A farewell to Frank

THE ROLLER-COASTER ride of covering Sunderland for over 42 years is drawing to a close. I've witnessed the highs and the lows of one of the most ambitious clubs in the land and have reported the agonies and the ecstasies of fans who, once hooked, can never give up the addiction of supporting their beloved red-and-whites.

It was perhaps inevitable that my last match would be another end-of-season battle for survival, for while the club still has a burning desire to hit the heights and regain the huge esteem it once enjoyed, disappointment and anti-climax have often walked hand-in-hand.

But there have been some thrilling, memorable moments, too.

Without doubt the greatest was the 1973 FA Cup victory over the "old enemy" Leeds United, made even more astonishing by Sunderland's swashbuckling emergence from nowhere under the inspirational leadership of Bob Stokoe.

The lowest moment for the club during my career was the brief, but humiliating, relegation to the old Third Division - but a far worse thing happened just over a year after I'd started work as a trainee junior reporter in The Northern Echo's Sunderland office.

Sunderland were the only club in the land to be able to proclaim on the front of their match-day programme that they had never played outside the top flight.

But that proud boast came to a sad end when, under the often misguided direction of ruthless disciplinarian Alan Brown, the Wearsiders suffered the ignominy of a first relegation.

It was as though there had been a death in the family for thousands of fans.

But it was the start of a new beginning for a club long deprived of its "Bank of England" label, and leading the hard climb back to respectability was a giant of a man destined to become a legend in Sunderland folklore, Charlie Hurley.

Hurley, born in Ireland but brought up in London, was Brown's most significant signing. The Sunderland manager had to use all his considerable powers of persuasion to convince the disbelieving Cockney that his future lay 250 miles north.

And Sunderland fans must have wondered what Brown had bought when Sunderland, with the newcomer in their ranks, crashed to two overwhelming consecutive defeats - 7-0 and 6-0 - as they slid inexorably towards the drop.

But under the inspirational leadership of Hurley, a totally rebuilt side climbed out of what was considered the lower reaches of football, raising a few cheers - and eyebrows - along the way with some gallant Cup displays.

The most unforgettable was the FA Cup clash with mighty Tottenham Hotspur in the 1960-61 season.

Second Division Sunderland had already disposed of Arsenal in front of a huge crowd of 58,575 and had beaten Liverpool, then also out of the top bracket, at Anfield.

But Spurs were steaming on towards the First Division championship and Sunderland were given little chance.

But again a huge crowd of 61,326 packed into Roker Park, where the Roker End terraces swept back high towards the sea, and they were not to be disappointed.

Spurs took the lead through winger Cliff Jones, but Sunderland, inspired by the magnificence of Hurley, equalised through Scottish youngster Willie McPheat and Roker exploded.

For the first time under the eye of the television cameras the crowd invaded the pitch in unbridled jubilation, and while it was an escape-valve for emotion it provided the Londoners with crucial time to re-group and weather the storm.

Bill Nicholson was later to say that he'd never heard a noise like the Roker Roar, which reached an ear-splitting crescendo that afternoon.

The fact that Sunderland lost the replay 5-0 at White Hart Lane to a team which went on to do the double was immaterial. Sunderland and their long-suffering fans had been given an intoxicating whiff of glory-that-might-have-been, and they were hungry for more.

But it was not until 1973, after Brown had relinquished the helm to Stokoe, that Sunderland set out on another FA Cup odyssey, and this time returned with the ultimate prize. Sunderland was deserted that Saturday afternoon as County Durham held its breath then erupted like a long-dormant volcano when Ian Porterfield scored with his 'wrong' foot.

Images of Bob Stokoe racing across the hallowed turf to hug his goalkeeper, Jimmy Montgomery, who had defied Leeds with an impossible double save, are etched into memory.

But while rare moments like that can be savoured, Sunderland have risen and fallen over the years like the pointer of a barometer, and delight and despair have been close neighbours.

I've seen some great players - Hurley, Montgomery, Stan Anderson, Ernie Taylor, Brian Clough, Jim Baxter and, in a more modern era, Kevin Phillips - and many more who weren't so talented or accomplished.

People might wonder about my choice of Sunderland-born Ernie Taylor. But he was the first player bought by Manchester United after the Munich air disaster and Jackie Milburn once told me that he was the best inside forward he's ever played alongside.

I've also been privileged to meet some lovely people - like Milburn - connected with the game.

Things have moved on, however, and many changes made, some for the good and others not so good.

Like many others I was sad to see Roker Park, once the home of the illustrious Team of all the Talents, close its doors and then be bulldozed into oblivion.

But no-one can deny the magnificence of the Stadium of Light, though I remain unconvinced about the name and the infuriatingly pretentious choice of Prokofiev's Dance of the Knights as the club's theme tune.

As the times have changed, so too has the football, and seemingly the attitude of fans who once took great delight in appreciating the finer points of the Beautiful Game.

Now, unfortunately, football has become ruthlessly commercialised, with a win-at-all-costs approach which often sees players prepared to cheat their fellow professionals for the sake of a throw-in.

I regret that much of the entertainment and enjoyment has gradually leaked its way out of the game. Individualism has been stifled and the result has become all-important. And I am deeply saddened by the out-and-out hatred which has been allowed to fester between Sunderland and Newcastle supporters.

At one time many appreciative North-East fans had season tickets at Roker Park and St James' Park and there was no need for segregation.

Of course there was rivalry, there always has been, but it has been allowed to degenerate into an often brutal tribal conflict where fathers openly encourage their sons to despise their counterparts, a needless nastiness which is abhorrent to all decent supporters.

On the brighter side, fans have never been afforded better facilities and comfort while watching the game, though for me it doesn't make up for some of the awful, unpalatable rubbish served up as football by much-vaunted players who have never had it so good.

But enough of complaining. In my early reporting days I was once described by Alan Brown as a "young whippersnapper" - now I'm starting to sound like a grumpy old hack. Time to get off the roller-coaster.