Words and images: Matthew Thomas
From his first steps around the family living room in an oversized home shirt, to his first game at the Stadium of Light in 1997, it has always been Sunderland for Rory and the Fallow family.
In the wake of Sunderland’s monumental Wear–Tyne derby win, PA announcer Rory Fallow reveals his journey to becoming the youngest PA in The 92, that Play-Off semi-final night where all hell broke loose, and how a chance meeting with local band Frankie & The Heartstrings turned a dream job into reality.
May 12th, 2025. 10:26pm. Wearside, Sunderland.
Rory Fallow is sprinting through the Stadium of Light.
He bursts through doors, jumps down from halfway up staircases and crashes into walls as he desperately tries to make it to pitchside below.
Sweat pools on his forehead as he races through the corridors of the Jimmy Montgomery Stand. His cheeks are red with effort. He clutches a microphone in his right hand, his pre-match notes in his left, while his ears ring with instructions from a frantic security team.
He reaches the players’ tunnel at breakneck speed. His shirt is untucked, his once-tidy fringe dragged across his face, and he’s struggling to compose himself as his lungs batter against the walls of his chest. Emerging from beneath the canopy, he usually sees a flurry of eleven red-and-white shirts zipping across the turf.
Instead, tonight there’s a horde of supporters on the pitch.
They’re screaming. Some are giggling. Others are crying uncontrollably. A few are running, jumping and waving their arms in the air. Adrenaline, stress and fervour have taken hold.
Rory is motionless. Dazed. His eyes transmit images to a brain that cannot comprehend what’s unfolding before him. This wasn’t in the pre-match briefing. This wasn’t in the training manual.
Then his earpiece crackles into life.
“Rory! Rory! We need you to keep going. You need to tell people to get off the fucking pitch!”
“RORY?!”
A pause.
“It is a criminal offence to enter the pitch. Please make your way back to your seat.”
“AGAIN!” snaps the voice in his ear.
“It is a criminal offence to enter the pitch. Please make your way back to your seat.”
“Keep going! We need everyone off the pitch. Now!”
“It is a criminal offence to enter the pitch. Please make your way back to your seat.”
Rory is pleading now. Minutes pass before the melee begins to settle and supporters start to drift away from the pitch.
“I kept saying it over and over. I was on autopilot. It was surreal,” Rory says.
“I’m standing in the technical area next to Régis Le Bris and Kyril Louis-Dreyfus. Jobe Bellingham has just sprinted past me screaming his head off.
“During the chaos, Eli Mayenda has somehow found a pair of sunglasses and Dan Ballard is looking for a shirt that’s been swallowed by the crowd. Wilson Isidor has a fan on his shoulders — and here I am telling people it’s a criminal offence to be on the pitch.
“I’d just watched my team secure their place at Wembley with the last kick of the game. My throat was wobbling with tears, my hands shaking, my knees trembling.”
It Was Always Red and White
From his first steps around the family living room in an oversized home shirt, to his first game at the Stadium of Light in 1997, it has always been Sunderland for Rory and the Fallow family.
A local lad born less than a 20-minute drive from the city centre, Rory became the envy of adults and friends alike thanks to the infamous “Sunderland room” — a shrine in the family home that became legend among classmates, relatives and neighbours.
“Anyone who came into the house was shown the Sunderland room,” he laughs.
“Shirts pinned to the wall, red-and-white bed sheets, scarves draped over cupboards. Cut-outs of Kevin Phillips and Kevin Ball plastered across all four walls.
“It wasn’t until I started college and thought about bringing girls over that I realised: actually, that A3 print of Niall Quinn staring back at people is a bit weird.”
Rory still remembers flashes of his first game.
“The Stadium of Light had just opened. Norwich beat us. But I loved it. Going with my mam and dad, my sister and me — so many memories. We went together right up until I started announcing.”
A season-ticket holder from the age of seven, Rory immersed himself further through local fanzines. He began writing for Roker Report, then hosting the Wise Men Say podcast, always searching for another way to get closer to the club.
