SINCE first form days, and to all manner and estate of men, Paul Dobson has been known as Sobs. It seems tearfully appropriate, really, for he is co-editor of A Love Supreme, the Sunderland FC fanzine.

At school they sat alphabetically, he recalls. One of his contemporaries thought it would be better if all their surnames were changed to begin with an “s.”

“Mine was the only one that stuck.”

The strange thing, however, is that Smith’s on Durham railway station – as doubtless elsewhere – has had the same issue of the mag for getting on three months, and no matter that the “Short out” cover might have been produced any time in the past three years.

Had A Love Supreme become A Love Supine? Had even they decided to lie back and think of Ingleton?

“Not really,” he insists. “It’s just that we’d got to the stage where we were saying the same thing over and over. It would just have been 48 pages of doom, gloom and adverts.”

We meet last Wednesday – eight days ago, four days after the coffin was finally, fearfully nailed down – in a pub near his home in Bishop Auckland, unashamedly (and unoriginally) contemplating photographs of crying and beer.

Nothing new to write about? Hah!

A LOVE Supreme was launched in 1989, once one of three hard copy Sunderland fanzines – another, slightly surprisingly, was called Sex and Chocolate – and now one of only two in the North-East. It has eight times been named fanzine of the year.

Its all a bit reminiscent of the late Dick Emery. “Oooh you are awful but….”

They also run a website, flog merchandise and organise away coach trips. (“Terms and conditions: no booze, no dickheads, no Mags, no refunds.”)

The website – “Following SAFC is easy, being emotionally attached to them is a bloody nightmare,” says the home page – reflects the darkness around the Stadium of Light.

“It says a lot about our predicament that the SAFC-related highlight of the past week has been seeing Trevor, the Wensleydale Mackem, showing John Prescott how to make cheese on Channel 5.”

Sobs, lachrymose, is on there, too. “I’m lost for words, which is a shame if you were expecting a bit of English literature.”

The mag’s last issue had been supportive of team manager Chris Coleman – “better than we deserve, but sent into a gunfight with a rubber knife” – but, of course, critical of Short.

Among his many failings, says Sobs, was the calibre of some of those behind the scenes. “Some of the appointments were very odd.”

Though former player Mickey Gray had observed that they had a manager from Waitrose and a team from Aldi, Sobs himself had urged against mass protest. “We’re quite rightly wary of finding ourselves lumped in with the illiterate bed-sheet warriors of Tyneside.”

There was still plenty to chew the chips about, of course.

HE was born in Houghton-le-Spring – “not much choice than to be a Sunderland fan over there” – his father an infrequent attender but his grandfather at St James’ Park when, 110 years ago, Sunderland won 9-1.

Both his parents were head teachers in south Durham. Paul’s 61, a retired engineer, holds office – several offices – with the Co Durham branch of the Campaign for Real Ale and is a volunteer stunt person, as now they’re called, on stage with Kynren.

“Swishing swords about,” he explains.

Relegation, he supposes, was as deserved as it was devastating– “I wouldn’t care but Burton were bloody awful” – though he tries to look on the bright side.

“Gates are maybe 20,000 down on last season, but a lot will come back if Short goes. Oxford have a new ground, I’ve never been to Fleetwood in my life, Scunthorpe have another new ground and we haven’t played at Accrington Stanley for 126 years.

“League One will be a great opportunity to set something away without a huge investment in players. There’s always something to look forward to.”

Another 21 former Premier League sides, he adds, now play in the third tier or below.

Emotional attachment? “It doesn’t hurt any less, but I get less angry about it. I still kick the dustbins down the back lane if they’ve been left out, still next door’s cat knows when not to be around, but I haven’t quite got to the stage where I lock myself in a darkened room.”

His wife, he says, has got past the “silly sod” stage. “She tells me it’s only a game, but she doesn’t mean it.”

So will A Love Supreme continue to wear its heart on its red-and-white sleeve? “Oh, I think so, it’s not the end of the magazine. “Gary Rowell will always talk to us, Gary Bennett will always talk to us. There’s usually something to talk about.”

So, on Sunday, it proved.

THE column had been at Eastleigh – whence, left-field, cometh Sunderland’s new owner – for Hartlepool United’s visit on January 27.

The stadium was impressive, the team going well, the chairman clearly both popular and appreciated.

Around 300 faithful had headed south. “Poolie till I die,” they chorused, which sounded like a layman’s translation of chronic illness, and that always ends in tears.

Eastleigh won 4-3. “Three points from 30,” sang the Poolies.

Just one perhaps cautionary note: Eastleigh only finished above Hartlepool on goal difference.

THE ALS message board on Sunday afternoon carried news of the death of Scottish international George Mulhall, 55 goals in 253 left wing appearances for Sunderland in the 1960s.

We’d interviewed him in 1997 when manager at Halifax Town, the Conference club’s only full-time employee and allocated a third of a puny Portakabin for an office.

“Peter Reid couldn’t even get his fridge in here,” he said.

He was 61, had had several managerial jobs but also run a paper shop. Well paid off by Bolton Wanderers, he’d contemplated a year out until Halifax had their Shay-so. “I like my golf but if you wake up in the morning and that’s all there is to do, it doesn’t seem such a good game,” said George. “I was absolutely bored stiff. Golf isn’t as good as I thought.”

A YTS lad knocked timorously on his door, reported that a ball had dropped down 40ft onto a railway line. “Then drop down 40ft after it,” said George, a Falkirk bairn who swore that he’d mellowed.

At the end of the season, Halifax were promoted back to the Football League. Mission accomplished, George retired and went back to his golf.

SO a call on Monday to Paul Dobson. They’d decided against a special edition, partly because there wasn’t enough time before the season’s final game, home to Wolves, partly because they didn’t know the identity of the new manager or other members of the consortium – “but honestly,” he said, “who’d have thought it?”