Blackburn 1 v 0 Everton                                                       Sat. 22nd Sep 2001

Report from last season's game

Att: 27,732

Everton : Gerrard, Hibbert , Weir, Stubbst , Xavier , Naysmith, Alexandersson,Gascoigne, Graveson, Ferguson, Campbell.

Subs: Simonsen, Unsworth for Hibbert (73m), Moore for Graveson(73m), Clarke, McLeod.

Bookings: Alexandersson, Moore.

We were wondering if anybody would guess the side for today's game, but nobody would have thought that Radzinski wouldn't even make the bench. What a palava. And when the boys came out in the salmon pink shirts somebody called it right when they shouted that Abel looked like a piece of Battenburg cake.

The amount of chances Everton had in the first half were unbelieveable. Gary Naysmith should have scored as early as the second minute when put clean through by Gazza. The Toffeemen really played some good stuff with Gazza at the heart of everything. Duncan, who was putting himself about, had a header cleared off the line and another header saved well by ex-shite goalie Freidal from a corner.

It was all Everton during the early stages and we should have had a penalty when Dunc was brought down. Alexandersson should have scored but hit the side netting and just on the half hour the toffees were awarded a pen after Niclas was taken out by ex-shite Bjornebye. Why wasn't he sent off ? But Big Dunc hit a poor pen which was easily saved.

Disaster struck on 38 minutes when Grabbi , who had earlier hit the bar, scored his first goal in the Premiership. But Everton still finished the half the much stronger, but couldn't finish chances that were being created.

Half - Time 1-0

The second half started as the first finished. All Everton. Alan Stubbs nearly equalised from a well worked free kick, but his effort was well saved. Then Tony Hibbert had a shot blocked on the line after Dunc had challenged Freidal .

Walter brought on Rhino and Joe Max in place of Tony Hibbert and Mad Dog. This didn't go down well with the crowd and it certainly didn't go down well with Mad Dog.

On 75 minutes Duncan should have made amends for the missed pen when he should have scored. Gazza again put Alexandersson through down the right and delivered a perfect cross for Ferguson, but somehow he missed the target.

We knew it wasn't going to be our day when Joe Max's shot was deflected onto the post by Freidal.

All in all this was a much improved performance by the Blues from last week. But if you can't score after creating so many chances we will be in trouble. So can we ask why the man who was brought in to score the goals was left watching in the stands?

Some good things came out of this game. Tony Hibbert looks a really good prospect and what a performance from Gazza . He was absolutely brilliant.

Walter took some stick from the fans, as he left the dug out. This is the first time the majority of them had a go. Usually it is just a minority.

Walter says : "if anything the penalty miss lifted Blackburn but the chances were there for us in the first half. If you create so much and take none you can hardly ever expect to win. I was aware of the fans and that's what happens when a team isn't winning, the manager gets the blame. Paul looked very fit and played with great enthusiasm, there is still a lot of football in him".

Jogger: Lucky Salmon Kit, my arse!

After being asked about the Everton supporters chanting 'You don't know what you're doing' Walter said: "That's expected if the team is not winning. The manager just gets the blame."

Normal service can never be resumed
by
Mickey Blue Eyes.

Football?

I switched on the television, Channel 4, one week to the day after American Tragedy Grotesque forever burned its merciless carnage into our lives. A woman told us how to clean out a soiled tea pot. Apparently you have to use boiling water. I stared at its sheer imbecility.

Over on Channel 5 the programmers decided the time was ripe to broadcast a film called "Terminator" starring somebody called Arnold Schwarznegger. It is about mechanised mayhem and killing. Miserable, untalented kitsch was on relentless open display so I moved on. I freely and willingly admit I am well out of tune with contemporary "culture," popular or otherwise. Those who direct it have my best wishes for an improvement. But don't hold your breath.

Back on Channel 4 the news showed us clips from an American documentary shot within thirty minutes of the collapse of the World Trade Center. Sensibly, the makers didn't have a commentary. None was required. Cameramen walked randomly amongst the rubble, microphones open. Right at the end, a lonely fireman was shown sifting amongst the dust caked debris of human existence. As he poked and prodded he said helplessly, "Hello?…Hello?…Hello?" There was no reply. The film faded. Like the dust, it hung in the air long afterwards.

