Bolton 2 v 2 Everton                  Att: 27,333                                Sat. 3rd Nov 2001

Everton : Simmonson, Pistone, Weir, Stubbs, Unsworth, Alexandersson, Gravesen, Gascoigne, Gemmill, Naysmith, Radzinski,

Bench: Gerrard, Tal, Moore, Cadamarteri for Radzinski (86m), Cleland for Gascoigne (89m),

Scorers: Stubbs, Gascoigne.

Bolton's keeper was injured in the warm-up and with Simonsen eventually replacing Gerrard all things were equal for both the defences with new keepers behind them. However I think the Blues rear guard would be happier with the change then the Bolton back four. Time will only tell.

Good early start again but no real chances created with too many mis placed final balls. Then after 12 minutes the referee gave a dubious free kick against Dave Weir and while Simonsen was lining up the wall Frandsen whipped the ball into the back of the net.
Everton's formation seemed to be causing us more problems than Bolton as too many long balls in the direction of lone striker Radzinski were cut out easily.
We then had a lucky escape for the blues after 20 minutes when Wallace's effort rebounded off Pistone for a corner when he knew very little about it.
Everton's first shot on goal came after 25 minutes when Alexandersson fired in a shot that was collected comfortably by sub goalie Pool.
Bolton replied with a cracking volley from Warhurst on the half hour that Simonsen saved well. Big Sam had obviously sent Bolton out with a shoot on sight policy to test Simonsen whenever possible.
Gravesen's dipping effort flew narrowly over 5 minutes before the break. Gravesen was looking more comfortable having switched to a deeper role with Gazza moving behind Radzinski.
As the first half was stumbling to a close Radzinski won a free kick 25 yards out. Alan Stubbs won the fight over who would take it and riffled into the back of the net against his old club. The scoreboard read Bolton 2 Everton 0.
Before the end of the half the scoreboard was put right and our spirits were lifted. 1-1 was a fair score line only because neither team deserved to be in the lead. Surely we could raise our game, it was there for the taking.

Half time: Bolton 1, Everton 1.

Everton were slow to take the field after the break, hopefully Walter was getting his point across with the help of Archie's bat.
Again Everton started well with Gascoigne playing in Naysmith only for play to be pulled back by D'Urso. Gravesen fired in a long-range shot from the free kick but again it was a comfortable save for the keeper.
Bolton continued to work hard, while Everton showed signs of improvement.
The traveling support was lifted by good play that resulted in a chance for Alexandersson that was deflected fortunately into the keepers arm. The mood of the game was changing and on cue Paul Gascoigne supporting from midfield drove the ball beautifully into the bottom corner to give the toffees a 2-1 lead.
Minutes later Radzinski latched on to a mistake by the Bolton defence but he put his chance over the top. The first half had suggested the game was there for the taking and the earlier stages of the second half showed this was the case.
Against the run of play Wallace latched on to a long ball, fortunately Simonsen tipped his snap shot onto the post. Turning point? Time will tell.
Gazza was starting to enjoy his role behind Radzinski causing problems for the Bolton back four, but the third goal was not taken.
Simonsen parried brilliantly to keep the blues in the lead and then had to thank the officials for spotting a handball by Nolan before he smashed the ball into the back of the net. Warnings don't come much bigger.
Farrelly and Holdsworth were brought into the action as Bolton threw everything into the closing 15 minutes.
Referee D'Urso continued to confuse when minutes after marching an Everton free kick forward 10 yards for the second time, he stopped Frandsen in full flow to book Gravesen for pulling Frandsen back. Simonsen welcomed the free kick into his arms.
Cadamateri, sporting a new blonde haircut, replaced Radzinski with 5 minutes remaining. Walter giving Danny another chance to run up his own arse.
Diawara received his marching orders, summing up an awful second half performance for chopping down Rhino when he was in full flow. Straight red? Not sure, if so another bizarre decision from D'Urso.
Cleland replaced goal hero Gazza in the last minute.
Bolton continued to press into an age of stoppage time and with the last kick of the game Ricketts poked home a knock down from a corner.

