SOBS CRAIC HULL 1-0 SUNDERLAND Can a Black Cat change his spots? No, the silly sod can’t. There’s nowt better than a week of smiling at people, safe in the knowledge that you’ve beaten the mags. Apart from smiling at mags, obviously, especially when their defensive frailties popped up again in the League Cup on Wednesday. Let’s just say that the week’s been fun – I found a pair of glasses at work, so I sent an email to the whole place that said “if you’ve lost your glasses, they’re at reception.” I got a quick reply from a mag, which read “I think they’re Pardew’s, ‘cos he saw a completely different game to me.” Just to finish off the fun, a bar manager who may or may not be a relative has been wearing a badge this week, which states “It’s my job to ask – challenge 2-1.” I must admit that I was rooting for Hull against Spurs during the week, simply because a)they were the underdogs, and b) they were bristling with ex-Sunderland players in Meyler, Elmo, and McShane (look, you could never fault him for effort and commitment), current (honest, but it’s easy to forget) man Graham, and Steve Agnew on the coaching staff. Shame it had to be Elmo who failed with the vital penalty, but at least we’ve had five days off and they’ve had only two. Of course, there was Beverley on the way down, and the White Horse (Nellie’s) where there were more flat caps than the back of my grandad’s kitchen door, a git big fire, the ale was £1.80 a go, and the company and craic was great. Even the reference to David Cameron on the back of the lavvy door was a classic, if unfit for publication. Shame we had to leave. Then there was Hull. Not only have we scored three of the last seven we’ve let in, but Gus got the selection wrong. If Westy saved a penalty, you wouldn’t play him at centre forward the next week, would you? So Borini was expected to do an impact job for the full ninety. Westy Bards O’Shea Cuellar Dossena Seb Catts Colback Borini Fletch Altidore To be honest, the first 25 minutes were fairly even, but then it all started to unravel faster than a ball of wool in the clutches of a particularly playful cat. Cuellar had to challenge for the cross, but he didn’t have to put the bloody thing past Westy. Which he did with a deadly accurate header. We plugged away for the next 20 minutes, and then Westy fell awkwardly, struggled for a few minutes, then made way for Peter Andre/Vito Mannone. Then it got even worse. I’ve said before, many times, that I’m far from Cattermole’s greatest fan, but I’ve also said that he’s been our best player in the last month and that it looked like he’d got his stupid temper sorted out. Obviously not. I don’t know what Elmo did to Catts during their shared time on Wearside, but whatever it was it didn’t deserve that tackle. Likewise Meyler, who has probably never come across Dosenna before. Two red cards in first half injury time – I’m no big fan of Andre Marriner, but the poor bugger had no choice in the matter. He’d have been hauled over the coals if he’d failed to send them both off, making us the only team in the history of the Prem to be down to nine before the break. We really do specialise in rubbish records. Derby here we come. So that left us with the equivalent of Everest to climb while carrying Brain Blessed. We started the second half with Brown and Johnson on for Altidore and Borini, which sort of necessitated a change of formation to 5-3-1. Personally, I’d have gone for a more attacking option, perhaps with Giacchi in an advanced midfield role, but hey, I don’t get to pick the team. Whatever shape we’d had in the first half went out of the window. As it was, Johnno had a decent half, but with the target in the middle reduced by 50%, there wasn’t much for him to aim at and obviously nobody storming forward from midfield. Consequently we posed little threat to the home side, despite trying our nuts off – there simply weren’t enough red and white bodies to do any damage, and Hull played it exactly as they should have. Let the ball do the work, let the opposition run themselves into the ground because that’s all they could do in the circumstances, and move into the extra space afforded by there only being nine of them. Oh, and the fact that they had Livermore, Meyler, and Huddlestone in the middle, while we had Just Jack. So it was more Alamo than Rourke’s Drift, as even the most optimistic Sunderland fan could see anything other than a second Hull goal as time wore on, and it almost came when Livermore hit the post with about ten left. If ever there was a chance of Huddlestone’s barber getting the shears out, this was it, but they sort of took their foot off the pedal a wee bit, and who can blame them? Why get knackered when you don’t need to? If I remember correctly, we only had one shot on target all day, and while they might only have had a couple more, they had two more men than us for half of the game. The nine worked really hard and showed real commitment to the cause, but what could we have done with eleven on the field? That we kept it to just the one showed that we did have something about us and is deserving of praise – but praise doesn’t make prizes. Man of the Match? Apart from the OG and the sending off, they didn’t to that badly. In midfield, the central paring was doing fine until Catts reverted to type, while Seb worked his socks off on the right. Borini wandered about to no particular end, and Fletch was our best option, as Altidore looked more like the Hull version than the USA version. The subs did OK, but then there really wasn’t any way but up when they came on. I’ll give it to Jack – when all around him were losing their heads (and in Cattermole’s case, hopefully his job) he kept plugging away and at least trying to create something. Positive note? I’ve proved beyond reasonable doubt that it matters not a jot what clothes I wear, so the ragetty jacket and the shoes that let in water can be binned in favour of a pair of sensible brogues and a warm coat. Keep the faith, and see you in Yeovil.
Posted on: Sun, 03 Nov 2013 11:27:44 +0000
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