Everton 3 v 1 Bolton                                                Easter Monday 1st April 2002

Kick-Off: 3.00pm.                                                                 Att: 39,784

Everton: Simonsen, Watson, Weir, Stubbs, Pistone, Alexandersson, Gemmill, Unsworth, Blomqvist, Radzinski, Ferguson (sent off).

Bench: Gerrard, Linderoth, Ginola, Chadwick, Cleland.

Subs: Chadwick for Blomqvist (70m), Linderoth for Radzinski (87m).

Goalscorers: Pistone (41m), Radzinski (57m), Chadwick (86m).

I don't know whether it was the heavy cold, the sobriety as a result of the heavy cold or a genuine feeling of uncertainty, which prevented me from offering any real comments in the boozer before the game. Although to be honest no one seemed to have anything to say. So was it colds all round, everyone suffering from the results of a Chinese weekend (Fri-Sat-Sun on the ale) or a common feeling of not knowing what was about to happen? I think it was the latter, although some of the less than healthy sights and smells suggested the ale had run it a close second.

The opening minutes suggested that the game would be a scrappy affair, but this was due to a slow start by the blues, fortunately Bolton had only threatened once when Bobic's shot was deflected away from goal by Pistone's heels. Once we settled the game was there for the taking (as it has seemed in the first half at Newcastle), but after half an hour we still hadn't tested the keeper. There had been opportunities to, but after the linesman had shit out by not giving a penalty for the foul on Radzinski, Gemmill shit out opting to try and pick a pass rather than shooting when the ball broke to him. Radzinski shot wide after 15 minutes following a good move started by Blomqvist in the left back position, but was then caught offside a couple of times when the impressive Stubbs and Weir had both threaded good passes through.

Making Duncan captain may be seen as a master stroke by some and draw cynical comments from others. However his performances and goals in the last three games had suggested that, captain or not, he would play a big role in deciding our premiership fate. On 25 minutes, his sending off put our fate back in the balance and temporarily took away the belief that this game was ours. Only 10 minutes later our savior arrived in the form of a Greek center half too eager to get off the pitch for his half time Gyros. The crowd and team were lifted.

Stubbs fired in a ferocious free kick, which the keeper could only parry. The linesman shit-out again, when Alexanderson followed in for the re-bound only for Mick "use 2 hands" Whitlow to push him to the ground. After more pressure Pistone found space outside the box but duffed his favoured left foot shot against the defender, fortunately the rebound fell on his right foot and he rifled in an unstoppable shot from 20 yards. Goodison erupted and when calmness was restored the quote of the day came from the lad two seats along, "Barry Horne, Gareth Farrelly, Pistone…they're all fucking wank". Driven on by a couple of thunderous tackles by Stubbs and a new found urgency the Blues pressed Bolton back and from a miss-placed clearance, Alexanderson fed Radzinski. He seemed to have sold the keeper only for him to hit his shot against the keeper's legs.

Half time 1-0.

There was early pressure again from Bolton but the back four stood strong particularly Weir and Stubbs. Alexandersson was having another good game and Blomqvist, having his best game as a blue, was causing Bolton problems. From one break he fed an accurate pass across the face of the goal, which Radzinski cleared brilliantly. The moans and groans were getting louder. These turned into cheers when minutes later the Rad's deflected shot found the back of the net, after good work from Gemmill. Surely we could relax for the last twenty minutes?

Simonsen's foul on Wallace and subsequent flap at the crossed free kick got the nerves going again. Then after defensive fannying started by one of Pistone's trademark indecisive short passes, Gardner charged down Watson's clearance and hit a low shot which luckily bounced back of the post and across the goal to safety. Gemmill could have put the game beyond Bolton, but he screwed his shot wide after Jesper had headed Weir's measured pass into his path. Chadwick replaced a dejected Blomqvist when all around thought Radzinski would be replaced. However, after a great double save from Simonsen and a quick throw, Radzinski fed Chadwick but the youngster's first touch wasn't the best and his shot hit the legs of the advancing keeper.

Weir was booked for his first foul, by a referee keeping up his inconsistent performance, and from the resulting free kick an unmarked Ngoty headed in from close range. Here we go again.

Bolton pressed on but a fast break and calm finish by Chadwick finally put the game out of their reach and us out of our misery. Watson smothered a low cross and quickly sent a long ball down the right wing for Radzinski to chase, who showed speed and bravery (check the telly tonight) to beat the keeper to the ball, he then finked past Whitlow and rolled a great pass across the box to Chadwick who showed great confidence to stroke home the blues third.

