that could be said about that game, but why waste words on it when there’s more that could be said about what was arguably the greatest game any Sunderland fan will ever see on Wearside…
For a team that played in the play-offs less than two years ago, against now League 1 side Luton, the contrast in atmosphere to when we played Coventry back on our home turf couldn’t be any more different. Yet, the styles of play were the same. Except with a different outcome. The whole experience of playing Frank Lampard’s men was quite surreal, and a challenge that the club hadn’t faced in a very long while.
Sheffield United v Sunderland - Sky Bet Championship Play-Off Final Photo by Mike Hewitt/Getty Images
Football aside, the real drama wasn’t on the pitch — it was actually me trying to get to the game. Fresh off a trip to Wales with my mates (and still borderline hungover from the amount we had consumed), I ever so nobly turned down a drink on the train home. Heroic stuff, I must say. Then the train got cancelled.
I needed to get from somewhere in Wales to Gateshead, then to the match. But alas, I’d secured a lift. Problem solved? Not quite. Five minutes later, the car broke down. Naturally. Somehow, I ended up standing on the side of the A1, sipping a warm can of Kronenbourg 1664 instead of processing the thought of missing the game.
There we were, pushing a dead car 300 metres up the hard shoulder. Lager warm, hopes fading. At which point I decided — yeah, alright, maybe one more drink won’t hurt.
Then, out of nowhere: a coach rolls by. A nice coach. Wait a minute… is that—? It is! That’s Frank Lampard! Oh wait… that’s the Coventry team bus.
“WHEEEYYYYYY! YOUS ARE GONNA GET SLAPPED TONIGHT!” I shout with the confidence of a man not broken down on the side of the road drinking petrol station lager.
“Gabriel, you’re stood in a lay-by with a warm can of 1664, shouting at a group of footballers from behind a broken-down Skoda.”
Yes. Yes, I am. And I’d do it again.
I did eventually make it to the game, albeit with 10 minutes or so to spare. Just in time for the announcement of the West Stand being named after the great Jimmy Montgomery. If this didn’t get the crowd buzzing for the game, then the Champions League final type of arrival for the lads would have. This was for a Championship semi-final playoff game, again another example of the proud support the Sunderland faithful are capable of. I’d only learned recently that the idea of a huge entrance to the game came from Jobe Bellingham. Now donning the yellow & black of Borussia Dortmund, his contributions to the big stage clearly weren’t exclusively held to being on the pitch.
The whole build up was just fantastic, you could tell the club’s media team more than earned their paycheques with the hype and excitement we all had heading through those turnstiles.
AFC Sunderland v Coventry City - Sky Bet Championship Play-Off Semi Final Second Leg Photo by Ian Horrocks/Sunderland AFC via Getty Images
Eyes shut, arms out-stretched, mind shut off from anything other than what’s in front of me, we had made it. Our rendition of Wise Men Say being sung by over 40,000 Mackems was so powerful and passionate that it had me thinking this atmosphere was better than any Wear-Tyne derby that I’d been too. I’d enjoyed everything up until that point, and then the game itself was such a blur. A higher level of focus than during any exam I’d taken as a child. I do remember Coventry equalising and nearly winning it at the end of normal time.
Make no mistake — we were under pressure. Dominated. Less of the ball. Little threat on the counter. Coventry had adjusted perfectly from the first leg to keep us pinned in. Cross after cross after cross rained in, and Dan Ballard, a man possessed, headed away what felt like every single one.
We were hanging on, riding our luck. But when extra time began, something shifted. They began to tire — and our youth came to life. Romaine Mundle entered the fray. Enzo moved into the middle and Chris Rigg brought the kind of energy that changes games. And suddenly, we didn’t just look solid — we looked hungry. We pushed. We pressed. And right at the death, we earned a corner.
I’m sat here not even sure how to write about what happened next.
Just before it was taken, I turned to my friend of over 20 years and half-joked: “Imagine how beautifully poetic it would be, if, after all their crosses, we scored from this one — right at the end.”
And then it happened. Dan Ballard with one of the most athletically confusing forms of heading a football rises above everyone, to cannon Enzo Le Fee’s pinpoint corner in off the underside of the crossbar.