The heavens wept openly during the previous week. So did all civilized people as the numbness leaked away. The terrible and desperate cruelty visited on the USA left us all in a pathetic scrum for adequate words. There is a price to pay for survival……the unbearable lightness of being. The truth dawns: We will never have the right words for anything. We can only approximate. Language can never explain the true depth of your feelings.

Hearts are broken, and those which aren't are lead weights hung behind the rib cage. It could have been any of us or ours. Deep down where nobody else can go we all know it. Many of us have been in the World Trade Center with our families and friends on business or pleasure. But chance and organised mass murder pointed a finger at someone else in another time. Entropy made flesh. As always, religionists of all creeds have no explanation whatever. We are left only with what we are pleased to call our "reason" and our "feelings." None of it is sufficient.

At times like this we realise just how much was lost to us on November 22nd 1963 in an act of equal evil by equally evil mindsets. Those unacquainted with that event are invited to read this:

http://www.cs.umb.edu/jfklibrary/j061063.htm

The words have even more resonance today, perhaps even especially today. Six months later the man who delivered those words was dead, he too murdered. We have lived with the consequences ever since. I leave it to you to guess his probable response to talk of "Wanted: Dead Or Alive" posters. Check out the movie "Thirteen Days" too; inexplicably, it was removed from the circuit after just a few weeks.

If statesmanship is to be replaced by military hysterics and empty-headed rhetoric from armchair generals and/or the real thing then we had best ready ourselves, home and away, for the very worst over a very long period. George Orwell may yet live, seventeen years late. In those circumstances many more innocent young and old are in imminent danger. Nobody anywhere will be safe. Flag waving will be no defence against the awful retribution of history, nor will a police state. We have never more needed, really NEEDED, the best qualities of our civilisation and never less required its dross.

Armchair generals, never having viewed war or hefted modern weaponry up close and personal, are always the most eager to propel my and your family and friends into harm's way. A plague on all their ill informed and lunatic killing houses. Literally they might yet be the death of us.

The pall of it hangs heavy everywhere.

So, football, essentially trivial at best, will have even less relevance for some time. Whatever you do in the circumstances is wrong. Call off the fixtures and you can be accused of giving the mass murderers what they want. Play the fixtures and you can be accused of insensitivity and lack of respect toward a dreadful tragedy. You operate almost by sheer instinct. Too much feeling and you can be thought hysterical. Too much intellect and you can be considered cold. The human conundrum is with us always.

In my case, mind frozen and barely aware, I went to the Crystal Palace game. It meant nothing to me, nothing at all. On the following Friday evening I had our extended family around the hearth and spent most of the time teasing the six years old youngest, quite unable to let go of her. I spent the rest of the time making international calls to scattered family and friends, some potentially at ground zero. I gained some sort of perspective, but not much. After that, Saturday's derby match didn't matter in the least so I didn't go. For what it is worth, and it is hardly anything, both games went pretty much as I expected. I just had no capacity for standard tribal ranting and raving at a footy match. In the circumstances it had nothing to offer.

All of the football issues went straight over my head too.

The players threatened strike action because they aren't paid enough from the TV money. They want their share. In the background, half arsed tyros from both sides muttered greed filled nonsense about "revenue streams" and other MBA/Daily Telegraph claptrap. You can always find one of them to stand in front of a camera and trot out the standard One Party Line.

Some manager or other claimed it is necessary to have twenty two players to form a decent squad. So, if each of them cost, say, a "modest" five million pounds then that means you have to have at least one hundred and ten million pounds in the bank. It is the kind of talk which stinks up the place.

All of it pushes The Beautiful Game closer to implosion. In my view, the sooner the better. We are now at the point where administration of the game is close to open corruption. It has already happened in Italy. Time to clean out the Augean Stables, lock, stock and barrel.

