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At the start of footballing revolutions, shots are always fired; usually, they veer off target or trickle towards the corner flag. Failure, or a perception of it, remains the strongest driver of change and while failure is a relative concept at Sunderland â who are assured of their longest unbroken spell at this level since the 1950s â theirs had been a particularly anonymous form of mediocrity.
âRevolutionâ is a word which Paolo Di Canio has deployed and returned to this summer and while the head coach is seldom understated, in this instance he is merely stating fact. On the sporting side of the club, as opposed to administrative or commercial, the scale of upheaval has been remarkable, although the reporting of it (here included), has not reflected that.
In part, it is because Sunderlandâs story has been competing with the Ashes, Andy Murrayâs Wimbledon, the British Lions, the Open, our new-found dominance of the Tour de France, the appointment of David Moyes at Manchester United, Jose Mourinhoâs return to Chelsea. And with the tedious controversies of Luis Suarez, Gareth Bale, Wayne Rooney and, closer to home, Joe Kinnear.
It is also because Sunderland are not natural attention-grabbers. There was a surfeit of it when Di Canio arrived at the Stadium of Light, for which there was a specific, discomforting reason, but the club are not viewed in the same prism as, say, Newcastle United, where a history of dotty decisions lends itself to cliche and those fatuous âLooney Toonsâ headlines, even if they are soul-mates in underachievement.
They needed something. They needed better results, most vitally, because last season brought another dip towards relegation, but I wrote here in March about Sunderlandâs lack of identity and why it mattered. If youâre not defined by trophies or glitter or (for too much of the time) even fun, then you need to compensate if you want supporters to buy season tickets, Sky to screen matches, players to come.
Identity is a by-product of history and countless other things, but momentum can sharpen the picture. There have been episodes when they have come close; Roy Keane and Niall Quinn and the Drumaville consortium and Sund-Ireland and searing standards, Darren Bent and Steve Bruce, those goals, that promise, Martin OâNeillâs links to Roker Park and an initial burst of energy, but all became tired and shrank back to irrelevance.
As much as anywhere, Wearside requires identity. When Quinn was Sunderland chairman, he spoke about the benefits Englandâs World Cup bid brought after countless nicks to the soul, because it persuaded people to lift their heads, examine who they were and take pride in their past (once again, Sunderland missed out). The football club is identical; there are occasions when dismay becomes so ingrained it reaches for a defibrillator.
This has been a circuitous route back to Di Canio and his revolution, but it is also the context to what Sunderland are doing and why. It is a revolution which, to a certain extent, would have begun whether Di Canio was in his post or not, because OâNeill was called to London by Ellis Short, the owner, five months ago to meet the group of Italian scouts and football people he was increasingly listening to.
If, prior to that, there had been a consensus about what Sunderland âmeantâ or should mean it went back to what Quinn said at the time of Bruceâs arrival, about finding players with the experience and confidence to wear what can be a âheavyâ shirt, capable of growing not shrinking in front of a big crowd, feeding off that frustrated passion. Call it Roker Redux.
And so a process began. Under Keane, gains in experience were balanced by deficits in character and the Irishman struggled when it came to showing love to malcontents. Under Bruce, it was better, but meaningful staging posts like the demand by Bent, an England international in his prime, to join Sunderland, were undermined by his swift departure and the teamâs long, sapping stretches of awful form.
Adam Johnson should have been a similar statement from OâNeill, but the spark was not there, the team were dour and Shortâs ambition to establish the club as a regular presence in the top-10 remained elusive. The strategy was understandable, but it was expensive and, ultimately, it was unsuccessful. The failure was one of imagination. Where was the difference? The interest? The deftness in the market?
They are certainly different now. If Sunderland fail this season, then at least it will be on their terms, having a blast, standing for something. And if we cannot know precisely what it is they will stand for until the matches begin and trends emerge, then we already understand enough about Di Canio to guess at themes. There will not be much compromise.
The revolution is in personnel. Di Canio, head coach. Roberto De Fanti, director of football. Fabrizio Piccareta, first-team coach. Domenico Doardo, fitness coach. Giulio Viscardi, masseur. Valentino Angeloni, chief scout. New players: Vito Mannone, Modibo Diakite, Cabral, David Moberg Karlsson, El-Hadji Ba, Emanuele Giaccherini (an Italy international, more intent), Jozy Altidore, Valentin Roberge, Duncan Watmore.
The revolution is also in attitude. A little while ago, one Sunderland player remarked in private that he had never been fitter, but wondered when or if Di Canio would ease things back in training, whether so much intensity would deaden the legs by the time the season erupted. Finally, it happened this week; twice daily training sessions â in at 9.30am and again at 4pm â were pegged back to one.
Di Canioâs thinking is straightforward; if Sunderland cannot compete with the Manchester clubs in terms of finance or ability, then they can narrow the chasm only through fitness. Alan Curbishley has talked about wrestling Di Canio the player off the training ground and there are echoes now; he leads the running, takes all the sessions. After the hand-grenade quotes of last spring, he has been serious and largely silent.
At their training camp in Italy, for pre-season matches in Hong Kong, there was a quaint touch; two players shared each room, one English-speaking, one not. On the pitch, English has been insisted upon, notwithstanding the shared language of Di Canio and his staff. He still wants to sign Tom Huddlestone from Tottenham Hotspur. âHe needs to be English, with a physical presence, because we have analysed that is a need we have.â
He does not appear to be an advocate of frivolity, nor of second chances. There can be no way back for Phil Bardsley, the right-back, and the same is true for Lee Cattermole, captain under Bruce and OâNeill and a dominant figure in the dressing-room, but who has not impressed Di Canio. The squad have had their fill of pasta with tomato sauce, but they would do well to make room for more.
John OâShea, Cattermoleâs replacement as skipper, worked under Sir Alex Ferguson at Manchester United, where the players spoke of the Scotâs âhairdryerâ temper. With Di Canio, âitâs more like a flamethrower!â There are comparisons with Keane, the hair-trigger, the reluctance to bend and it is not difficult to picture ructions ahead, but a spasm of electricity was what Sunderland craved.
And we would do well not to fall into an easy trap. Di Canio may refer to himself in the third person a bit too much and be skillful in easing the pressure on his players by hoarding the spotlight, but he knows he has an opportunity. He has been studious; he possesses all the necessary coaching badges and, according to those who know him, topped his year at Italyâs Coverciano coaching facility.
Revolutions are not predictable. The originators do not always maintain control of direction or are devoured by their creation and there is a danger that new players will not gel, but at least Sunderland enter August with excitement, propelled by the shock of the new. And if they have been under-reported and if we are still waiting to be introduced to a new era properly, then that will change fairly sharply.
