Chelsea 3 v 0 Everton                                             Saturday 6th April 2002

Kick-Off: 3.00pm. Live on Beamback @ Goodison Park                                            Att: 40,545

Everton: Simonsen, Watson, Weir, Clarke, Pistone, Alexandersson, Gemmill, Gravesen, Blomqvist, Radzinski, Ferguson.

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

Subs: Chadwick for Alexandersson (77m), Linderoth for Blomqvist (55m).

Everton suffered a double blow when arguably, Everton's best two players since David Moyes took over, pulled out. Stubbsey through a family bereavement, & Unsey through a stiff neck. Unsey will have to face the wrath of his Missus, as she keeps on telling him to wear a scarf on away trips.

Everton had survived a few Chelsea warnings when Stanic & then Zenden, who had come on for the blooded Terry, had good chances to score. Both missed the target. Gravesen did well, controlling Clarke's header from a corner on his knee and turning Desailly, but his shot was kept out by Cudicini

Chelsea took the lead with a great goal through Hasselbaink. You could say that Alexandersson, Watson & Weir didn't challenge hard enough, but Hasselbaink chipped Simmo giving him no chance.

Chelsea continued to dominate, but Alexandersson broke away in the box, got a lucky bounce, & struck a goalbound shot, which was pushed away by Cudicini. Ferguson slid in to get the rebound, but he had to stretch with his right foot, & could only clear the bar.

Just before the half time whistle, Chelsea got a free kick just outside the penalty box. You could sense the worst. Simmo seemed to be having problems with the wall. This proved correct, as he dived late & couldn't keep out Hasselbaink's daisy cutter.

Half-time - Chelsea 2, Everton 0.

The second half was a laclustre affair, as Chelsea were content to play the game out, & we didn't seem capable of producing any good football. Pistone though, full of confidence following his goal last week, was up for it, & was keen to break forward.

Saying that we had chances to score. Firstly, Pisto burst through, & found himself with a one on one with Cudicini on the hour mark but, never put enough power in the shot, & the keeper saved. The second half was shaping like a pre-season friendly. But again out of the blue, Radzinski ran through, after Desailly slipped, took the ball round the keeper but pulled his shot across the goal & wide of the target. Then the Rad crossed the ball for Ferguson to crash against the bar. This was a sitter, as he was only yards out.

With seconds running out, Zola popped up at the far post & scored Chelsea's third. Although, Everton were well beaten, they had plenty of chances to get back in the game.

It was hard to pick a man of the match. But I went for Pisto, as unlike other players he seemed up for it, & joined in the attack often. Having 2 good efforts on goal. Everton have now conceded 13 in 5 games, and although results went well for us, we are not yet safe from the drop.(07/04/02)

Quotes

Moyesey: "It was hard to take, I must be honest. Tomasz has gone in and I’ve thought we’re going to get one back. Then Pistone missed when he was through and Duncan’s hit the bar. These were not half chances, they were full on chances and if we’d have scored two of the three, then I’d have been disappointed not to have scored the third.”

Sausage: "We've still got a bit to do."

Lard: "Don't worry we'll be safe. It's Sunny. There's cold beer, & I've just won a few bob on the Nash."

I am a People:
On Suits, The Dook and the Bates Motel.
By
Mickey Blue Eyes.

You couldn't miss one of the week's most vital footy discussion points: Moyesy's truly awful chalk stripe suit for post match press conferences. If he isn't careful it is likely to attain cult status, like his wonderfully successful "People's Club" cattle prod. But of course it merely underlines the fact that his "dress sense" is true Generation X. That is, non-existent or covered in a vomity bedraggled fleece or with a turned-up, round insulated collar or, so help me, a baggy shirt outside the trousers. Honourable exceptions apart, and jaysus they aren't many, Xers are shite and they know they are.