A game of two halves where missed chances are to blame for this result rather than another dodgy performance form D'Urso. Alexandersson was again anonymous, while Gazza impressed particularly in the second half and Gravesen was his usual industrious self. But the Bluekipper Star Man award goes to Steve Simonsen on his debut, with a couple of great saves and a generally sound performance.

Why do we seem to have an inbuilt desire to hang on for the last 15 minutes of a game rather than having the confidence to finish a game off? Just one man up front always sends out defensive vibes, but it is worth noting that this season we are disappointed with this point whereas in the last couple of seasons we would have been glad of it.

Full Time: Bolton 2, Everton 2.

Quotes

Walter says: "Simonsen equipped himself well and made a couple of good saves at good times in the game. I was pleased with the way Gazza played but he's still got a couple of games to go before he reaches full match fitness. There is still a bit of rustiness. That was a couple of points thrown away. We struggled to handle their set plays for a time when they were throwing everything in."

Sausage says: "Alexandersson needs a rocket up his arse."

Gazza says: "I'd rather we won the game and me not scoring - although I am pleased to be on the scoresheet. Everyone's disappointed because if you look at the games with Tottenham, Newcastle, Ipswich, Blackburn and now this one, we've lost points when we shouldn't have done. The gaffer and Archie are frustrated and it wasn't a nice dressing room to be in because it felt like a defeat. I felt for Simmo because he's had a great game and he's pulled off two magnificent saves there at the end. We'll stick together and if teams are going to beat us then they'll have to do something. We just need to tighten up as a team all over the pitch. The amount of chances we're creating is unbelievable, but we must start sticking the ball in the back of the net. Radz was unlucky when he turned the guy but couldn't keep the shot down and he's a bit gutted by that, but it's good that we're creating. I feel really sorry for the fans. They stayed right up to the end and they'll be so disappointed, just like the players and none more so than the gaffer and Archie."

Lard Says: " IT WAS A GAME OF 2 HALVES"

Trouble at t'Reebok mill
by
Mickey Blue Eyes

The clocks went back last week. Welcome to darker evenings. It has its merits of course. One of them is the sight of warm looking homes huddled together. Lights seem brighter everywhere too. You have to adjust to Winter, and I don't mean the referee of that name. Beats me why everyone else in the world says, "Oooh look. It's Winter. I will now dress to keep warm," and all the English do is shiver and complain about low temperatures. Actually, it can be an invigorating time if you manage to avoid having your balls frozen off. But that requires something a good deal warmer than a short sleeved shirt and an empty head.

Footy story of the week involved the former Ipswich chairman Cobbold, now fertilising daisies. Seems he turned up at a prematch lunch, sat down, and immediately produced a bag of sausages which he placed on his head and carried on as though it was normal. It was only toward the end that someone had the courage to draw his attention to the snorkers adorning his kipper. Casually he said, "Oh THEM. I'm defrosting them." The journo recounting the yarn imaginatively dubbed him "eccentric," thus proving that your average journo has the sense of humour and articulation of coagulated yeti droppings. The School for Journalists must be a barrel load of laughs.

And while I'm ranting about the dickhead media again, doesn't that Lawrenson's head look more and more like an exploded hedgehog lying on top of a collapsed sack? And who, just fucking WHO, is that totem air-head who yells the midweek Sky footy phone-in with whichever hasbeen ex-player is available to pick up TV fees for sweet FA? I haven't yet seen a modern TV talking head which could not be improved by summary decapitation or the application of electrical circuit clips to the ear lobes.

TV footy coverage is getting to be tiresome. There's far too much of it. Much more and it will begin to affect the mental health of an entire generation. How much longer before we get The Beautiful Game Director's Cut? Fortunately there are signs it has reached saturation point. If so, we might even return to a coherent Saturday programme. Which will mean putting the media in its proper place in the garbage can. Anything which kicks out bread and circuses will have my support.

The main (tragic) circus also continued during the week. As predicted by almost everybody, 500lb and 2000lb bombs rained down Afghanistan. B52s laid huge, evil grey cauliflowers all over the poverty-stricken terrain in an indiscriminate lethal sowing last seen en masse in Vietnam. It is impossible to be accurate from a height of nine kilometres while travelling at hundreds of Ks per hour and anyone who says differently is thick or lying. Meanwhile, a typical Yank military bonehead described the impact area of a 2000lb bomb as "…a significant emotional experience…" How ironic this followed Bomber Short's attack on critics of bombing when she described them as, er, "emotional." Anyone who has felt the percussion, let alone anything else, of one of those things is marked for life.

