
My first season ticket coincided with the opening of the Stadium of Light. I was six years old, had gorged on a final year at Roker Park and, to my dad’s undoubted relief, wanted to come back for more. So delightful was this particular moment that I saw fit to get dressed in Sunderland’s full home kit and stand in the middle of my grandad’s garden to get a snap with my pride and joy, holding the little book of tickets out in front of me much like a convict might hold a placard. This was a very different type of life sentence.
On Thursday afternoon, for the first time in 23 years, I opted not to renew that season ticket. The intervening period has taken in four relegations and three years of living 200 miles away from the Stadium of Light, yet not once had the thought of not renewing ever crossed my mind. I’ll doubtless be back once the doors are open again, whenever that may be, but the events of the past week – and, indeed, the past two years – brought me to that point.
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