So the younger members of my family ask the obvious question, "Is Moyesy a Suit?" Well, no, of course he isn't. For a start he's one of us, one of the Peoples' Club. Us, we leave Suits to the cold impersonal corporate logo of Gekkos like Parry, Ridsdale or Edwards. The Suit is a state of mind, not a form of apparel. A state of mind also like that of the fat and ultimately useless asshole Bates of Chelsea. So, much as I regard most of Generation X as a waste of a good leg-over, I will make an exception in Moyesy's case. The crucial difference is that he appears to have a set of thought-out standards whereas most Xers are the epitome of empty-headed dog minders and the droppings they fail to collect. And anyway upto the Chelsea match he's led us to three wins in four plus twelfth place. Which is very nice.

On Tuesday, talking of Suits, Worthington announced they aren't going to continue sponsorship of the League Cup, as if we give a brass shit. All sponsors should be fucked off pronto from our game, worldwide. They add nothing and take everything they can lay their hands on. And while they're at it they can take the PLCs, the logos, and all the rest of the balance-sheet bullshitters in the Melledrew Tendency with them.

At the same time the Football League announced it might mallet ITV Digital for half a billion snotters if no agreement is reached in discussion. Great. That's the only way to treat corporate gobshites who welch on a contract. It really is the only language they understand. Always go for the money, it loosens their bowels marvellously. At last it seems the footy Suits are beginning to learn true pragmatism, not all that right wing lying cack. Take the bastards to the cleaners, then back, then forward again. Then get up in the morning and do it all over again. Send for 'Arry, he'll show how. Set a thief to catch a thief.

With perfect timing the Beeb showed the movie "Rollerball" on Wednesday night. Only a fool or an ingenue could miss its significance to the status of our game. Time to circle the wagons, people, or lose control of your own footy destiny. Get real, even the mad Yanks haven't sold their shirts to corporate logos. Why should we look like walking billboard ads?

Wednesday night brought us a great 4-2 aggregate win at Tottenham in the FA Youth Cup semi-final courtesy of two goals from Wayne (hereafter The Duke, you saw it here first) Rooney. As seemingly usual the boy done well, apparently could have had even more goals. I didn't see the match but I can say from my only two views of the phenomenon that he's just that, phenomenal. You don't have to look for the good ones, they stand out like a sore butt. Whether he has it in him to develop further is a matter for his own common sense, his gene pool and the support of his family and friends. You can never tell. You only have to look at screw-ups made by The Ears and Bally, neither of whom have done anything spectacular since leaving.

One thing I can confirm is that he's easily the most promising sixteen years old attacking player I have ever seen, bar none. Don't bother even trying to compare him with other promising youngsters like Murray, Oster, Branch etc. He's an altogether different and quite exceptional player. Colin Harvey thinks the boy is ready NOW, and that's good enough for me. Colin knows a thing or two about being a young debutant: He made his own debut at eighteen in a European Cup match in the San Siro, and then went on to be one of our greatest ever players. It isn't a matter of hype, it is a matter of reality. If The Duke is good enough, he's old enough. After that, all things being equal, which they never are, fate too takes a hand.

Just imagine this: He progresses as he and we all hope, stays with us, our club recovers from its present doldrums into a long overdue renaissance, we move to the Kings Dock. And The Duke, a local boy, is at the forefront of it all. If that starry-eyed scenario holds good you could be in for the ride of your life. But don't think the European logos aren't looking him over right now, probably lining up a bid at the appropriate time, which will probably be in two years time. We'll see. Should be veeeerry interesting.

(Oh alright, let me explain………John Wayne was nicknamed The Duke. Or Dook, depending on which school of elocution you attended. If indeed you attended any school at all.)

By late in the week it became common knowledge that both The Big Yin and Jesper had proffered apologies for their conduct during the notloB match. The Yin's apology was quite right because he behaved like an aggressive jockhead of the worst type in getting sent off, or so I'm told since I didn't see the offence. Jesper, well, I don't know……………I didn't see that either but I am reliably informed he kicked over a water bottle when he got subbed. Which means he ought to grow up and become a leprechaun as soon as the genes allow, soft gett. Apparently Moyesy bollocked the two of them up hill and down dale in private. Good.