Other than Stubbsey's sliced effort that just missed Simonsen's left hand post there was no late pressure and our third win in four games was secure. Duncan aside, all of the team should be commended for today's performance. As always Unsworth gave 100%, Alexanderson and Blomqvist worked hard and provided outlets, whilst Davey Weir turned in another solid performance. But for the second game running (hopefully not as contentious) star man goes to Alan Stubbs, who gave his all and showed steel and class at the same time.

NotloB srerednaW serendipity.
By
Mickey Blue Eyes

Saturday after The Skunks disaster (which was an Exciting New Era Disaster) one of Murdoch's disgusting rags "exposed" the fact that an obscure footballer had an affair and lost the ensuing court case to keep a family's private misery, er, private. Murdoch's gobshite lackeys said the judgement was "…………a victory for freedom of the press." Of course it was nothing of the sort. Our self-censored right wing press has no interest whatever in expression of any kind except the sort manufactured by Julius Streicher.

Just ask them to run a prolonged campaign on where true political power lies, arms dealing, international corporate corruption or on how Murdoch has cheated and lied his way through life and see how far it gets you. No, they will always find it easier to pick on little people, or those who have been cut loose as an embarrassment to the establishment. The proposal that former Murdoch yesmen scumbags like Kelvin McKenzie and Andrew Neal and their successors are anything other than gutless media thugs wouldn't make it past a first form debate on ethics. Needless to say the same behaviour gets transferred to the loony hype and bullshit of Sky monopoly coverage of footy, to say nothing of how the fixture admin form is now so ludicrous the game is in danger of losing its shape completely. All to suit TV advertising revenues to keep corrupt hands in the till. Yeuk.

Saturday afternoon brought good results for us at our end of the table. Well, all except Bolton, immortalised in a failed Monty Python's Flying Circus palindrome as notloB. Words as trivialising weapons. Absurd regional chauvinism dictates that I want to see north west clubs survive but I'll feel a real twinge if Ipswich go down. Furthermore, it gets tiresome hearing some notloB fans wittering on about the legality of a goal we scored against them three hundred years ago……………………especially since they scored a doubtful goal themselves in the same match. Opinions, doncha just love 'em.

At the other end of the table, in the struggle of the three corporate logos, both the main logos, the Mancs and the Gooners, had good wins in the race for the championship. The Gooners are in control because of games in hand but I hope the Mancs win it because they are clearly the best all round team in the division and it pisses the pinkies off no end. And the Gooners have too many Frenchies. Amazingly, the third corporate logo is still squirming under Moyesy's Peoples' Club comment. Tsk tsk. Words as weapons again.

By Sunday, ITV Digital were talking about baling out of the broadcasting contract with the Football League via a part payment. This, after saying the were going to pay nothing. All of which of course informs you of the worth of any agreement with a large and faceless corporation, in this case Carlton and Granada. Like Murdoch and his employees, these people are nothing but spivs who thought they could make a quick buck out of our game. So much for their so-called "business acumen," so much for their so-called "entrepreneurship" and their so-called "creators of wealth" function. They are of course nothing but welching carpetbaggers of the worst type. Carlton and Granada have a combined "market" capitalisation of £5 BILLION, have just settled £20 million on another fucked up "deal" with the so-called Premiership (read: Scab League) and are bidding for some of the World Cup broadcasting rights. Use your common sense and ask: Would I Buy A Used Carpet From These People? Me, I'd sue the arse off them. But it'll probably get settled out of court. This kind of thing usually does. Moreover, the media companies can't afford to alienate one of their most profitable victims.

One day soon it will become part of every fans' consciousness that these logo gobshites need us more than we need them. With a bit of hard work it will lead to us having our own TV and radio channels. It can't come soon enough. In turn, that might even lead to the concept of making all sports a fans' trust. At which point you will hear a gasping sound as the noose tightens around the neck of all corporate media pricks. Historically, maybe even corporate pricks……………………………

But I begin to digress.

Matchday, and a pre-match moby call from Ian just as I was getting into the shower. I was asked my opinion on possible team formation. Regular readers will know it's a subject which generally bores me witless. And anyway (1) I wanted to see what Moyesy did after the ludicrous game in the nazi north east. And anyway (2) when you looked at what passes for our squad it more or less picks itself. As is his wont, Ian closed out the conversation with a disgraceful giggle about a blackout suffered by one of our middle aged fans during the match at Scapa Flow. Solicitors will exchange letters soon.

