​Growing up in Ireland in 2002, supporting Sunderland AFC was one of the quickest ways to stand out in a primary school playground.In my class, there were eight football-mad boys, each proudly supporting their chosen club.AdvertisementAdvertisementAdvertisementThere were four Liverpool supporters, one Leeds United fan, one Tottenham supporter, one Celtic fan and me, almost certainly the only Sunderland supporter not just in the school but perhaps in the whole of South Dublin. I loved supporting Sunderland — not because it was unusual, but because I knew no different.One of the earliest photographs of me shows a tiny boy sitting in our living room wrapped from head to toe in Sunderland colours: shirt, hat, scarf and every other piece of red and white paraphernalia I could get my hands on.My Sunderland story really began long before I was born.My father had fallen in love with the club because of Charlie Hurley. Back then, following an English football club from Ireland wasn’t easy. Live television coverage was rare, so supporters relied on radio commentary, newspaper reports and the occasional magazine to keep track of their team.AdvertisementAdvertisementAdvertisementLike most football loyalties, mine wasn’t really a choice — it was inherited.Niall Quinn became my childhood hero in much the same way Hurley had been for my father. Kevin Phillips wasn’t far behind, and his autobiography, Strikingly Different, was one of the very first books I ever read.I can’t remember exactly how I was told that my dad was taking me to my first Sunderland match against Newcastle United, but what I do remember is the excitement. Every day felt longer than the last as I counted down to the most exciting weekend of my young life.As was tradition in our house, every school morning began in organised chaos.AdvertisementAdvertisementAdvertisementRTÉ Radio 1 hummed away in the background while GMTV played on the television as Mam somehow managed to get three children ready for school. I can still remember watching the dates tick by on the screen, willing 24 February 2002 to arrive just a little faster.The date couldn’t come quickly enough…until it did.Looking back now, many of the finer details of the weekend have faded with time, but what remains crystal clear is the overwhelming feeling of excitement. My dad and I flew from Dublin on the Saturday morning, and I vividly remember my disappointment when I realised the plane wasn’t full of Sunderland supporters.With the game moved to the Sunday, Saturday was spent almost entirely in the club shop, where my poor father’s credit card took an absolute hammering.AdvertisementAdvertisementAdvertisementMy greatest disappointment came when the assistant told me they had run out of the number ‘0’, meaning I couldn’t have ‘Phillips 10’ on the back of my new shirt. They suggested choosing another player instead, but there was never any chance of that. I stubbornly stuck to my guns and proudly walked awa