Matchday Musings: Romaine's screamer sends Hecky's timewasters home disappointed

Yesterday at 02:00 AM

Whilst Sunderland weren't at their best, they didn't succumb to the timewasting antics of Paul Heckingbottom's Preston North End and nabbed a point thanks to Romaine Mundle's screamer.

Such is the preposterous nature of football fandom, a big-bellied, middle-aged "yer da" is often a self-appointed custodian of judgement who presides over the rhetoric around primed athletes come match day. While I'm neither big-bellied, middle-aged, nor, as far as I'm aware, a father, such irony was Tuesday night's theme as I sat nursing a bout of "man flu"—nose dripping, head pounding, and mucus-coughing; I was the antithesis of a "primed athlete".

Alas, I didn't allow this blatant contradiction to obscure my natural inclination to scrutinise every misplaced pass, mistimed run, and misjudged tackle during the 90 minutes of football played out at the Stadium of Light. Given what invariably panned out, I wasn't short of material.

With Paul Heckingbottom's Preston as our midweek visitors, we were looking to turn two consecutive wins into three as we sought to solidify our playoff position and remain in (distant) pursuit of the leading pack.

There was an element of mystery regarding Régis Le Bris' team selection, particularly in midfield, with Alan Browne and Chris Rigg both in contention for starting berths and doubt over whether the manager would want to risk Jobe, who was a yellow card away from a two-match suspension. There was further intrigue surrounding the forward-line selection headache, as Eliezer Mayenda continued his mini, late-season renaissance with another goal against Cardiff.

Heading into Tuesday's clash, we boasted an unbeaten midweek record in the league, having won five and drawn three, with our only midweek defeat coming in the form of the League Cup at the hands of, you guessed it, Preston. North End have gone well in the domestic cup competitions this season, securing themselves an FA Cup quarter-final spot as well as having reached the Round of 16 in the Carabao Cup earlier in the campaign.

That said, the lads from Deepdale had been unable to replicate the same level of consistency in the Championship, bolstering the claim that they are the league's answer to Groundhog Day or The Simpsons' "Don't Forget You're Here Forever" meme.

When the team news appeared on our feeds, contrary to expectation, Le Bris opted to go for two up front with Mayenda and Wilson Isidor leading the line, only Jobe and Dan Neil occupying the centre of the park. Dennis Cirkin and Tommy Watson both made returns to the starting XI, with Leo Hjelde and Romaine Mundle dropping to the bench respectively.

There was a perceptible flatness in the early exchanges in both performance and atmosphere. It was as though there was a mutual resignation that automatic promotion was now beyond us and our stint in playoff purgatory had begun.

This was, by and large, understandable. Any semblance of automatic promotion hope relied too heavily on variables out of our control. Although, typically, both Sheffield United and Burnley dropped points.

As far as the actual game was concerned, possession was shared evenly, but we looked the more likely to score if half-chances were anything to go by. Watson demonstrated his lack of match sharpness when he headed a sublime Eliezer Mayenda cross wide.

Minutes later, Wilson Isidor continued to live up to his reputation of scoring screamers and missing sitters after he failed to hit the target with a point-blank header. Preston forced a decent stop from an under-fire Anthony Patterson, but this was a largely turgid, uninspiring half of football, with the highlight being an absolutely outrageous Dan Neil pass that was straight out of the Xabi Alonso handbook.

For a side with an abundance of explosive pace and creative flair, we were devoid of a penetrative edge. Sideways passing and general predictability in possession made us an easy side to defend against. Until a pinpoint Emil Riis effort beat Patterson on the 65th minute, there was arguably more life in Chernobyl than in our display. Le Bris' substitutions were perhaps indicative of a man who'd realised that his experiment with two up top hadn't worked, as Mayenda and Watson made way for Mundle and Rigg.

As is so often the case, going a goal down tends to be the rousing catalyst we require to spark us into action. We began to probe through Mundle and Roberts, but just couldn't unpick a well-drilled Preston rearguard. Entering the final 10 minutes, North End were pulling out all the time-wasting tricks in the book, and as Frankie exclaimed passionately on commentary, "the ref needs to get a handle on it here!"

These acts of shithousing provided us with the impetus we needed to find an equaliser. In the 85th minute, the ball fell to Mundle on the edge of the Preston box, with the former Spurs man unleashing an obscene curler into the top corner. The dip and bend was reminiscent of that Roberts goal against Watford two seasons ago from a similar angle. Despite nine minutes of added time, we were forced to settle for a draw, albeit not for a lack of trying in the dying embers.

Unfortunately, this was a microcosm of the "Sunderland Way" in recent weeks: dips in intensity, lapses in concentration, chasing games, but frequently finding an answer despite predominantly underwhelming performances.

Pragmatism is needed both on the pitch and off it. Frustratingly, Le Bris' stubbornness to play this pretty dull brand of football in the name of conservatism gets backs up when we have this level of talent at our disposal.

That said, it's also vital that we don't flog a dead horse, and in our case, a team who are clearly still recovering from the gruelling exertions of our early-season form. It's paramount we go into the playoffs in some form, but even more integral that we go into that mini, season-defining tournament with a squad with plenty still left in the tank.