Stewart ignites promotion push
Striker gives Black Cats narrow lead
THERE is something about the acoustics here, especially on nights as boisterous as this, that the Stadium of Noise would be a more fitting title for Sunderland’s partisan home.
It helps when you have a crowd of 44,742, the highest for a play-off semi-final in the history of the Football League. Take that in when you consider the lunacy of the Black Cats even being here in the first place.
It helps, too, when your team comes into the game 13 unbeaten under a new manager. Make that 14 after Ross Stewart’s only goal gave them a slender yet precious first-leg advantage.
If Alex Neil’s side maintain their run at Hillsborough on Monday night, Wembley awaits. With it, a chance to bring closure on four years of purgatory in League One.
Neil quite passionately pushes back against the suggestion that his new club are worthy of more. His point is that Sunderland are where they are for a reason.
He is right, of course, but occasions like this really do have the feel of a Premier League setting, never mind the Championship. Wednesday and their fans will no doubt make an equally compelling case in the return leg.
Wednesday were never going to silence a capacity crowd but, for 45 minutes, they succeeded in subduing those on the pitch.
Darren Moore must have felt like screaming, then, when his side conceded in the first minute of stoppage time, especially given the self-inflicted nature of it.
Stewart had spent much of the first half in the pocket of Sam Hutchinson. But when the defender hesitated 40 yards from goal, Stewart climbed from said pocket and duly picked it by nicking the ball and escaping in the direction of the goal.
Hutchinson gave chase but, by the time he recovered the ground, Stewart was squeezing home at the second attempt after his initial poke was blocked by keeper Bailey Peacock-Farrell.
It was his 25th of the season and, on the back of a recent Scotland call-up, his career has scope for big improvement yet.
Patrick Roberts can only hope the same is true of his remaining playing days. Such was his promise as a teenager, the winger might well have been playing for Manchester City in another semifinal this week. He was still on City’s books in January, when he was released to join Sunderland.
But third-tier football is the reality for the 25-year-old, whose myriad loans have taken a path as winding as the runs which persuaded City to pay £12million for him seven years ago.
To that end, the sight of Roberts jinking by a string of blue-andwhite jerseys in the third minute was a reminder of his talent.
His shot, saved comfortably by Peacock-Farrell, was also a reminder as to why he never made the grade at the Etihad. Such efforts are always greeted with great gusto by a home crowd during the infancy of a contest.
Call it optimism. But so loud was the roar here, you would have sworn Roberts had found the top corner. Some goals at this level are met with less of a racket.
It set the tone for a raucous night, with each decision contested and each tackle hailed as a declaration of intent.
They were roaring Roberts forward again before half-time. The attack wound up with Corry Evans — in space on the D — who sized up a shot. The midfielder would have been better off passing, so badly sliced was his effort. Still, though, there was applause and hearty at that. These were supporters here to support.
But it perhaps said much for the quality on offer — or lack of it — that the closest Sunderland came to scoring before their opening goal was a Lynden Gooch cross that was so misplaced it nearly flew beneath the crossbar. Peacock-Farrell was alert to the trajectory and shovelled behind for a corner. The Owls keeper denied Alex Pritchard after the break with a fine fingertip save to divert a 20-yard curler. The same player had not long struck the bar from similar distance.
And that was the only sour note for Sunderland, their failure to add to Stewart’s goal. The noise that met the full-time whistle might have suggested this tie is won. It is not and Monday promises to be a belter.