I wrote this piece 10 years ago, reflecting on the events of that notorious day when we played Wimbledon. Some comments are dated, some predictions cringe worthy but some points are still valid and, were it not for Bolton beating Leeds last week, we could have been relying on Chelsea yet again on the last day of the season. Somehow, I don't think we'd have survived this time. Read and reflect. Bluenose. (09/05/04)

OUT OF THE DEPTHS, I CRIED

This piece has changed direction at least twice. With eight minutes to go against Wimbledon, it was an obituary of sorts, a stunned post mortem and reflection on Everton as nearly men, fated losers and once great team consigned to a lower division on a sea of ironies. Reflecting on key matches of the season , crucial moments over the years and on the very nature of Evertonians, it would convey the bitterness, self pity and righteous anger of supporters who, in good times and bad, have seen so much cruelly snatched away while Liverpool prospered. It would reflect on the need to discard all cabbages, turnips and Swedes who lacked either the skill or the long term commitment to the famous blue shirt once worn by Dixie Dean . Graham Stuart changed all that, with an untypical finish to a match most untypical of our season against the least likely of charitable benefactors. An explosion of elation coupled with the stress and worry of an unbearable season left us all feeling as burnt out as the Wimbledon coach, but much happier about future prospects even if that entailed a massive change of personnel.
Everton may no longer be one of the Big Five, but they certainly don't belong in the Bottom Three. Two horrible sequences of results, one after Kendall's departure, left us perilously close to losing our Premier status and, it appeared, unable, to stop the rot. Nobody was immune from criticism, not even Walker, apparently destined to suffer Chase's revenge, but the Board, for their indecision, and players, for their carelessness and lack of total commitment came in for most . In reality , not even fans acquired a desperate sense of urgency until the week of the Wimbledon game.
Defeat at Leeds summed up our whole season. Nice start, plenty of missed chances and second half decline leading to opposition victory. Evertonians are fatalistic and many of us believed our name already written in for relegation, at the same time cursing our luck in conceding so many last minute goals and missing crucial penalties. It was ever thus and fans like myself have a long list of grievances and hard luck stories dating from the time we were kept out of Europe by the curious one club one city rule through the notorious Clive Thomas semi final of 1977, other lost semi finals and, in the 80s, Cup Finals and of course the Heysel European ban which so unfairly punished us when we were the best in Europe. Nearly men, bridesmaids, the Devon Loch of football, this team which gave us so much pain to dwell on and, sometimes, enjoy. A friend observed that we were the Jimmy White of football. Well, yes, in that we also, until recently, missed out on a number of crucial blacks but we're hardly near the top of the ratings, having been going to pot for years
And yet... there is latent passion which overflowed at the Wimbledon game. An incredible week on Merseyside, with attention shifted from the Kop to our own fans, exhortations to stand up and sing, shout and help the team battle to safety, to believe in ourselves, to rub Wimbledon's nose in it, to work as a team. Suddenly, boardroom harmony, thousands locked out and 30000 lunatics screaming inside the ground. Bayern Munich revisited , changed circumstances but similar Pandemonium. The game is history, no classic but incredible to those who watched the Blues all season.

Why didn't we all get our fingers out earlier? An inquest after celebrations is essential but at least we confounded our own defensive pessimism, had some luck for a change and started the new season with money in the bank and a place in the Premiership. There is a feeling that the Board has accepted something less than the best as good enough, as if our motto has become "Satis" or "it'll do". It won't. Fans really care beneath the world weariness and, like the mother who finds her missing son, may well weep tears of relief before screaming " never, ever, do that to me again!"

New money and leadership is one thing, universal credibility is another, and the close season hardly gave us that. The object of stick and satire from Fantasy Football pundits to really serious articles in tabloids and broadsheets, we were rejected by all manner of football luvvies and Dahlins, prima donnas( not Diego) and divas( yes Jurgen) and dismissed by Ron Knee, sorry Noades, as an inferior club to his. People in Crystal Palaces shouldn't throw stones and I took some perverse satisfaction in Liverpool's drubbing of these upstarts.

The first four matches, including the utterly predictable Klinsmann routing, have hardly inspired confidence and point to a fight for survival perhaps even harder than last season. Foolishly or otherwise, though, I still have more confidence in the present set up than I did in the seventies with Gordon Lee, Rod Belfitt, Bernie Wright et al. Maybe its the new stand or the still fresh certainty that the crowd can act as that vital twelfth man and that, on our Board, Gordon Clegg aka Bill Kenwright's enthusiasm is every bit as important as Jack Walker's millions at the Rovers, although Peter Johnson's fortune won't hamper ours. And what of our new signings? Vinny has made a good start but needs backup and Daniel has, without kicking a ball , not only tamed the Goodison lions but got them eating out of his hand. Pace the critics, there is no unique racist setup at Goodison , the main colour in our Dixieland is blue and the reception accorded to Amokachi when presented to the crowd indicated the great hope and responsibility that rests on him as well as, probably, a fervent wish that we could sign four or five more of the same quality.

Time was, my Dad once told me, when players would turn to Everton's huge clergy following in the Main Stand for their pre-match blessing. I said a few prayers at his grave before the Wimbledon match, hoping against hope that our diabolical season would turn. Nothing will convince me that he and other kindred spirits didn't play their part and I wonder, if watching on "Sky", they experienced the same roller coaster of emotions as the rest of us did and do. This season will, I believe, require every ounce of everyone's faith and Evertonians past and present and the spirits of the 1984 revival look to Mike Walker to put us back at the top again. Bluenose.

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