AFC Sunderland v Coventry City - Sky Bet Championship Play-Off Semi Final Second Leg Photo by IMartin Swinney/Sunderland AFC via Getty Images
The following moments are some that will live with me forever. A fanbase that has endured so much pain came together for a moment of pure elation. One moment that pandemonium or euphoria would be an injustice in its description. It was something way beyond that. It was a truly special moment that encapsulates just why we love this game, fans who have had similar experiences will relate. It is a moment that we will try to explain to people but can never quite do it justice. I assure you they would all struggle to describe it without a beaming smile on their face. The same smile I have right now as I try to remember how it unfolded in front my eyes. I implore you to watch the clip of the goal, close your eyes and just listen to the emotion explode out of everyone in attendance. Trust me, it is worth the risk of damaging your ear drums to try and re-live even a fraction of it as we did in the stadium.
And as I sit here looking back, I can promise you this — that moment is as close as it gets to footballing magic.
First, we stayed behind to watch the lads soak in their well-earned victory. Then came the hugs — anyone and everyone within reach, all wrapped in the same joyful disbelief that we’d done it and done it like that. And finally, we sang our hearts out to the tune of Doris Day, letting the whole world know exactly where we’re going… que sera, sera.
Next stop: Wembley.
Manchester City, Portsmouth and Charlton. I’d watched on as I saw us get beat by all three of these teams under the arch. The Charlton one probably the most painful, special mention to my sister, Jessica, who tolerated my appalling mood in the aftermath.
Yet as we already knew our opponents would be Chris Wilder’s Sheffield United after our Coventry win, none of those defeats even entered my mind. This was a trip to Wembley that had an aura of inevitability about it. Call me bias if you wish – I won’t even try and argue.
I’m 25 years young – the odd grey hair from the stress of the Coventry games aside – and before our play-off final, I was about to get my long-overdue first Wembley experience.
As I made the coach drip down, with a bottle of Stella Artois and cheese & onion crisps as a breakfast substitute, the arrival at Wembley with those who sit around me on match-days gifted a smile that would beam across any fan’s face. Jimmy, Keith, Harry, and one more young lad who’s name I regrettably can not remember, I had a special group around me for the day. A group who witnessed the same highs and lows of the season right beside me at home games.
I’m sure every football fan who remembers their first game inside the home of Thomas Tuchel’s Three Lions, is simply in awe of the beauty, the history and the incredible potential of what we could be about to bear witness to on this hallowed turf.
I can also say with 100% certainty, that there was not a single fan that doubted we would give our players a better welcome to the game than the Blade’s fans. No disrespect to those who turned up to support their team, but if the build-up to kick-off and the first defensive action of the game by Anthony Patterson was anything to go off, this day belonged to Wearside.
In a harmonious fashion just eleven days after we honoured the west stand of the Stadium of Light to the legendary Jimmy Montgomery, our home-grown, local lad would produce a save within the first eighty seconds of the game that was a sensational stop. A lightning-quick dive to his bottom-left, almost gravity-defying, denied Kieffer Moore what looked like a certain goal. A stop that will be remembered just like the one Jimmy made in our 1973 FA Cup final against Leeds United.
As we watched on, a heart-breaking moment where our club captain Luke O’Nien, was replaced by Chris Mepham within the first few minutes. If there was anyone on the pitch who deserved to be playing in a game of this magnitude for Sunderland, it was Luke O’Nien. Proudly, he is my favourite player on the team, and after everything that he has been through since signing for us as a young lad from Wycombe in our League 1 days, he has been an ever-present, consistent and reliable figure who featured for every manager we have had since his arrival. To see him go down with a shoulder injury, my heart sunk for him because he is in the team on merit, pivotal to how we play – and a leader. His dream was to perform Premier League football with Sunderland on his chest when he first signed, and to have his chance of playing his part cut to only the opening act of the show was so undeserved, it was almost criminal. He may have only been on the pitch for two minutes, but his contribution to get us to this point deserves someone writing a whole piece on him in itself.
First half of the game, Sheffield, to their credit, looked to be playing the game and not the occasion as we looked slightly out of our depth. They took the game to us, Gustavo Hamer looking every bit of a Premier League player, which inevitably led to us falling behind. A rapid break on the counter, where Hamer outpaced Chris Mepham and played an inch perfect pass through two of our defenders to release Tyrese Campbell who gracefully chipped the on-rushing Patterson with an ice-cool finish in front of the Sunderland end. We’ve come from a goal behind before during the season, so I had faith we’d do it again. Only for Harrison Burrows to put them two to the good.