Elsewhere, self-confessed pinky, apparachik, government-appointed, unelected and undemocratic Uncle Joe Dwyer of Liverpool Vision confirmed that our club will not have the final say in the name of our proposed new stadium. Moreover, the majority owners (a local/national government consortium) cause him concern over their possible inability to fund their share. Everton have no problems finding their share of the costs. It would be nice though if Dwyer and his sort would rely more on democracy than influence-peddling in the guise of efficiency. But hey! this is England, land of Jobs And Money For the Boys, funny handshakes and management mutters of They Don't Know What's Good For Them But I Do.

All of which is bad news for assorted bilious Victor Melledrews waiting to blame anything and everything on our club's owners. Henceforth I shall call the bile-filled ones The Melledrew Tendency. They've just had their toys dashed from their whining hands. I would say "Tough"……except I am too busy smiling at their infantile teeth gnashing and foot stamping. Nor am I inclined to administer their dummy. At least, not unless it has first been inserted in Dwyer's rectal canal.

So, a full coach to Blackburn and The Fernhurst pub, designated establishment for away fans, and delightful north east Lancashire. The pub was Edwardian large, absolutely spotless and a credit to the management. Pity about the service, about which the English will never learn and will never be able to handle. It was packed to the gunwales and rocked with singing Blue Bellies in usual tremendous voice.

It was Kyle's birthday. You have to meet Kyle to believe he exists. If I said he was Everton Mad it would be an understatement similar to a Beeb WW2 broadcast. For example, and you REALLY won't believe THIS, his five years old son is named, erm, Everton. And since Mrs. Kyle is a Manc, a daughter is named Trafford. Fortunately the Old bit got lost somewhere in the christening ceremony. On Saturday it was Kyle's and Everton's joint birthday. Entropy again. I spent a happy ten minutes trying to show Everton how to flip up a beer mat and catch it immediately between forefinger and thumb, and how to detach the top of your thumb and put it back again. Yes, yes, I know……but Smiffy wasn't available.

Scuttlebutt abounded. Mogsy told me Radz apparently wants to leave immediately because he's unhappy with what he has seen so far. This was new to me but if true Radz better join the queue behind the fans. Then I was told our unloved local rag had done a midweek number on Bill Kenwright. Seems someone called Prentice stuck a journo boot in in a way which he might well come to regret. I hope he gets what's coming to him. This was new to me too because I wouldn't buy the local papers if I was paid to, if you see what I mean. Excreta is best flushed as soon as possible, let alone purchased. Prentice and co are the dregs of humanity and so are those who feed them. He probably has one eye on overpaid employment with the Daily Mirror or Murdoch's shite rags, which is just about his heavy.

Everyone was optimistic about the game and somewhat relieved we had avoided playing Leeds in the third of a series of difficult games. We're going to get back on track now ey. Oh aye yeh. I figured at least a draw and probably a win by two goals. We've had a decent opening to the season and stuttered badly in the two games we expected to give us problems. The Worthless Cup and Palace don't count since we know nobody at the club is capable of administering, managing and playing in a cup-tie of any kind, which subject is way beyond a joke and well into farce.

We walked the short distance to the ground, last visited in last season's pre-season friendly, the one The Gravedigger got sent off in. Like deadly rivals Burnley's, the stadium is surrounded by beautifully lush Lancashire hills. Three sides of it have been completely renovated but, oddly, one side has stayed the same except for all-seating. Again like Burnley's, there's a really old fashioned homely feel to the place. I am one of those absolutely delighted by a resurgence of the old so-called Cotton Town clubs. The sooner Burnley and Preston too get back into the Prem, the better.

We were in the upper tier behind one of the goals, main stand to our left. Teams were announced. No Stevie, Gemmo, Pembo……or Radzinski, despite Smiffy's announcements during the week. Oh well, looks like Mogsy might be right. To my delight, Gary Naysmith and Tony Hibbert were in and were joined by Gazza and The Gravedigger, now recovered from that dreadful injury inflicted by the thug Tarrico. Ominously, already our injury toll is beginning to look similar to last season.

Attacking away from us, we were all over them from the beginning. Gary, The Yin and SuperKev all missed good close chances as we cursed away. Gazza prompted well from midfield and made up for inevitable lack of pace with some good sharp passing. Rovers could hardly mount anything of any worth but managed to hit the top right hand post with a wonderful effort from a free kick. It seemed only a matter of time before we got one.