Thence to a meet at Wetherspoons, packed as usual and with a smattering of notloB shirts looking dead defensive. Why, I don't know. They were all so fat it would have been like socking a sack of porridge.

Before entering the hallowed portals I diverted into Saint Lukes to collect the banner I paid mad money for at the Hall of Fame "do." Therein dwelt Steve and his thriving programme business and a classic Victor Melledrew comment that we weren't going to Kings Dock. Tough luck, Steve. Yes we are, haha. And my banner will do service at the Kipper "do" and get strung from my riverside balcony when we play our first game at the glorious new stadium.

It was a sell-out game in which we had Stevie back in place of Tony at right back and Unsy in place of The Gravedigger. As expected, notloB had a team of Very Big People in virtually all positions.

Five minutes into the game and notloB should have been in front. A move into the Street End down our right and Jerkoff patted a perfect ground cross into the box for one of theirs to sidefoot home from a slight angle about ten metres out. Our defence was ball-watching and it was easy. So he scuffed it wide, shades of things to come. The palpitations we have had since Moyesy's arrival started up all over again. I inserted a new battery in my pacemaker again. We were off on the roller coaster. No wonder there's been an increase in the number of St. John's Ambulance men. And have you noticed how YOUNG the bizzies look these days?

Play was frenetic and wildly inaccurate, lots of long passing and thudding tackles. Plainly notloB's big midfielders weren't going to have it all their own way. Bodies fell to the ground regularly, words exchanged through side-slit mouths, faces-in-faces. Oh dear. Relegation battles are just that. But it was nice to see notloB getting dished back instead of us just folding as we might have done a few weeks ago. You can't be terribly selective when it comes to this sort of thing. As Nye Bevan once said, if you stand in the middle of the road all you get is run over. Players were getting run over all over the place and the hapless referee looked like a bewildered bizzy trying to direct traffic in the Place de la Concorde.

The inevitable happened after twenty minutes when The Big Yin got red carded. I didn't see it but nobody complained and most of the Street End were quite pissed off with him. That's all we needed. Down to ten men yet again after another needless lot of nonsense. By this time it was appropriately raining. So I split an infinitive, so what? Actually I felt like splitting The Yin. Out on the field we regrouped as best we could.

For the next ten minutes notloB naturally pressed forward without looking convincing, a cross here, a stupid long range shot there. In fact the most convincing they looked was when one of theirs committed two fouls in the space of a minute and got a red card too. Which was nice for us and mortifying for them. Beats me what goes through a player's mind at times like this. If the Yin was annoying, it's nothing to the way I'd feel if I was a notloB fan with the game sitting up and begging.

Five minutes later we got a free kick on our left about twenty five metres out, medium angle. A solid wall formed. Stubbsy paid no attention to it whatever, took two strides and smashed one of his heat-seeking specials straight through it and their 'keeper made a magnificent instinctive save and beat it out to our right. Whence came Nic closing and stooping to head it into the unguarded net. Oh no he wasn't. He got bundled over from the rear with the entire ground out of its seats screaming, "Penalty!" The referee waved play on, useless bastard.

Fortunately it didn't matter too much because we got one a couple of minutes later, just before half-time, Sandro's first goal for us. It sort of made up for his display at The Skunks, where he apparently had the sluggish remnants of a virus in his system. He got the ball just outside left penalty area and smacked a medium strength shot with his left foot and it ricochetted back off their defence. So he promptly banged a superb, much harder ground shot with his right foot and it bulleted inside the 'keeper's right hand post. Christ, you thought, we're getting dead handy with these.

Almost on half time The Rad got played clear in the box, right side. You could have scored it. I could have scored it. Stephen Hawking could have scored it. Instead, The Rad hit it against the 'keeper's legs. Straight away notloB broke clear and could have equalised. Next to me, Peter was foaming at the mouth and shouting terrible oaths at The Rad. Fortunately the referee blew the half time whistle before something went badly wrong with Peter's circulation.

We gave away a flurry of corners at the start of the second half as the crowd muttered darkly about the miss. If only they knew what was coming.