Head in hands, defeated and deflated — I genuinely thought we were done. Sheffield were a Premier League side less than a year ago, and they’ve got the quality to see games out. But then… VAR intervened. The goal ruled out for offside.
And honestly? I’ve always liked VAR. Not sure what everyone’s moaning about, really...
From that point on, we got a breath of fresh air and a rejuvenated side that knew how much they had been let off the hook. Like the Coventry game in extra-time, we grew into the game and started looking more comfortable and capable of pulling the game back. And then, after not-so patiently waiting until the 76th minute, a perfect through ball from Patrick Roberts for the man who we sing as having a strong dislike for Sam Fender, blasts us back into the game. Cue the Randy Orton celebration and an illustration of the talent and composure that Eliezer Mayenda has, even on the biggest stage of his young career. They might as well have given us our Premier League status there and then because there was only going to be one winner from that point onwards.
An introduction of newly turned local-lad to local-hero in Tommy Watson, proved to be the deciding moment of the final. A hero that subtly had it written in the stars for him to get his moment.
After introducing himself to the Sunderland fans earlier in the season, most notably in a game against - you guessed it – Sheffield United at Brammall Lane. He ran them ragged, dominating the left wing and looking like the most dangerous outlet all game. However, his coming-of-age game came against Stoke City at the Stadium of Light. Two goals, his first of his professional career, and three points. Only for all of this to change in the coming months as a deadline-day transfer saga including him making a trip down to Brighton to finalise a transfer to the Seagulls. The transfer didn’t go through, but the damage was done, and the feel of a local lad proudly wearing anything, but the red & white stripes were done. A few months later, the deal was confirmed, complete with Fabrizio Romano’s famous “Here we go!” stamp of inevitability. This was a confusing time as there was still plenty of games before the season ended, and with the injuries of Romaine Mundle, Enzo Le Fee – Tommy was needed out of necessity rather than luxury. Many fans were calling for him to never play for the club again. I’ll hold my hands up and plead guilty to being one of them. I’d been calling for Tommy to get more games after his impressive outings for the under 21s, and it did hurt that he was leaving so soon after finally making his breakthrough.
But in the end? I’m not sure even young Tommy Watson himself could’ve painted a better farewell — unless Leonardo Di Vinci had offered to do it for him.
As the clock grew ever closer to extra-time, a stray pass from Kieffer Moore was picked up by Brighton’s newest recruit and as he drove towards the penalty area the young man had only one thought in his mind. Dennis Cirkin was making a marauding run into the box to his left which I don’t doubt would have been communicated to him, was ignored. The composure and technique to be able to finish around the Sheffield defenders, giving Michael Cooper – a close second for the title of best goalkeeper in the division – effectively no chance at all. Watching it from the stands, it almost seemed to unfold in slow motion. The roar was not like the one gifted from the result of a Dan Ballard header – it was an outpour of pure emotion and realisation. It WAS our day, we DID get over the line, and it was a young Mackem who got that moment. He lived an entire regions childhood dreams.
You remember kicking the ball of a wall, practising your touch, dribbling around the house like your Mum, family, and vacuum cleaner are defenders in your way. Celebrating a goal on the playground after the battle cry of ‘’next goal winner’’ like you’ve scored an over-head kick in the World Cup final. It was a poetically manifested moment from the days of being a child, and although he will be wearing blue and white next season – the emotion of scoring that goal was there for the footballing world to see as he sprinted off to the sideline sharing a chaotic, unforgettable goal with the fans who will now forever see him as one of their own. No longer just a local lad — but a hero who earned his stripes and his place in Sunderland folklore.
Ask anyone who was there how they processed their emotions in those moments, and you’ll truly grasp the special bond a Sunderland fan has — not just with the club, but now with this remarkable group of players.
I looked up and let out a tear as I remembered my Grandad would have shared this moment with me. Hugging everyone around me, seeing the emotions everywhere I looked, and knowing we had done it. I laughed, I cried, I beamed and buried my face in my hands — all in a desperate attempt to process the overwhelming joy of victory, knowing just how much this meant for the future of my club, both on the pitch and beyond.
I’ll never forget that coach ride home, the happiest I’ve ever been proudly wearing the red & white of the team I’ve loved since I was a child. To see the players celebrate how we would have if we were in their shoes was reason enough to smile all the way home. I’d left Sunderland in the early hours of the morning with nothing but lager and hope — and returned as a supporter of a club that had finally claimed its golden ticket to the Premier League.