[REALITY CHECK: Palestine-Israel-War. Three words which won't separate until the Palestinians have their own homeland with internationally agreed borders. And the Israelis of all people should know that from their own history. It would also be a good start to see the back of homicidal maniac Ariel Sharon, preferably as he goes down to a lifetime in jail from the dock of an International War Crimes Tribunal. But it won't happen, not while the West, particularly the Americans, continue divide and rule policies in the Middle East. So you better brace yourself for more September 11ths. Much more of this and the bought-and-paid-for ruling families in the Gulf states will find themselves dangling in the style of Mussolini and Clara Petachi. Meanwhile, the appointed Pretzel Prez said Israelis and Palestinians "……should live together in peace and insecurity……" Honest, he did.

It's difficult to know which is more pitiful, Baby Bush as prez or the sight of the Chief Messenger Boy like a toy poodle at the beck and call of Byzantium on the Potomac. While all this was going on, Sharon said they would stop massacring civilians and destroying their homes, something he didn't stop doing at Shatila and Chabre, and then carried on just the same…………thus ensuring at least one more generation of hatred. Sharon too bangs on about "terrorism." Which only prompts the question of how much he knows about the origins of his own country, or world history for that matter.

Talking of war, there are rumours that NATO plans to build a war base at the old World War 2 Burtonwood bomber field. It seems it is in competition with a couple of other locations. So far as I'm concerned they can fuck off and take their alleged 12,000 jobs with them. Weird, don't you think, how NATO was founded to counter the "Soviet threat," that that is now gone (largely because it was never there in the first place)…………but NATO lives on. So who is the enemy now?]

Saturday, The Bus set off in gloriously sunny if chilly weather. Which is all very well except living on the west coast ensures an early morning departure with the sun just above the horizon and no real hiding place for your eyes, and a return journey into the setting sun. You always have a headache by the time you get home. All long term expats or denizens in a hot country know rules one and two are: Stay Out Of The Sun. But this is Blighty, home of mad dogs and Englishmen. You suffer with a stiff upper lip, learn how to go down saluting and get redraw burnt skin into the bargain.

In this case I figured the headache was about to be supplemented by a sound bashing dahn the West End of Larhndan to the tune of two or three goals, especially if Jimmy Floyd Hasselbaink played. In my unhumble opinion he's the best striker on the planet. I said as much to The Bus and was promptly washed away on a tide of insane optimism. Well, it wouldn't be The Bus without it. Cropped heads everywhere accused me of being a closet pinky, an outrageous concept.

On the back seat Fred was renamed Quentin due to his navigating us to the gay pub in Newcastle. He'll probably be stuck with the new name for life. There ensued a heated debate as to who was sharing a hotel room with him when we all make a weekend of it at the upcoming Southampton away match. Quent… sorry, Fred, was not best pleased with this and muttered something about, "People with less broad shoulders would break under the pressure." But I think the damage to his reputation is well nigh irreparable. No amount of Foghorn Leghorn will get him past this one.

From the back a querulous voice asked, "Can we divert to Westminster Abbey to see the body?" but the idea was quickly killed by a consensus that we would lose valuable bevvying time. Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon would have to continue the journey to eternity without us. Mogsy maintained the box was empty anyway, that, his words, "It was done and dusted a week ago." Then he told the absolutely disgraceful joke about how Lizzy senior got past the pearly gates and was asked what she wanted. "A halo," she said, "like Diana Spencer's." The white bearded one disabused her, "That's not a halo, it's a steering wheel." Oh well.

Geoff unglued himself and got upfront to sit next to me for a spell. We discussed the narcissistic Frenchies in the Chelsea squad. "Never trust a Frenchy," he said with deep feeling. "I'm Canadian by birth and I can tell you EVERYONE in North America hates the bastard Frogs." Damned Frenchies can't be trusted at any level. Check this out if the link still works:

http://news.bbc.co.uk/hi/english/world/europe/newsid_1910000/1910549.stm

So we arrived in Larhndan and fell into Bootsy Grogan's, an awful "Irish theme pub," scene of Jimmy's bevvied infamy last season. And let it be said that no sooner was I at the bar than a friendly Chelsea fan proffered a free pint of Kronenburg, ordered, he said, by mistake. It isn't my kind of drink. Actually, there isn't much beer alcohol that is…so I passed it on to Mogsy to test it for urine. Then we disappeared into the back, darker confines. On TV Celtic were murdering someone called Livingstone to win the Jock championship. But I hadn't travelled all this way to watch TV, let alone lopsided Jock footy.