While we were all watching footy, playing snooker and getting pissed, Blair's hesitant messenger-boy voice went up two octaves as he chased lap-dog style from one predictable humiliation to another in the Middle East. Well, they weren't going to risk appointed prez Son of Bush's notoriously short concentration span in front of people who actually manage to think on their feet, nosir. Actually, any clued-up expat could have told Blair he was wasting his time. Among other much more serious elements in the issue, Palestine is a cause celebre in Arab homes. Arab leadership, such as it is, wasn't going to lose the chance to kick the lap dog as it came sniffing around, not while Ariel Sharon was directing yet another Apocalypse Now in Palestine.

Maybe too the establishment got concerned at the rapidly diminishing distance between Bush's eyes, probably worsened by a tight baseball cap during the current "World" Series of rounders. Or maybe the front of his face is beginning to collapse inward due to the vacuum behind it. Then again, maybe he tried to focus with both eyes on the end of his nose when he was eleven and his eyes just got stuck.

Whatever, it is all completely disgusting and will never lead to apprehension of the mass murderers of September 11th. Not that the military could give a brass hat shit now they have secured yet another reason to pump billions into their loony shooting gallery, the same money which strangely hardly ever finds its way into health, education, jobs and housing. We are awash in military hardware and unemployment. But anyway.

Talking of the military, Bolton manager Sam Allardyce has all the appearance of a recently demobbed drill sergeant. So it comes as a major surprise when he opens his mouth and sounds as avuncular as Tom Hanks in a cashmere sweater nursing a mug of Horlicks. You expect something really shattering like, "Three volunteeahs! Yew, yew an' YEW!" Instead, all you get is a quietly modulated voice trying to hold a reasonably intelligent conversation. Makes a big difference from sitting near some wafer brain whose idea of humorous chat is to scream self-possessed shite at two minute intervals. I'll take Sam over "personalities" like that spiv Venables any day. One guess as to who's making more money though.

Bolton's glorious early season success has surprised and delighted everyone who loves the game. Just goes to show, as if you didn't already know, it isn't always down to loadsa money. Good job for us their early season steam was running out at just the right time.

Quick before-game reprise, it is a sobering thought (maybe even from out of your mournful midweek cups) that had we beaten Spurs, Blackburn, Ipswich and Newcastle, as genuinely we SHOULD have done, we would now be ten points better off and up there in the top three. Mind you, it is probably a good thing we didn't because the escape velocity would have dismembered all of us like that shredded astronaut in "Saturn 3." None of us could have dealt with it anyway. Right now, even Flash Gordon wouldn't fit in the Lower Street End. Wherein, it has to be said, many denizens already look spaced out, me included. Well, the force hasn't exactly been with us, has it?

As I exited the Street End after the match V The Skunks I happened to turn around. To a man and woman, everyone looked as though they had been shot from cannon while inhaling an exploding ceegar. Goggle-eyed wasn't in it. The things we do for the shert, like.

In retrospect Paul's howler V the Skunks was a classic of its type. In fact I would go so far as to say it is the biggest and smelliest fish head I have ever seen from a 'keeper of ours. It was wonderful listening to the fans afterwards and their dark but marvellously inventive threats against him. Most of them involved variants of enticing him down a back entry on a dark November night to have their disgusting way with him under a dim light in swirling mist. Midnight Express wasn't in it. If he doesn't buck up you can assume these flights of fancy will be translated into awful reality. He was dropped for the Bolton match to give him time to think things through instead of letting mad goals through. I hope it does him some good.

Bolton's new ground is within half an hour of the scene of Bryan Forbe's wonderful old movie, "Whistle Down the Wind," the one full of slightly mawkish but genuine observation of childish innocence, the one guaranteed to trap (what Gore Vidal calls) Jesus Christers in a difficult reactionary position. The stadium sits in a large retail/leisure development between a motorway and small scale rolling Lancashire hills. I hope I don't sound too ungenerous when I say I think the place is fucking awful and antiseptic. It has all the human warmth of a fish descaling factory.