What. A. Day.
Sheffield United v Sunderland - Sky Bet Championship Play-Off Final Photo by Mike Hewitt/Getty Images
With thanks…
With an emotional, antimonious and enduring journey back to the Premier League, there are some who represented this beloved club who were not officially associated with the club at the time of our journey’s utopian ending. So, with two coaches, and two players in mind, it is only fair that their contributions are noted and act as extension of Sunderland AFC achieving their return to England’s topflight.
Tony Mowbray,
In what was initially an under-whelming appointment after the departure of Alex Neil, you proved to everyone at the club that your appointment came at the perfect time. You inherited a squad with little to no experience, the pressures of an expectant fanbase on their back and a fortress on Wearside to call their home. Not only were you the fatherly figure that many of our young team needed at that time in their careers, but you also strutted down the touchline in that Hugo Boss gilet of his in as much style as the football you had your team playing. What you did in guiding that young team through the hardship of Championship football was hard enough, but to do it without allowing them to lose any of their youth and flair along the way is what the fanbase will remember with pride. A fatherly figure, a supportive mentor, and a fantastic coach. Thank you, Tony Mowbray.
Amad Diallo,
So many fans had endured watching below average players don the red and white stripes, with seldom any pure quality emerging. For your first few games, you underwhelmed, disappointed and were not worthy of a starting berth in our newly promoted team. You were showing shades of the unsuccessful loan spell with Rangers, and I will admit that I said to those sat next to me in the stadium – ‘’why on earth did United pay forty million quid for this lad?’’. I’ve never been so happy to be proven wrong. The screamer against Luton, the first goal against Burnley, the cannon against Wigan, the second against Middlesborough, and all while showing your Ivorian flair along the way. A true magician and ‘streets won’t forget’ type of player was tearing up the league, and he was doing it for Sunderland. Thank you, Amad Diallo.
Alex Neil,
This mention will divide our fanbase, but what you achieved can’t be argued with. You did what Jack Ross, Phil Parkinson, and Lee Johnson failed to do. Let alone to do it in half a season, you will be able to ask any Sunderland fan what the darkest time in supporting their club was, and you will be able to say that you guided them out of it. The manner of which you left, quite frankly, does not matter to a rational fan’s eyes. Albeit us football fans can seldom be labelled as rational. To achieve what you did for this club can’t and won’t be underappreciated. League 1 was proving to be a prison, a one of maximum security, and one we could not escape for four years. The famous saying is ‘third time lucky’, but at the fourth attempt, you forced us back onto the right path. Thank you, Alex Neil.
Jack Clarke,
It takes an awful lot of character to have a career that went from being the Leeds prodigy, to the Tottenham outcast, to then become the main man at a Championship club. A player of your talent to go grab Sunderland by the scruff of the neck, and almost single-handedly keep us out of a relegation battle amidst our 3-seated manager/ head coach/ interim head coach merry-go-round, was phenomenal. I can only imagine the joy you would have given us if we saw you play in the playoffs, but you coming to see us get promoted showed us just how much your time on Wearside meant to you. Nevertheless, the skill, the dribbling, the goals and your ability to win us games should never be overlooked, it kept the club from being derailed of all its progress to that point. Thank you, Jack Clarke.
That was probably an awful lot of writing and emotional outpouring for 22 men kicking a spherical object around a rectangular patch of grass for 90 minutes — albeit at Wembley, the most sacred rectangle in the country, obviously. So, here’s the short version:
“Sunderland are a club in complete darkness.”
– Chris Coleman, former Sunderland manager, 2018, after a second successive relegation.
Seven years later…
121:59 – ‘’Plenty of movement inside the box – BALLARD! An incredible noise, that can almost be heard at Wembley’’
76’ – ‘’Le Fee finding Roberts, by far Sunderland’s best move – MAYENDA!’’
90+5 – ‘’That’s loose though, by Moore and it falls the way of Watson... OHHHHHH AND WHAT A PARTING GIFT THAT IS!’’
We as fans, wholeheartedly sing at the top of our lungs: “Sunlun’ till I die, I’m Sunlun’ till I die, I know I am, I’m sure I am, I’m Sunlun’ till I die.” We sing it in joy. We sing it when we’re up against it. And we sing it simply because we mean it.
“Till the end,” they said — and till the end they went. Say it once or say it a hundred times: Sunderland AFC are back where they belong.