Six minutes or so into the half and their midfield gave the ball away for the umpteenth time when it got played badly out to our left and Jesper nicked it off a hapless defender and scooted post haste to the left side of the penalty area. He did everything right, drew one of the few defenders to him and then made a perfect ground cross to inside the goal area, thus totaling their 'keeper and one other defender. Where cometh The Rad, maybe three metres out, slap bang in the centre of goal. All he had to do was tap it in. Sylvester Stallone could have scored it, the queen mother could have scored it, and they're dead. So The Rad gently tapped it back to the 'keeper. It was absolutely the worst miss I have ever seen. Outraged, apoplectic comments all around me blistered the paintwork and melted the plazzy seats and bent some structural steel. Next to me, Peter said something like, "My word! That was jolly hard lines! I trust this will not endanger our prospects!" Or it might have been something else. I was too busy changing my pacemaker batteries again. It was still raining.

If he hadn't scored five minutes later there's little doubt The Rad might have been disemboweled by the Street End. Even then it was the awful notloB defence who helped. Their right back failed to make a routine clearance, the type you simply hoist over the stands roof and there was The Rad standing centre penalty area. If he didn't put THIS one in, he was dead meat. He scuffed the shot. It bounced. It hit a defender. It deflected into the net when perhaps it was going wide. The Rad fell to the ground under a deluge of Blue Bellies. For a moment it seemed as though the rain stopped, but it hadn't.

Within a few minutes, the Mill Boys were down our end, missed a good chance and then hit our left post. Oh yes, it was all going on. You couldn't discern much geometry in it though. Who gave a shit, we were two up and looking good for more if their defence kept playing like this. Which doubtless influenced Moyesy's thinking when he replaced Jesper with Nick Chadwick with twenty minutes left.

Which was all very well, except notloB hadn't read the script. The very next minute, Simo made a stupendous instinctive double save from close range shots when all looked lost. Then four minutes later we finally let one through. They got a free kick wide left and when the cross came in Sandro was hopelessly out of position and their big defender got goalside of him to head down and in at the back stick. Aarghh. It's fucking raining goals.

There was ten minutes of sparring before it got settled beyond doubt. Stevie got the ball away with a good long pass down our right, about three metres in from the touch line. The Rad was off like shit off a shovel and outstripped what was left of their defence. Me, I'd have left him out there, but the 'keeper went for broke and came charging out and completely misjudged it. The Rad knocked it past him, 'megged a defender, and then squared it into the centre of the penalty area. Whence came Nick and a first time sidefoot (like the one The Rad didn't do) and it was all over.

The rain went off. The grey sky suddenly split open into shards of beautiful pale blue. The air was as crystal clear as it can only be after the rain.

Moyesy's arrival has now seen twenty-two goals in four games and three wins. One more win should see us safe. Next up……………Chelsea, Jimmy Floyd and Zola. There may be a slight delay.

It's a funny old game.

Quotes

Moyes to Blomqvist after the substitution: "Fuckin sit down before I Knock you out"

Nick Chadwick: “I haven’t had the smile off my face since the 85th minute. That’s my first goal for the club and hopefully it’s the start of many. It’s fairly obvious that my long-term aim is to be the number 9 at this club. But obviously with Duncan, Tomasz and Kevin, that’s not going to happen yet. I’m 19 years old – so I’ve just got to be happy being in the squad and taking my chances as they come. I’ve worked incredibly hard, as have the Academy staff and reserve team coaches to get me where I am now. This is just the start for me, hopefully. I’ll just keep on doing what I’m doing, when needed for the first team and I’ll always do my best.”

Moyes on The Ferguson sending off: “Duncan’s was a definite sending off. I’ve told him that. He’s led by example as captain since I’ve been here, but today I thought he’s let the boys down."

Sting Ray: " How the fuck did he miss that?"

Team News

Everton from : Simonsen, Hibbert, Weir, Stubbs, Pistone, Alexandersson, Gemmill, Unsworth, Radzinski, Ferguson, Campbell, Linderoth, Ginola, Watson, Chadwick, Moore, Blomqvist, Naysmith.

With Tommy Graveson out suspended, Everton are short of midfield players. It's a pity we didn't splash the cash for Koumas. Moyesey also has to look at the form of Scott Gemmill, who continues to loose the ball in important places, & also seems to be off the pace of the game. Mind you that goes for most of the team except The Rad, who has another problem. He sulks, & doesn't seem up for a fight, if the going gets tough. "Cue" Billy Ocean.

Everton will give FITNESS CHECKS to Campbell, Hibbert, Watson, & Naysmith, before finalising the team. It doesn't matter who plays. They must go out as if their life depends on it. 3 points is all we want. (30/03/02).