This season Sunderland have spent about €35 million on new players in a desperate, raving attempt to avoid the relegation day that has been coming for at least three seasons now.
Are Ola Toivonen, Jeremain Lens, Ricardo Alvarez or Sebastian Coates good enough for their league? Hell no. These mad fools are adding more mud to the swamp.
They have a massive budget for a club in their dismal position. You get the feeling that the board of directors enjoy spraying cash in all directions, then drop acid and collapse squealing as they watch their team get pounded 50 and the new signings fail in some kind of horny frenzied fetish. A kind of selfinflicted lashing. All this is echoes shades of BDSM.
They have spent obscene amounts of money on hopeless players and chopping and changing managers. Why would the club pay €10 million for Ricardo Alvarez? For context, they had him on loan during 2014-15 and he played eight times in the Premier League. Then they go and spend the same amount of money Petr Cech was bought for. It’s farcical.
Paolo Di Canio, Gus Poyet and Dick Advocaat have all had completely different visions for the club and each new era has only made the mess much worse and clearer to see. I don’t even think I could tell you about the club’s current philosophy. They have none. Having three relegation heroes in three years is not a good thing.
Their latest man Mr Advocaat is 67 and is currently managing the club only after rethinking his decision to retire from management at the end of 2014-15. He will certainly go at the end of the season. Therefore the club’s future looks unambitious and will require going back to the drawing board next May regardless of results.
The last half-decent signing I recall them making was Steven Fletcher from Wolves for £12 million. I have always thought he was a fine player and he finished with 11 goals in 2012-13. Unfortunately for the club he’s never been fit.
Their current ‘director of football’ must have been hunted down for the position. He had to fulfill the owner’s twisted nightmarish vision of installing some kind of drunken maniac in a job so crucial to a football club it would hopefully be seen as a good piece of comedy. I imagine they did this by putting mescaline on the end of a fishhook and dragging it through the most cracked and rotten part of hell.
The man the hook got caught in the cheek of has the name of Lee Corrington. How somebody can be so hopelessly terrible at their job yet succeed in keeping the club in the top division is Houdini in the 21st Century.
In the 2012-13 season they claimed 39 points and survived Wigan who finished with 36 and three behind them. In 2013-14 they finished with 38 points, five above relegation. In 2014-15 the exact same 38 points were delivered but only three above the drop zone this time.
The freaky horror train of the Championship is about to ram the ass soon. I don’t think any side in England has had such consistently bad seasons, but managed to stay in the Godot-like loop without the wheels coming off.
I think getting relegated will actually sort out most of the club’s problems. They need a firesale of some sort to clear out the waste. Then they need to get a good manager with a very clear vision and commit to him. God damn.
You know about 40,000 people watch Sunderland every week? It’s the seventh highest attendance in the league. Each one of those 40,000 is no doubt for every minute of a home game filled up to their ears with despair and sit nauseous with dread, peering out from under their seats like great red and white striped hermit crabs as Sunderland AFC are crushed mercilessly into submission week in, week out. There is no respite. They are tired of chanting empty phrases in protest or support.
Somewhere sitting above them in the clouds, the club’s owners cackle violently as they melt pounds and pence proceeding to shoot it into their hungry veins, plotting the next season’s doomed future recruits, their next moonstruck dinner party or vacation. And ultimately the club’s next manager will be lured with a chequebook that resembles a crude and carnal version of Santa’s Christmas list.