To my amazement The Squire showed up bang on time. Equally amazing, he quaffed cola with ice and nothing more. He nursed stiff limbs from five-a-side footy during the week. He was also nursing a wounded ego. "Look at this," he said with disgust, rolling an embryo spare tire between finger and thumb, "I've gotta get fit." Oh aye yeh, tell that to the poor geek who got cartwheeled over the side boards about five minutes into the conflict. Then ct arrived fresh, hahaha, from a five a.m. bedtime. Check this link and you'll see why. You can also buy some of the brilliant bastard's music if your inclination and money stretches that far:

http://www.bingee.com/sac/

Turns out too that The Squire is considering a reversal of the north-south drift, which is good news if it comes off. Our city lurches in unsteady regeneration and anyone who gets in at the start of it will have a chance for a good lifestyle free of metropolitan cultural indigestion and staring up someone's armpit on the underground. That's the theory anyway. We'll see what the practice brings. Me, I love our city and I'm staying put. Twenty years abroad was fine and so was travelling the world at someone else's expense. But coming home had it all beaten into a cocked hat every time. Each to his own.

And so to the Bates Motel, wherein the stadium appears to be complete. Opposite the away section there were rows of empty corporate logo seats. This gives me immense pleasure. The away section is now in the lower north section of the East Stand, which means you get the sun in your eyes all afternoon. Thanks Bates, you fat ripoff prick. Our seats cost £28 each. I hope Chelsea choke on every pound they ripoff all footy fans, their own included.

Teams, Stubbsy and Unsy missing, Clarkey and The Gravedigger in. I scanned the Chelsea team hoping Jimmy Floyd wasn't in it. But there he was. I sighed, knowing what loomed. Cockney Toffee did my feelings no good turn when he said, "That young man looks promising." I couldn't recognise him. It was Zola with a new short haircut to replace the usual Dylanesque mophead. I groaned and told ct to fuck off before slumping into my seat.

It was our kick off. The Big Yin fondled the ball as though he wasn't going to see too much of it. How right he was. From kick off to final whistle we were once again passed to death. Not surprising really since our midfield hadn't turned up. Again.

The first half hour was the worst. We couldn't get a kick as it zipped around, sometimes with as many as six or seven passes before we even got within a metre of the ball. I held up my hand as shade and felt bleak in the shadow. It was only a matter of time. I comforted myself that Jimmy Floyd had only sporadic touches and looked out of sorts. Only a dickhead has notions of this sort and I unhappily plead guilty as charged. Ten minutes in and he got clear at an acute angle on the right and rifled in a ground shot which almost crept under Simo but he got it out for a corner. Then their man missed an easy close-in header. It was pissy-offy in the extreme. How could four of our men strung across fifty-odd metres be so anonymous?

They scored after about twenty five minutes. An untidy move through left centre got to the outside of the penalty area, where it rebounded centrally to Jimmy Floyd off two of ours, last man Clarkey. Jaysus, what followed gave him a lesson he'll never forget. JF took two paces forward, slipped slightly on his left foot but still managed to get in a high toe poke which carried over Simo, exactly as intended. It sailed in. Chin in hands, I thought, "Why don't you just fuck OFF, Jimmy? Why US?" But of course the brilliant bastard does it to everyone.

Still, it wasn't entirely one sided. Nic and The Gravedigger both had tremendous shots which brought equally tremendous saves from their 'keeper. It kept your chin up as the tide swept on up the beach. If we could steal a goal, maybe, just maybe……………………It was lunacy of course but what were we doing there in the first place? Then The Big Yin missed into the stratosphere when it looked as though he might knock in a rebound. Oh well. Sometimes it just ain't your day.

We came back into a little after that and I had the standard mediocre hope of getting to half time without letting another one in. I supplemented this by joining in the barracking of David Elleray, who had an absolute stinker of a game. When you're getting a runaround you'll cling to any excuse. Elleray gave us plenty to eff and blind about too. He disallowed two penalty appeals. Even The Squire, normally fully composed, was out of his seat giving it loads.

