There will always be a Sunderland Association Football Club, be it in one form or another. This is down to one set of people. The same set who have loyally stood by the club, through thin and more commonly thinner times. It is of course you and me the fans of the club. Time after time we are let down by players, management and directors, but we still believe in the colossus history of the club and in the notion that one day, our status will once again be preserved as one of the nation’s leading clubs. This in by no way is a big headed, nor arrogant statement, as one could observe with a certain team up the road. We quietly go about our business, hoping, praying that what comes around goes around. And that’s why we adorn the top twenty as we turn up religiously in the sleet, piss and rain, spending hard earned coin, to try and rouse the stiffs in red and white to the promised land of never ending glory. As the song goes… ‘We are the Sunderland, the Sunderland boot boys and we are mental and we are mad.’

In the mid eighties, the then Prime minister – Maggie Thatcher decided in her stupidity to close the famous Shipyards in Sunderland, thus destroying the local economy and ensuring dark days of deep depression over Wearside. For the footballing equivalent, read Lawrie MackemEnemy, whose real name can not be revealed due to deep anger and bitterness. As for when the whole town looked to their football team for escapism for the biting realities of hard times, this fool sent us on a landslide into murkier waters none of us could have imagined. The matchday programme labeled him ‘The Big Fella’, however, I’m sure all of Wearside could describe him in other ways, such is the resentment still felt towards him. His appearance in the list comes courtesy of his unbelievable idiotic team tactics and lack of common sense, which the whole nation observed as Graham Taylor’s second in charge for England. Basically, the man should have been sectioned on his speedy departure from the corridors of Roker.

Imagine the scenario... the year is 1997, with Sunderland newly acclimatizing to the SOL, fresh from relegation the previous season along with the toxic reprobates down the way. It’s the first Wear-Tees Derby at the stadium and passions are running high. So high it caused one member of the Sunderland contingent to literally hurdle over the crash barriers and straight into a sea of Boro, after Emerson had opened the scoring. Without condoning this behaviour, or highlighting violence within the reaches of the ground, I was literally gobsmacked by the sheer fact that this man’s passion and feeling towards this goal, provoked him to jump feet first into the ensuing enemy. This was bordering on madness and quite clearly a decision he may have regretted the next day on awaking in the General.

A cross between eighties action man – MacGyver and Lofty from Eastenders, Thomas Hauser personified the word ‘reject’. With the first touch of a pregnant elephant and a classic lacquered Mullet haircut to match, Hauser was as sobering as German cracking jokes, yet even though he probably knew this, still had the audacity to take the club and in particular, physio at the time – Steve Smelt to court. The subject of his claim that Sunderland neglected him when injured, leaving him to retire from the game, hence keeping it a beautiful one by his absence. Clearly a crackpot grabbing at any straws to earn him a few bob on his way out to the nearest Berlin nuthouse.

Some may argue that I’ve been slightly harsh on a few characters in this poll and I respect that after all, football is a game brimming with personal opinions, resulting in the diversity and complex theories of a simple, yet wonderful sport. In the case of John Oster, I do hope we are in unison when citing the fact that he is a waste of time and basically a piece of shit. Always one to pull out of a challenge in case of damaging his choirboy looks, Oster pissed the club around on various occasions, most notably in the case of an Air Rifle and one of his fellow teammates. Questioned by Police, Oster should have been kicked out the club there and then. It took more off field antics for him to be finally booted out. He then left Leeds in similar dark clouds, finally plying his trade for up and coming Reading. Proving he can come good when he wants, which adds insult to his Sunderland playing days. Slightly bordering idiotic, I’ll leave it there on the subject of the Welshman, after all you can’t polish a turd.

From the boo boy's bitch to a Roker legend. Paul Hardyman enters the chart at 15, for a timeless piece of Mag slaying. Forget Rowell’s hat trick, Gabbers’ one-two with Gatesy or SuperKev’s wonder chip in the torrential downpour at Sid James’. Instead of wounding the arch enemy in footballing context, Hardyman took the fact that skunk’s keeper (and clear nutter himself) John Burridge had saved his last minute penalty very much to heart. Without hesitation Paul followed up the rebound by slotting Burridge one in the head, nearly taking the lard arse into the back of the Fulwell End. Needless to say mass pandemonium followed, both on and off pitch, with a red card for the Sunderland full back and the loss of Burridge’s final brain cell. Good old fashioned family entertainment at its finest.

The fly on the wall documentary – Premier Passions, filmed in Sunderland’s relegation season of 1996, did no one at the club any favours, particularly the likes of Fickling, who came out of the whole situation more red faced than his own chubby exterior on a frosty day. I wouldn’t let John in charge of a under tens training session, never mind a Premiership Football Club. Just how much he has influenced decisions at the club, remains to be seen. He has though still been connected with the more tumultuous times and regimes in the club’s history and for this it stands to reason that Fickling is near the higher echelons of this crazy man’s chart.

It would be unfair to separate the deadly duo who stand at the helm of our beloved club and so with this in mind, step forward Mr Bob Murray in at unlucky 13 as we take you on a rollercoaster tour of instant relegations, disregard for the fans, wacky managerial appointments and inept business acumen. Not to mention a total lack of ambition, when you have the world at your feet being in charge of a sleeping giant of epic proportion.

One of the all time great captains in the club’s history, Bobby Kerr’s appearance is based on one sole act of drunken debauchery, if that is what you can call it. It came after the 1973 Cup Final success. Still inside the Wembley arena, our Bob was interviewed for the national TV audience, for his initial thoughts on his team’s astounding victory. After playing hard, Bobby celebrated hard and quite rightly so following the team’s monumental efforts. When the Match of the Day cameras came calling the midfield general was somewhat ten sheets on the piss, nevermind three to the wind. It still makes me chuckle everytime I watch MOTD’s Sunderland history video, seeing Bob blag his way through, the camera shots cut to make Bob out to be sober. However, the editor cocks up, showing Kerr pissing himself laughing with interviewer Barry Davies. An outstanding loyal servant, Bobby was entitled to his daft half hour.