The Rebound: Tottenham’s collapse, Man City’s fine margins, and Sunderland’s warm and fuzzy feeling

Perhaps the only thing more quintessentially Spursy than going 5-0 down in the first 20 minutes of your most significant game of the season is doing so on an afternoon during which the government decides to test a new nationwide emergency alert system. The bad jokes write themselves. Or rather, they get written by ten-a-penny banter merchants on Twitter.

This was billed as a Champions League six-pointer, a meeting between Newcastle United and Tottenham Hotspur at St. James’ Park that would ultimately determine who strode into the remainder of the campaign with a notable tailwind ruffling their hair. Instead, it must have felt like the callous snout of a six-shooter pressed snugly against the temple of the visitors.

As good as Newcastle were - and such was their dominance that even some of the Magpies’ starting XI were left slack-jawed in bemusement - Tottenham were godawful. This was as bad as performances get. At any level. Hungover pub teams and understaffed seven-a-side youth outfits in summer holiday friendlies have shown more cohesion and backbone than Spurs did on Tyneside yesterday. To describe it as an implosion would be misleading; the word ‘implosion’ implies that there was some kind of structure in place to begin with. You would imagine that the first thing that Cristian Stellini did when he got on the team coach back to north London was google ‘Can an interim manager be fired?’.

On a day of cheap quips at Tottenham’s expense, however, it was arguably former defender Danny Rose who delivered the most stultifying blow. Mooching around on the touchline for Sky Sports, dressed like a stripping train conductor or a Death Star grunt tasked with the unfortunate job of delivering news of a minor inconvenience to Darth Vader, the ex-England international mused: ‘All I’ve been thinking all first half is how am I unemployed?’. Presumably, given that he seems to share the same stylist as Cheryl Cole circa 2009, the very least he would do is fight, fight, fight for this club. It’s a lot more than can be said for most of the dross gathering dust in their dressing room at present.

Elsewhere, Manchester City and Manchester United booked their place in the FA Cup final over the weekend. Somewhat remarkably, their meeting at Wembley will be the first time ever that the two clubs have contested the showpiece fixture. When June 3rd eventually rolls around, City could either be playing for a treble or a sliver of pride. These are the rickety fine margins on which we as football fanatics lean our every waking thought.

Speaking of fine margins, United had to rely on a penalty shootout to see off a spirited Brighton side on Sunday afternoon. Were it not for a redemptive display from David de Gea, they might not have even made it that far. The Spaniard was the dim-witted villain of the piece in Seville last Thursday, but produced a number of smart interventions to keep Erik ten Hag’s men in the match, and in the hunt for a second trophy of the season. The Dutchman will now pit his wits against Pep Guardiola in a clash that could do more for bald rivalries than the entire Fast and Furious franchise combined.

And on the topic of fast fury, the usual armchair snipers were quick to anger as City failed to sell out their allocation at Wembley on Saturday. Honestly, folks, grow up.

Here’s the thing; we’re in the middle of a cost of living crisis. Everything is expensive, but among the most ludicrous outlays in this knackered country right now are train travel and fuel. It is approximately 197 miles from the Etihad to the national stadium, and last time I checked City’s owners hadn’t invested any of that vast, vast reserve of oil money into the development of a teleportation device.

Even taking the cost of travel out of the equation, tickets aren’t free, and at this precise moment in time, there are a thousand different things that the average supporter could stand to spend their money on instead of an expedition to the capital to see their side coast past a club who, with the greatest of respect to Sheffield United, were never going to threaten them.

It’s not as if a trip to Wembley represents any kind of novelty for City’s fanbase anymore either. I don’t have the exact figures to hand, but if I had to roughly guess I’d probably wager that they’ve played there on 17,628 occasions in the years since their Emirati takeover. At a certain point, you have to prioritise real life. In six weeks’ time, they’ll be back, and if they don’t sell out their allocation for an FA Cup final against their bitterest rivals, then we can talk. But for now, just calm down, please.

And finally, a word on Sunderland. Indulge me here. This is a team who scraped their way out of League One via the play-offs last season, who unexpectedly lost their manager just a handful of games into their Championship campaign, who have consistently fielded the youngest side in the second tier this term, and who have played the overwhelming majority of their matches under Tony Mowbray without their top scorer (or indeed any proper, recognised centre-forward), their captain, or a number of key defensive presences. They should, by rights, be desperately battling for survival. Instead, they are in a play-off position with just two fixtures left to go.

Now, I don’t know what will happen in the coming fortnight. If Blackburn Rovers and West Brom win their remaining matches, then Sunderland might come up short regardless of how they perform in their last couple of games. Maybe the Black Cats will collapse, as they so often have before, and it will all prove to be immaterial. They do say that it’s the hope that dies last, and indeed, that kills you.

But no matter what happens, no matter how this crazy, writhing, capricious Championship season ends, I just want it on record, here in writing, that as a fan, I couldn’t be prouder of this team. And let me tell you, after some of the utter torment that we in the North East have had to endure in recent times, that’s a pretty neat feeling.