Glistering dreams in the Stadium of Light

One night each month, those that are old enough leave the hostel and strut down the threadbare seafront towards the music, past the new real estate which has buried everything save the silvery memories of seasons gone at Roker Park.

They are just kids really, all heavy scent, labels, brashness and nerves. Karen and Jim have warned them about avoiding the arcade and certain pubs, reminding them that, as Sunderland lads, they are bound to be viewed with keen envy by suburban boys who wanted to wear the local colours so badly it still hurts.

The twilight offers a brief escape, and, with a few brews going and techno rhythms pulsing in the back-round, it is easier to slip towards the dream life for a while, to imagine yourself ghosting down the wing in the Stadium of Light, hair perfect, to picture yourself in the Porsche or on Match of the Day. But these kids, while they might allow themselves to indulge fleetingly in such fantasy, they'll never fall for it.

"That dream stuff, it's out the f***in' window," offers Brendan McGill, the Irish under-17 international who's signed a professional contract with Sunderland. "Look at Cliffie there now, all it takes is a freak accident and that's it, you're gone."

Clifford Byrne, a Finglas youngster serving out his apprenticeship, concurs. "I'm 16 and already I've had two serious operations. After I tore me ligaments before Christmas and was forced to watch all the other lads playing, I kinda felt like sayin', f**k this, I'm goin' home. But you never would."

The duo are breaking light sweat in the weights room at the Charlie Hurley training ground, laughing at the easy chiding of Alan Johnson, Sunderland's Scottish international, who is patiently working his right knee. It is a club where hopefuls brush shoulders with the money players each morning, a club which tries to brush away initial starry awe through an unfussy, homely regime.

"None of the first team lads here would ever just ignore ya, they always stop and ask how you're gettin' on," says Brendan. "You get to know them fairly quick. But at the same time, you get an idea of the lifestyle and I suppose it can make you impatient." "Yeah, you see them arrivin' in the flashy cars and leavin' early," grins Cliffie, with a wink at Johnson, who feigns innocence with a shrug. "Gettin' the nice pay packet at the end of the week," adds McGill.

No star-struck school kids here. McGill and Byrne are regarded as two of Sunderland's brightest young commodities, a recognisable duo among the gang of five Dubs currently committed to the First Division club. McGill, the elder and more reserved of the two, finished the Leaving Certificate in June, just months after winning a European championship with Brian Kerr's under-16 squad.

"That whole experience really made us believe in ourselves and gave us a lot of self-confidence, particularly with the crowd who turned up for the final and the reaction afterwards. It was incredible."

It has been a wide-eyed time for McGill, who has already stepped up for the reserves this season. "Yeah, in Old Trafford. I ran out and thought to myself, `What am I doin' here.' I was dumbfounded. They had a few well-known guys in the back four - Casper, Clegg, Curtis. It was great for me. Then I was a sub against Derby County, and that's been it with the reserves."

He is one of around 12 youngsters on a professional contract at Sunderland (Byrne will be eligible next year), and although they have become close through their time at Rockside Lodge, where all club trainees live under the guidance of Karen and Jim Mordey, futures are shaped on damp, monotonous mornings.

"It's pretty tough all right, even getting to the reserves, because there's always a few first team lads gettin' fitness back or whatever," says McGill.

"And if you see a lad gettin' in ahead of you, well, it makes you wonder. But you just have to knuckle down. Every player goes through peaks and troughs. You just keep on plugging," agrees Byrne.

BUT HIS ligament injury, which has left a big smiley scar running along his ankle, means Byrne must be content with simply spectating for a while. On this dismal Friday, with soft, constant rain draining the northeast of colour, it doesn't seem like the worst deal in life.

The big time boys are going through the motions in front of manager Peter Reid, yelling and weaving their way through a halfpitch game, a luminous Umbro ball skidding and splashing across soaking turf. With a visit to QPR looming, the run-around is kept short.

Niall Quinn, still gangly but newly drenched, rushes a shower and strikes up a game of indoor football tennis - one-touch fare across a bench. He and his partner fall victim to a shocking net-call and he takes a breather in the Sunderland boot room.

"I would say there is a very good set up for young apprentices leaving Ireland now," he says. "This place is friendly, unpretentious. And anyway, the whole system is geared more towards the young lad these days. It has changed from my time, of course it has. I mean, Terry Neill came to our house and, in fairness, he could talk the hind leg off a jackass, and when he was done my folks almost thought I was going to Arsenal for a college degree," he laughs.

