When we all went along to Roker Park even though Newcastle United weren’t playing… | OneFootball

I recall Bazoox wrote on here about the Gloaters, a bunch of Newcastle United fans who made the trek to Roker Park on 17 May 1987, not to witness another derby over there where we didn’t lose, rather to watch Sunderland v Gillingham.

It was the second leg of a play-off encounter that if the Mackems lost, would see them relegated to the third tier for the first (but not last) time.

I was (and still am) one of those Gloaters, here is my recollection of that glorious day!

I can’t recall how that particular Sunday started but to protect the innocent, me and three mates whose nicknames began with the letters H, A and M were sat in the pub not long after opening, probably contemplating where we’d end up later in the day. Then one of us mentioned the Mackems and how it would be great to see them go down.

Now, as we all know, momentum is a powerful thing and we’d gone from idle speculation, to arranging a taxi into town to see if we could get across to Sunderland in time for kick off, in a matter of minutes.

I can still recall walking into Central Station and seeing quite a few other like minded individuals intent on seeing misery heaped on the Mackems. One or two Newcastle tops and scarves. Some, like me and HAM, decked out in designer wear, Green Gazelles amongst the attire I distinctly remember I was wearing that day. I recognised a few others milling around with similar dress sense.

Now, this was before the Tyne and Wear Metro went to Sunderland, the extension down there not opening until the end of the century. So it was the old BR diesel rattler that we clambered onboard.

It picked up a few others of a Newcastle United persuasion at Heworth, before proceeding to Seaburn, where we alighted. Most reading this will know that at that station, there is a ramp up to street level and it was on this ramp where we met Northumbria Police officers who were clearly expecting us and began a bizarre form of processing. “Are you Sunderland, Gillingham or Newcastle?” says the cop seemingly in charge. Me and HAM can’t bring ourselves to say Sunderland, so like many of those who’d alighted we say “Newcastle” and are presently shown the back of a Black Mariah.

As we sped off, with no windows to see where we were heading, speculation in the van was rife. “I think we’ve just been nicked” says an old hand. “What for? They can’t do that” comes the retort. “I reckon we’ll get driven back to Newcastle” offers someone else, whilst the consensus seemed to be that we’d be driven to the nearest cop shop and detained until after the match.

Either way, I was just about beginning to regret our Sunday afternoon adventure when the van came to an abrupt halt, the doors sprung open and remarkably, the Clock Stand came into view.

As the cops motioned us to a turnstile where we paid our money to gain admission, I witnessed several extremely hacked off Mackems who were in some sort of trance, staring in disbelief. Imagine that happening at St James? No chance!

Once inside, it became apparent that where we’d gained entry wasn’t even the Gillingham end. Their fans were housed across the pitch in the corner of the Roker End. Unbelievably, toon fans had their own enclosure in the Clock Stand paddock and to our left, there were several hundred Mackems baying for blood, as we chanted toon songs and generally took the rise.

Everyone knows the outcome.

Tony Cascarino played a blinder and following his hat-trick in the first leg, scored another two, as Gillingham lost 4-3.

However, the first leg had ended 3-2 in Gillingham’s favour so it was 6-6 on aggregate. Despite forcing extra time with a late header to our left at the Fulwell End which made it 3-2 in their favour, the Mackems were down because both teams managed to score again and the away goals rule counted after extra time.

At the final whistle, cue delirium in our end and we hadn’t even been watching Newcastle United!

When we left the ground, there was no van to take us back to the station and instead, we had to get there on foot.

Curiously, given the enormity of what had just happened, there wasn’t much of a reception committee awaiting us as we bounced along Fulwell Road, generally taking the rise and singing this little ditty, “Ha Ha Ha, Hee Hee Hee, Sunderland’s in Division Three, Na Na Na Na, Na Na Na, Na Na”.