The stadium itself isn't without merit, particularly the ovoid combo roof suspension structure and floodlights. However, there is a good deal of incongruity in it and some of it is in the hotel attached to one side. A friend of mine designed this bit and has regretted it ever since, haha. It is all a long, long way from mill town Bolton traditions. Something lost and something gained in living every day: Paul Simon I think. Actually it is in Horwich, not Bolton. Tells you everything. Horwich Wanderers doesn't have the same brand appeal.

The new ground has led to new Bolton policing policies. Coincidentally this follows on from my observations of nazi north east police, whose despicable beaten path the Bolton police have obviously decided to tread. They aren't yet trampling their jackboots through visiting coaches and cars but that seems merely a matter of time. Right now they make do with openly filming the crowd with hand held cameras and directing fans in a manner trained into Liebstandarte Adolf Hitler. Some people simply shouldn't join the police force, and in this case I can safely say this applies to virtually everyone of the uniformed loonies within my hearing yesterday. It was altogether the worst experience of the season thus far. One of our party complained and got called, "A whingeing cunt." By a policewoman. You get the flavour.

It was a grey overcast day from the beginning. As the day wore on a very fine clinging mist of rain developed, just enough to glue in sticky microdrops to your hair and clothes. The stadium roof design doesn't help because its elliptical shape funnels the movement of air and rain all the way back to the top tier. Consequently all the poor bastards in the front half got soaked until the drizzle petered out toward half time.

Texyla's pre-match scouting secured us a welcome place at Horwich RMI Social Club for a snifter. The place was empty when we got there but soon filled up with fans of both clubs. It wouldn't have done the Bolton bizzies any harm at all to see the way everyone mixed freely and without any of the nonsense some of their extremist attitude was bound to prompt. But they were too busy banning virtually everyone from everywhere. You don't listen, you don't hear. Too often Inspector Knacker is more clod than plod.

Some parts of Lancashire life have stayed the course. Over in the corner of the snooker room a group of elderly Bolton fans played dominos, complete with all the vernacular patter and a lot of laughter. Around them, younger men played a noisily competitive game of snooker on two tables. A large screen TV told us Leicester were beating the Mackems and Akinbaiyi had scored, which was a big relief because The Foxes are a banana skin waiting to happen to the unwary and we play them in a few weeks.

Some of our lot bought hotpot at the serving counter. I am assured it was delicious. However, I won't kill your appetite by describing its appearance. Oh alright then, briefly. It looked like Freddy Kruger's make up thirty minutes before he was due on set.

To the ground: No SuperKev, no Yin, no Stevie, no Pembo and, unsurprisingly, no Paul. Gazza, Stubbsy, Simo (who he?) in from the off. Our away allocation sold out yet again. Oh jaysus, D'Arsehole's the ref. You moan softly and rock back and forth.

For most of the first half The Rad ran the same lonely furrow as Kev. It took us half an hour to muster a scuffed shot by Nic. This prompted me to observe in a VERY loud voice that I Hope Some Daft Twats Understand Now How Much Kev Means To Our Game Even When He's Not Playing Well. Mostly we played okay up to the last third and then………phhhht, zilch, zero. Gary Naysmith made none of his usual headway down the left.

Meanwhile, Bolton showed why they had started the season well. Lots of strong, fluid movement, lots of midfield tackling and possession. They won most of the fifties, always a good guide to fortunes. Surely THIS couldn't go on. In patches we looked as poor as last season. The Gravedigger pushed up front from the beginning and Gazza played further back. It didn't work.

Ten minutes in and the useless, Daft D'Arsehole gave a slightly right centre free kick just outside the D after their man fell over. Honestly, that's the way it was. And it was duly despatched with a quick low shot into Simo's bottom left corner. Maybe he should have kept it out, maybe not. There was no doubting Bolton were worth the lead though.

There was some comfort in the way our defence played through this patch. Sandro had his best game in a Blue shirt. Simo played well throughout and didn't let us down, while Unsy and Davey-Stubbsy were quite solid. But we missed Abel's short passing out of defence.