"And while I went to classes for the first few Thursdays, I was discouraged after a time and left to find my way through the snooker halls and bookies. And I was lazy, I admit that, young with a few quid in my pocket and I rarely thought beyond the next day, let alone another career. That's fine when things go well, but when you're struggling in the game, it hits home. That is changing for youngsters coming in now."

New Professional Football Association (PFA) directives have placed stiffer demands on clubs, particularly those with youth academies. Hence, Sunderland have recently appointed Brian Buddle, a retired school principle, as full-time education officer. Earlier this week, he flew to Dublin with Jim Hagan, the club's youth development officer, to discover more about the Irish education system.

"We met Eoin Hand, who had arranged for us to talk with someone familiar with the Irish system. So take Keith Graydon (a Home Farm youngster due to join Sunderland in July). Once I establish his Junior Cert grades and what interests him, and find out what his parents think, it's my job to tap into whatever courses may be suited to him. Basically, if a kid comes here, we are committed to his education for three years," explains Buddle.

And apprentices have the option of taking first aid and coaching badges, which will afford them the opportunity to remain in the game even if their career is prematurely severed by injury or an inability to cut it.

"Most of the lads, like Cliffie and Thomas Butler, they are all ahead of me in coaching grades," sighs Quinn. "Little whippersnappers telling you how to coach."

The PFA have also ended the era of apprentice as skivvy. No more sweeping terraces, scrubbing shower rooms, no more spit-shining. The Sunderland kids do spend half-an-hour cleaning a given player's boots - but the first team guy pays for the privilege, cash up front.

"It's more of a gesture than anything else, it takes the kids about 20 minutes a day," grins youth officer Ian Branford. "These are all positive changes. Instead of cleaning or whatever, kids are now to be spending every morning and afternoon on a pitch bettering themselves."

In short, modern clubs are attempting to polish individuals. They want to portray soccer apprenticeship as a rounded alternative, a third level option for athletes.

"We want those who don't make it to have something to fall back on. And those who do ought to be able to represent this industry in a positive light. I dunno how many thick footballers I've seen on tv, all dishevelled, real duffers. And the good ones, those that are groomed and articulate, stand out. We want to encourage that," concludes Branford.

And so the franchise players like Quinn and Lee Clark zoom into the training ground to kick ball and eat spaghetti bolognese alongside kids like Rasher Graydon, a pale and impish redhead from Dublin who can spin on a ha'penny. Although he won't arrive permanently until July, he is finishing out a final trial with the club, having chosen it over Liverpool and Arsenal. Friendlier, he says.

"That's so important when you first leave home," reckons Thomas Butler, another Irish under-17 international. " 'Cos no matter what, you have so much free time here and the boredom can really get to you. You can only read, watch tv or sleep for so long. You need to be in company you are happy with."

In the evenings, the boys shoot pool in their lodgings or watch the box or give Jim Mordey a bit of good-natured hell.

"You see all types of lads coming in here," says Karen Mordey, manager of the Rockside lodgings, "from leaders, like Cliffie, to Brendan, who has taken the attitude that he's here to play, let's get on with it." "This place is the closest thing these lads have to home over here. You see them come in from games on a high or after gettin' a kick in the teeth, and you can nearly tell from personality who will make it. In some ways it's great fun, they are spoilt rotten and it's a privileged experience. But it can be lonely too, for a youngster," she says.

Some can't hack it and quit. All the Irish lads admit their hearts lift whenever they cross the bridge for Newcastle, homeward-bound for a few nights. Semi-heroes on the streets they grew up in. Who wouldn't care for it?

Today though, you could find them sitting near the front row in the Stadium of Light, sometime contenders, sometime fans. This is a city where local folk go to work at Nissan and live Sunderland football. Over 22,000 showed up for a recent home reserve game against Manchester United. Hardcore people, many of whom would already be acquainted with fledgling Irish names like Flynn, Byrne and McGill.

Yes, you'll find these boys in the crowd, laughing, tingling at the ceaseless energy, the brightness, the timeless splendour. And maybe shivering at the notion of being out there someday.

"Well, you have to think like that occasionally," Brendan McGill says quietly. "It's the reason we are here, after all."