See, it's Elleray's APPEARANCE as well. He even looks like a fucking Harrow house master who's lost his way from a cricket match, one of those with that peculiarly isolated self-styled "home" counties accent, half bald head and a hollow chest. What RIGHT has that gimp got to referee The People's Game, let alone The People's Club? Class hatred bubbled in the seats around me and must have reached his ears. The nearest linesman got an ear bashing too and he was basically harmless.

All of which more or less guaranteed the next act in the drama in the final minute of the half. He gave a free kick against us for no apparent reason, vulnerable dead centre of the D. It was outrageous. Plainly he hated us as much as we hated him. He was biased. He was getting his own back, the tory-voting bastard. And we all knew what was going to happen. The ball got plonked down. Confidently I said, "Zola will take this and score." So Jimmy Floyd took it and his ground shot clipped the wall enough to take it past Simo's dive into his left corner. It should have been saved. It was Elleray's fault. Then, maliciously, he blew for half time just to rub it in. The People were apoplectic.

Toby replaced Jesper ten minutes after half time as we struggled to get back into the game. Water bottles remained unkicked and Moysey even patted him on the back as he came off. Well, there's an improvement.

As play swung our way ever so slightly (that is, we got the runaround for a mere seventy percent of the time) we created three chances. First, Sandro burst through on the left side after an intelligent piece of quick thinking destroyed their defence. Alas, their 'keeper made another superb full stretch save with his legs. Second, another good move got through to The Yin on the left side of the box, maybe eight metres out and he hit the underside of the bar instead of burying it. And then The Rad blistered their two centre backs and skinned them on a right-to-left diagonal run which took him clear and around the 'keeper. But his pace drove him left to an impossible angle and his shot went narrowly wide of the right post as a defender skidded into the net. Plainly, whatever good luck we've had recently was being evened out by fate. We couldn't really complain, though we did, loud and often.

Nick came on for Nic with about ten minutes left but he didn't make much difference. The pattern of play had been long set. Yes, we were dead unlucky and could even have had a couple of goals. Fact is, though, we weren't really in it. Chelsea controlled the game and were full value.

A minute from the end the ball got crossed from the right and Simo made a hash of a catch. It bounced out to Zola and he lashed it inside the right hand post. He'd had a quiet game until then. Just our luck in this match. Nobody can say our games are boring now. Since Moyesy's arrived there's been a total of twenty-five goals.

So all the old problems are still there, as you would expect. The difference is, heads don't go down. We still created chances in this game even though we were well beaten by a much better team. Clarkey stepped into Stubbsy's boots so well the only thing we missed was Stubbsy's excellent long passing. Naturally the Gravedigger got booked again but he has been relatively more disciplined since Moyesy's arrival. And the long punt up to The Big Yin's head has all but disappeared, thankfully. Despite this defeat we can still remain optimistic.

Next up, Leicester at home. They're already relegated. Win that, and I believe we'll be safe. Surely we can beat them and wind up that little shit Robbie Savage into the bargain. I do hope this doesn't mean Moyesy will try to sign him.

But, like you, what do I know?

Team News

Everton from : Simonsen, Watson, Weir, Stubbs, Pistone, Alexandersson, Gemmill, Unsworth, Blomqvist, Radzinski, Ferguson, Moore, Gerrard, Linderoth, Ginola, Chadwick, Cleland, Clarke, Gravesen, Pembridge.

Davie Weir has warned his fellow players that Everton are not out of the relegation battle yet. He thinks they must get points in all the games left, starting at Chelsea on Saturday.
Davie says: "I don't think we're in a strong position. We've still got five games to go and there's still a lot to play for. We've got to try and take points from every game. We've got something to build on now, but there's still a lot to be done."

With Gary Naysmith, & Tony Hibbert out for the season, Everton welcome back Tommy Gravesen, & Mark Pembridge to the squad. We think the team will be the same as Bolton. With Gravesen, & Chadwick on the bench, but what do we know? (04/004/02)