Here comes their new theory. We don't like them because of the trophies we didn't win in the 1990s.
http://www.readytogo.net/smb/showpost.php?p=13638512&postcount=1
Sunderland fans hate Newcastle. Newcastle fans hate Sunderland. We get it. But why do so many of them lot seem, well, a bit mental when it comes to Sunderland?
The last time I checked, the people of Wearside were not members of the Taliban. They do not steal children from Tyneside and sacrifice them on an altar dedicated to Stan Cummins. Nor did they deflower and drink the blood of Wallsend's last virgin. So why does Mag, "banter" frequently go too far?
Let me hazard a guess. Of all the clubs that have genuinely challenged the traditional big four over the last 20 years, all have won something except Newcastle. Leeds won the title, Blackburn won the title, City and Chelsea became "big boys" themselves. Even Tottenham managed to win the league cup twice. Mags won nowt.
With King Kev, Bobby, Sexy Ruud et al, the Mag (especially the new Skyboy Mag) had his hopes raised almost as high as his cholesterol level. And time and time again, NUFC resembled a drunk lass on the Quayside; at first striding loudly and confidently along, full of uncouth bravado, then suddenly teetering on those six inch heels and collapsing in a comical, undignified heap. Arse over tit with her knickers on show.
For all the great memories the mags have had over the last 20 years, those memories will always be tainted by the fact that nothing ever came to fruition. Being a mag must be like being married to a gorgeous but untrustworthy woman- every time you start to get deliriously happy, you come home to find her being shagged silly by some other bloke whose always been more successful than you. Or Graham Fenton.
This tends to make Fattie McMagpie a little on the bitter side. Sorry for flogging the shag-happy lass analogy to death here, but the mag says to himself, "at least I got the chance to shag her, unlike that sad bastard over there". And that's where we come in. Having done better than Sunderland for most of the last two decades is their crumb of comfort, their wooden spoon, their little Intertoto Certificate of "success".
Which is why, paradoxically, the Mags need to win derbies more than we do. Sunderland fans are used to being subjected to mediocrity, while for post '92 Newcastle fans, beating Sunderland is an entitlement, almost a birthright. We've all seen the footage from previous derby wins; losing is not just a bitter disappointment to them, it's a totally incomprehensible, "Luke, I'm your father" moment. They can't take it in. Imagine if that Five-One scoreline had been the other way around. Imagine the meltdown on Tyneside. The protests. Would the anger have dissipated following a three-nil away win at Chelsea? I doubt it. Losing Five-One to Sunderland would be too much of a blow to the mag psyche. The poor dears couldn't take it. They'd be calling in the Reverend Wraith.
A pathological hatred of all things Sunderland has become a crucial part of the clubs identity. It heals the wounds from all of the broken promises, all the failed messiahs, all those little blows to their self-image as standing shoulder-to-shoulder with English and European greats. Mackem-baiting is how new players ingratiate themselves to their new fans. It's how tubby cockney folk sell themselves to their customers. It's how the Gallowgate learned to follow Alan Of Orange. It's your fall-back position when you're being tonked by your "real rivals" Man United and, "we suppert are lercal team", starts to feel hackneyed and hollow. It's how you deal with life when you think you're Barcelona and you're playing like Barnsley.
If we lose on Sunday, like most Sunderland fans I will quickly get over it. Of course I desperately want us to beat Newcastle, but I can honestly say that losing to Everton in the cup last year was far more depressing than any derby defeat, ever. Or maybe that's just me. After all, I'm in the US, nobody cares. I don't have to put up with the educationally-challenged weebles and their feeble-minded piss-takes.
I can go to work on Monday knowing that I won't be informed of the score 500 times a minute, be accused of drinking fizzy blue liquids or of consuming deep-fried snacks with curious toppings. Grown men will not cover my PC with messages scrawled on post-it notes that would break workplace codes if they applied to anyone other than a Mackem working on Tyneside. Some of you aren't so lucky. I've been there.
If we win though, remember: be gentle with them.
They're not all there, you know.
Just had a read on Villa Talk. The comments on there about their manager and the general state of the club are uncannily similar to those found on here.