Journey of Words

Sunderland, April 1993
The North Sea throws its all
At Roker Beach
Smashes its fury at the sea wall
Pushes the tide slapdash onto the esplanade
Twenty one thousand
Three hundred and nine of us
Divided between Blues and Reds
Were sliced apart by the vicious winds
Southern boys, men and women standing together
Backs to the biting breeze
Facing The Fulwell End
Hearing The Roker Roar
Above the weather
We couldn't lose
They couldn't win
Until that bitter afternoon
Noise
Noise
Noise
And that peculiar English condition
Sun, no heat
I sat, stood, sat and stood
Amongst the Reds in the wooden Clock Stand
As the game flowed like the tide against us
Unstoppable
Fate, panic, rash judgements
A confection of misfortune
Tossed together in the maelstrom
I longed for it to pause
Rewind, start afresh
What I witnessed, I wanted to unsee
But time only goes forward
Time doesn't stand still
It just slows
To sear disastrous details
Into the memory
Unforgettably
We lost
They won
There are still nights
When I wake from the nightmare 
Shouting at Whittingham
Our Lone Ranger
"Go on! Go on! Just one more goal!"

~

CLP 31/03/2026