Our problems were in midfield. In this area, Bolton's big strong midfielders played a bit like Roy Keane without the passing and gave a definite impression they'd murder a butterfly from behind while it was having a quiet pee under a leaf. Gazza, Nic, Gemmo and The Gravedigger couldn't get anything going at all. I got uneasy.

Then, undeserved and right out of the blue, we got an equaliser shortly before half time. Free kick to us, maybe twenty five metres out, slightly left of centre. Three stood over it while Stubbsy hovered. One slight touch to another, the other stopped it dead……and Stubbsy came steaming in and battered it straight through their defenders and in. I was right behind it and it looked as though their keeper somehow dived under. See if we fucking care. It was in and we were dancing in the seats again while the ludicrous looking bizzy with the camera swung it in all directions. Now it's a crime to get happy.

After half time you would have thought Archie had laid about them with his mythical baseball bat. The Gravedigger dropped back to central midfield and Gazza pushed up to his only useful location these days, around the edge of the box. We were all over them from the restart and looking the biz. This time the ball was getting played right through the team mainly because The Gravedigger had midfield well sorted, thus making a continuing monkey out of my opinions of him. This time the fifty-fifties were all ours. The ball got moved left and right fluently. Only Nic couldn't get his game up.

Up front, The Rad's runs were much more deadly and better timed and Gary's left wing combinations with Unsy had their defence back-peddling time after time. About fifteen minutes of this and they got shredded by a brilliant triangular move down the left which pulled them all over the place while Gary got clear just outside the box. Yet another of his now famous ground crosses totalled the remainder of their defence as it skidded across to mid right area. Gazza had enough steam to close and smash it into their keeper's right side. More dancing in the seats, more pandemonium, more camera whirling. We were full value.

Minutes later it should have been all over. Another incisive move left The Rad with a clear chance at centre of their goal area but he got hassled and missed badly over the bar. A goal then and we would have romped it………the story of our season so far. Still, you can't quarrel with the general quality of our play compared to last season. And since Smiffy took so much stick for the poor displays it is only fitting he should get credit for the improvement. Yes, yes, we all know it is more complicated than that. I merely illustrate the fatuous nature of much footy "criticism" surrounding the game.

Then one of theirs got sent off for a second yellow after bladdering Unsy on yet another run down our left. Daft D'Arsehole made no allowance whatever for the conditions and only succeeded, as usual, in annoying everybody and spoiling the flow of the game, pedantic bastard. Typically, one one occasion he pulled Gary back after he got clear on the edge of the box………and gave a free kick to us. You can't win with this fucker. Come to that, I can't recall us ever winning when he's around. The biggest loser is the game. The sooner he's off the Referee's List the better.

Needless to say, the sending off made them fight harder and they began to get back into the game. Simo made a couple of terrific stops - one when he knocked it onto the bar - and one "goal" got disallowed. But they were only in it by dint of boot-and-hope-and-follow-up. At times like this we miss someone confident enough to slow it down and take the steam out of the game. You know, that indefinable mix of hardness and class.

So then D'Arsehole adds four minutes to the game. Gawd knows where he got them from. Don't ask me what goes on in the fellow's concrete mixer of a mind. Equally needless to say, Bolton equalised ten seconds from the end in a goalmouth scramble, just the right time to piss you off good style and get the police cameras whirring again and the jackboots scrambling for position.

Overall it was a fair result but galling to drop yet another two points which should have been banked long before they got back into it. Add them to the other lost ten and you can begin to gibber to yourself if you don't take extra care. So far Smiffy has collected five points from the nine (out of eighteen) I suggested would be acceptable for his survival. There are two games for him to get the other four, Chelsea at home in a couple of weeks and then Leicester away the week after. Of course this kind of formula is as simplistic as I mentioned earlier. It gives us a sort of guide though.

Once again our play level was much superior to last season and left you feeling better than any other time during the last few years. If we can add some good luck to it we might even move rapidly up the table. If anyone has earned it is the fans, present in their thousands yet again, and Smiffy for his resilience in the face of enormous problems on and off the pitch. Fingers crossed, that's what we'll get. I hope he survives and proves he can cut it with the best at this level.

Then again………in the league we don't have to visit Bolton's antiseptic ground and their lousy policing again. Now that makes me VERY happy.