73 nostalgia FOR MACKEMS ONLY Stokoe’s superstars Six months ago, devoid of hope, No chance of points or fame, Then Alan Brown went on his way, And Bobby Stokoe came. Their backs were right against the wall, Ahead loomed relegation, He picked them up, and wiped them down, Then started restoration. It didn’t happen overnight, Results were slow in coming, But steadily and surely, The dormant club was humming. Their play was fast improving, And things were looking up, In January seventy-three, Came the third round of the Cup. Gainst Notts and Reading struggled through, Escaping retribution, But everybody thought twas just, A stay of execution. Especially when the 5th round draw, Turned up Manchester City, Ah, this was it, they’ve had it now, Poor Sunderland, what a pity. The howls of glee from Allison, Resounded through the land, “We’ll take them to the cleaners,” And beat them out of hand. For we’ve got Michael Summerbee, Francis Lee and Colin Bell, We rate their chances rather less, Than a snowball down in hell. In front of Maine Road’s roaring crowd, ‘Twas Sunderland set the pace, Two goals from Hughes and Horswill, Wiped the smile from Malcolm’s face. They brought them up to Roker Park, To the Roker Roar, reborn, A gem from Halom, two from Hughes, They belted them three-one. ‘Twas Luton next at Roker Park, The final score two-nought, Both goals scored by defenders, Gave the strikers food for thought. Dave Watson and Ron Guthrie, Outshone the three front runners, Won through to semi-final, ‘Gainst Arsenal’s mighty gunners. And the crowds converged on Hillsborough, Decked out in red and white, To see Bob Stokoe’s protege’s Take on Highbury’s might. This one again they couldn’t win, The miracles were past, But when Arsenal started shooting, They countered blast for blast. Alan Ball was taken care of, By Kerr and Horswill’s dash, The twin II Bombers scored the goals, That settled London’s hash. Ray Kennedy and Armstrong, Led penetrating sorties, Those two alone raised Arsenal’s flag, And both of them are Geordies. And so to Wembley Stadium, Reward for countless deeds, The stiffest hurdle in the world, To take the Cup from Leeds. The wealth of talent in this team, Defies my choice of phrase, There’s Harvey, Reaney, Giles and Clarke, And Lorimer’s flashing grace. The balance of Paul Madeley, The skill of Eddie Gray, The passion of Billy Bremner, Which has often saved the day. But Sunderland went at them, Right from the very start, The Leeds defence was shattered, At the seams it came apart. In the thirty second minute, From a corner carefully set, Porterfield connected cleanly, And the ball was in the net. The roaring crowd went crazy, Some prayed, some counted beads, Eighty thousand yelled for Sunderland, The others wept for Leeds. The second half was desperate, Attacks built up in waves, But Jimmy Monty won the day, With two fantastic saves. And Sunderland kept on running, Their courage undiminished, When Eddie Gray was taken off, Don Revie’s men were finished. The scenes were unbelievable, When the Cup came to the North, The cheering rolled like thunder, From Teesside to the Forth. The traffic stopped on Wearside, From 8pm to dark, We couldn’t get within a mile, Of the ground at Roker Park. Well done Bob Stokoe’s superstars, Ha’way me lads, drink up, Wearside will never forget the day, That Sunderland won the Cup. RIP Bob Stokoe :angel3: :angel3: :angel3:
