The Sunderland Badge Opened Every Door

Whilst I’m a County Durham lad by birth, work and wanderlust have taken me to every compass point of Britain. And everywhere I’ve lived, I’ve worn the Sunderland badge with pride.

A couple of years ago, family wishes took Mrs L and me to Hertfordshire. The Home Counties. Shock horror. Wilstone, population 341. Quintessentially English. A church, a community shop and a pub. If Carlsberg designed villages….

Whenever you move somewhere new, you don’t know a soul. So my integration plan is, and always has been, to head to the local pub. In Wilstone, it’s The Half Moon, a traditional inn with old wooden beams, excellent Tring Brewery ales and a classic cast of characters. It’s very much like Cheers. After a while, everyone knows your name… and your football club.

It struck me one afternoon that everyone supported different clubs, yet somehow they were all telling the same football story.

The landlord is Guy. Passionately patriotic and loyal to the blue and white hoops of QPR. Mention Stan Bowles, Rodney Marsh or Gerry Francis and Guy disappears into Shepherd’s Bush nostalgia. One afternoon, he scurried into the back room to find an old, dusty programme from QPR v Sunderland in 1962. The glory days were a long time ago… will they ever return, he wondered? I understood what he meant. There was a time when I wondered whether we’d ever get out of League One.

For Paul and Malcolm, blue is the colour, football is the game. Chelsea fans of different generations. Chopper Harris on the one hand, Gianfranco Zola on the other. The Xhaka transfer saga has provided plenty of banter about “big clubs”. I’ve reminded both fellas that the transfer window can be frustrating, no matter how big you think you are.

Cali, meantime, is resigned to being a Spurs fan. Amazed to have avoided relegation, hope is all that’s left to cling to – something better this coming season. And will a new manager bring back the glory days? How many times have I said that?

“I’m Manchester United,” says Aaron.

Like many such supporters living in the south, Aaron has to produce a watertight case for following the team. That’s before the prosecution even enters the courtroom. And for me, Aaron, you don’t need to. Football loyalty isn’t measured in miles – it’s built on heritage and suffering.

“I’m an Evertonian,” says Jeff.

Then we’ve already got lots in common. Peter Reid. Jordan Pickford. Bradley Lowery. Three reminders that sometimes football leaves rivalry behind.

There are others – Leeds, Derby, Birmingham and even, dare I say it, Newcastle. I won’t bore you any further.

Different clubs. Different colours. Different accents. Each asking the same questions. Will the glory days come back? Are we as big a club as we think we are? Is the new manager the right one?

Outside The Half Moon, we have different lives. Inside it, we share the same story.

I’m proud to be a Sunderland supporter. It’s a great badge to wear. Every time I push open the rickety old door at The Half Moon, someone will always look up and, with a smile, say, “Alright mate, how did Sunderland get on?” For the past two years, I’ve loved answering.

Sunderland has given me something special wherever I’ve lived. In a tiny village in Hertfordshire, it’s broken the ice, introduced me to friends, sparked conversations and made me feel at home.

And eventually, it’s given me a seat at the bar.