After half and hour Nic got fouled, right side penalty area. Another spot kick to be taken by The Big Yin. Their baldy keeper guessed correctly and saved it low down to his right. It looked awful, as it was bound to given the Yin's penalty technique.

The game assumed an air of predictability: We attacked, they broke away. You sensed what was coming. It duly arrived ten minutes after the penalty miss. An untidy breakaway attack down their right eventually got threaded to their left, left edge of the penalty arc. Where stood two completely unmarked Rovers and the ball got smacked past a helpless Paul. It was a stupid goal to let through and one you can put down to temporary insomnia in our right side defence.

But we kept going forward, heads up, if not with complete conviction. On and off the pitch we sensed a lack of the required killer touch. We have to play to our strengths and that means The Terrible Two. Sadly, The Yin was truly terrible while Kev, not at his best, bore the brunt, as usual, of the small minority racist morons with empty heads and spare spleen to fill it with. They have found their scapegoat, it is Kev, his earnings, his "laziness", and, not incidentally, his black skin. I hope the miserable bastards burn in hell. The sooner Kev gets one of his specials the better. I will willingly help him ram it straight up the arses of the gutless twats. In the meantime, The Yin's seeming inability to head to one of our own players escapes any comment or criticism.

In fact this was our best ninety minutes FOOTBALLING performance of the season to date. The ball was passed around well and we were well on top for virtually all of the game. What was lacking was the element of unpredictability in the final quarter of the pitch. Gawd knows where it is going to come from. Gazza's engine is well oiled but not up to the higher gears; it would help if we could afford to push him up around the edge of the penalty area for longer periods. Otherwise, it is going to be yet another long, cold winter.

Paul had next to nothing to do. Tony Hibbert had a splendid game at right back and shouldn't be displaced, nor should Gary, who made another tentative step back from injury. Stubbsy-Davey were solid as ever.

In midfield, wide right Nic's poor season continued, Abel keeps passing to our own players regularly and the Gravedigger made a competent return. You just keep wishing that Gazza was his old self even with a good performance like this.

Most of us were particularly pleased with the selection and play of Tony Hibbert. In my view, on this form, he is a much better all round player than Stevie and a much better right back than anyone else in the club. I only hope Smiffy perseveres with him. But of course you can never tell anything with Smiffy can you. I was as baffled as anyone else when young Tony was substituted. I don't see how he can be blooded properly unless he plays for the full ninety minutes.

Then again, I openly despise the so-called squad-rotation system and what it has done to the game as a spectacle. Pretty soon it will be as absurd and inconsequential as junk sports like basketball, grid iron or ice hockey. The sooner we get back to one substitution, and that for injury only, the better. Until then the whole rotten circus will continue. In this game we made two substitutions and they made three, almost a quarter of the players on view. What bollocks.

One of our subs was Joe Max Moore. Typically he got forward in the box, his best position, courageous little bastard, and hit one shot which their keeper got an instinctive hand to and thence onto a post and back into his hands. It was that kind of day. We were never going to score.

The game was noticeable for one decisive turn of events. No question, the fans have now completely run out patience with Smiffy's Rubik. Normally patient and wonderfully enthusiastic, they were on their feet outraged when the substitutions were made. I can't say I blame them even allowing for all the usual rationale. Whatever, the fact is Smiffy's invoice has now been paid in full. There is no credit left. Seemingly it won't be long before the fans start presenting their own overdue invoices again. I hope someone listens to them.

Subdued, I fell asleep going back on The Bus. As I dozed off I could hear the sounds of The Bus singing, gawd bless 'em. We'll be there next time. And the time after that. And the time after that too. That's the way it is.

When I got home the news had interviews with people called George W. Bush and Tony Blair. They used the word "war" a lot, mostly with seeming relish. But they would, wouldn't they. They've never been in one or seen one at close quarters. In the background, New York and Washington still exhaled lazy smoke. Innocent families wept long and hard at their incalculable loss. All too soon, you feel, they will be joined by other innocents on the other side of the world. I thought of the Commencement Address to the American University in June 1963. If only someone had listened.

Yes, it is going to be a long hard winter. Football is the very least of it.