It Started With a Lift…
Rory’s story doesn’t happen without Frankie Francis.
Former Sunderland PA and now club commentator, Frankie first made his name fronting local DIY indie band Frankie & The Heartstrings, alongside stints at Amazing Radio.
“I was studying music at college, and the first time I heard Hunger, I was hooked,” Rory says.
A chance encounter outside Middlesbrough Empire in 2011 changed everything.
“I was 18, didn’t have a driving licence, and the venue was shut. Shutters down, lights off. Then Michael McKnight pulled up in a taxi.
“‘Ye alright like? What’s the craic?’ he said.
“I couldn’t believe it. I squeaked, ‘I’m… I’m here for the show?’”
Michael explained it was a club night, then added:
“Do you want to hang out with us instead? We’ll drop you home.”
Three days later, Rory offered to sell merch as a thank-you. Weeks later, he was on tour — sleeping on floors, travelling the country, becoming part of the band’s inner circle.
“We spent 18 hours a day together. You really get to know people like that. We’ve stayed in touch ever since.”
The Call
In 2021, change was coming. Frankie was moving into commentary, and Sunderland wanted a local voice — someone with a Mackem accent who resonated with the crowd.
Rory’s name was pushed forward.
“One day Frankie texted asking if he could ring me,” Rory says.
“Those texts never end well.”
This one did.
“He gave me the X-Factor pause. Then said the PA job was mine if I wanted it.
“I said yes about a million times.”
Cold forehead. Pacing. Tears.
“I rang my mam and dad — they screamed down the phone. Then my girlfriend. It was a moment I’ll treasure forever.”
From that point, Rory rehearsed relentlessly. Squad numbers. Pronunciations. Inflections.
“Number 13… Luke O’NEINNNNNN.
Number 32… Traiiiiii Hummmeeee.
Number 11… Lynden GOOOOOOCH.”
His first match? Wigan. A 2–1 win.
“That was when I realised I could add my own style. It felt natural.”
A Steep Learning Curve
Frankie remained a guiding presence — scripts, mixing desks, half-time cues.
“The best advice I’ve had is to let the crowd be the loudest thing in the stadium,” Rory says.
“My job is to give them a nudge — not overpower them.”
Mistakes happen.
“The worst was against Burnley in 2022. We accidentally started the half-time playlist during the match.
Bennie and the Jets started booming. Players looked confused. Frankie was sprinting to the desk. I was screaming down the radio. Absolute nightmare.”
They still laugh about it — nervously.
The Youngest PA in The 92
Now the youngest PA announcer across English football’s 92 clubs, Rory researches constantly. Grounds, styles, scripts. A WhatsApp group of PAs sharing advice.
“Every club is unique. You can’t call one ‘better’ than another.”
Wembley wins. Wembley losses. Premier League team sheets.
“It’s mad reading names like Mo Salah, Declan Rice, Erling Haaland.
“Even for us — Granit Xhaka. That’s a name you enjoy announcing.”
A PA Announcer’s Nightmare: VAR
VAR has changed everything.
“I wait now. I hold back. Because the worst thing would be giving it full beans and then hearing: ‘VAR check ongoing’ blasted from Stockley Park.”
Readying the War Cry
Derby day approaches.
“I’m biased. Of course I am,” Rory smiles.
A Southampton fan once complained:
‘Their announcer mumbles our players’ names and goes wild for theirs.’
“That’s literally my job.”
On derby day, there’s no away team sheet. No mentions. No acknowledgement.
“They don’t exist.”
The Voice Carries the City
As Sunderland run out, Rory lifts the team sheet. The stadium roars. Granit Xhaka’s name ignites the noise. Wise Men Say shakes the ground.
And when the final whistle blows on a famous 1–0 win?
Rory walks calmly through the stadium. No chaos. No panic.
“At full time, I felt like I was floating,” he says.
“It felt like a crossroads for the club. I put together a playlist, and it felt like DJing Wearside’s biggest party.”
Words and images: Matthew Thomas
