Everton 2 v 1 Fulham                                         Sunday, 17th March 2002
Kick-Off: 3.00pm                                                                    Att: 34,639

Everton: Simonsen, Hibbert, Weir, Stubbs, Pistone, Carsley, Gemmill, Gravesen, Unsworth, Radzinski, Ferguson.

Bench : Gerrard, Moore (Radzinski 45m), Blomqvist (Unsworth 70m), Clarke, Chadwick

It has been a hetic week for all Toffeemen everywhere. I was on my knees last Sunday I was expecting the worse. I couldn't see where the next goal was gonna come from never mind the next goal. For the first time in ages we left the ale house with enough time to see David Moyes be introduced to the crowd.

Andy Holden picked the side, he went with a 4 4 2. Good news that Tony Hibbert was at right back, Mad Dog was given the chance to get back in the good books in the middle of the park and big Duncan was given the honour of the Captains arm band. What a master stroke.

No sooner had I sat down in my seat I was up again crying my eyes out. Pisto took a long throw -in Duncan flicked it on to The Rad, who laid it back for Unsy. He hit a screamer into the back of the net. What a fuckin goal. What a start. I couldn't cope. The goal was timed at 27 seconds.

We were fighting for every ball. It was great to see. Tommy Grav got booked for a late tackle. We were all up for it.

After 13 minutes we went 2 up. The Rad and Duncan chased the Fulham goalie Sally Webster who completely cocked his kick up. It broke to Duncan about 8 yards out and from a tight angle the Skipper stroaked the ball home into the empty net. We went nuts. I couln't handle it anymore. I went for a wee and a pie.

On the half hour Mad Dog got sent off for I think it was someting he said, after a another decision went against us. You prick Barber. What a disaster. A full hour left with 10 men.

We were up against it now. We had to really dig in. And we did for the last 15 minutes of the half. The Rad went off just before the half ended with a back injury.

Half-Time 2-0

Joe-Max came on for the Rad at the start of the second half. We got off to the worse possible start when Malbranque scored after 6 minutes. This was a back against the wall job now.

Fulham were in complete control of the game. We just couldn't get out of our own half.

There were some brave performances by men in the Blue shirts . They were putting their bodies on the line. It was really nail biting stuff. I couldn't cope again. I had to go for another piss.

With 20 minutes to go Jesper came on for Unsy. He got a well deserved standing ovation.

The crowd were fuckin magnificent and the Blues hung on to give David Moyes a great start to his Everton career. There was hugs and kisses for everyone. Every Everton player gave it everything they had today. The Blue Kipper star man goes to Captain Braveheart. Duncan was awesome. It was made for him today, if he keeps fit and gives performances like that for the rest of the season we will be ok. No problem. And if yer know yer history.....

Quotes

Lard: That was fuckin' brill

Kipper: Yeh. Shall we stay out and get twonked

Lard: I can't

Kipper: Oh come ed

Lard: Alright then

David Moyes: "I feel as if I've been here six weeks, never mind two days. It was hard, and we couldn't get out of our own half. When you're down to 10 men there are few teams who can pass the ball as well as Fulham do.

"It was incredibly tense, and you could feel that around the ground because the points were so important. It was just a great feeling, and the players fought tooth and nail for
everything. It was a dream start. They came out of the blocks, and I think they were a wee bit sore after losing to Middlesbrough. I hope people will see they do care."

Why was Duncan Captain? David said :"We needed a rally cry and we thought this might inspire Duncan and the crowd. I think it did."

Bring me the head of………….er, who exactly?
By
Mickey Blue Eyes.

Monday after the Middlesborough disaster (the playing disasters have been so joined-up we're almost beyond noticing the differences) Smiffy said he was going to soldier on. The usual rumours abounded. Footy fans are incorrigible gossip mongers and quite ready to go into orbit at the drop of a media/"insider" lie. 'Twas ever thus: it keeps them interested and opinionated about the game. It has a charm for all of five minutes before it gets boring. Me, I pay no attention at all until I see an official announcement or speak to someone in a genuine position to know. Tedious gossip has all the attraction of a fish-wife claque, a TV soap opera, a radio DJ or a so-called web "discussion forum," which is to say none at all. Anybody who pays any attention to those "sources" deserves all the stunted mental growth they get. However, no question, we crossed the Rubikon (sic) as well as the Tees the previous day. At a footy level it was shameful. Reaction was inevitable. In which case Smiffy could have no real complaint, not after three and a half years astonishing patience and loyalty by our club and our fans.

Next day the rumours intensified to the point where many people were willing them to be true. Many, me included, admired the dignified and determined parts of Smiffy's persona but simply couldn't stand the way his teams played, let alone some of the other long catalogued defaults, and that fuelled the situation. Actually he was due to be sacked in September if we had lost the West Ham home game. David Moyes of Preston would have been in place the following Monday.

Then I got a call from Keith. It was the quarter final of the FA Youth Cup at Goodison. We were due to play Notts Forest and Keith is a biiiig fan of sixteen years old Wayne Rooney. His report on the previous round went something like, "Wayne Rooney played Manchester City and Wayne won." So it was worth a look and cancellation of a much coveted snooker evening. I phoned Kipper and made the necessary arrangements.

Keith was right. The boy is good, very good. If he doesn't turn out to have the dissipate personality of The Ears or the weak character of Michael Ball then he could well be an outstanding player for us. This also assumes he gets a sense of proportion about his own development and stays away from salesmen, acne ravaged hangers-on and self-styled "insiders" who want to get him pissed in the slum bars of Slater Street. The game is full of traps and there is nothing to say he will automatically avoid them. Seems to me he might have the world at his feet if his development continues naturally and unhindered. But of course you can never tell. The vast majority of youngsters don't make it, even those who have this level of promise. Keep your fingers crossed, people.

His height looks to be about 1.7 - 1.75 metres, maybe less, and he perhaps weighs in at 75-80 kilos. His overall physique looks as naturally proportioned as I have seen in a long time, good shoulders, well muscled thighs and calves and strong hips, even though there's probably a little bit more to go on yet. He reminded me of Kevin Phillips, though he doesn't quite have the upright stance and straight back. His positional play and willingness to look for the ball is first class and he can certainly look after himself in physical tussles. Overall, he looked like he relished the game the way kids do when they play in the street or park. His first touch is quite outstanding and he will shoot the moment he gets a good opportunity within a couple of metres of the penalty area. It was difficult to think of him as being only sixteen years of age.

In this game he was up against some experienced youngsters of greater physical size but he gave them a terribly gruelling time. His self confidence leads him to try close dribbles or fast runs with formidable odds against him. A number of times he left a trail of bemused bodies as he homed in on goal. He scored the first with an overhead kick of Denis Law proportions and then ran right through almost their entire left side defence to lay on the winner. In between, he hit some phenomenal long range shots which only just failed. Forest simply couldn't handle him. In the end we won 2-1 and got through to the semi-final. Try to watch him if you get the opportunity.

Meanwhile, Smiffy was seated in the directors' box next to Philip Carter. Uh oh. If he was leaving what was he doing there, of all places? It looked as though someone might end up with egg on their face.

Despite that, Wednesday brought the official announcement that his contract had been terminated. The media were everywhere. Well, someone has to keep them in their disgusting, vicarious jobs. The immediate fans' reaction was mostly unmistakable ecstasy and wild optimism. Which only goes to show how far we have fallen. I just felt sad that it was necessary. I had no intention of joining a distasteful witch-hunt. But once you reach the conclusion you have to carry it through as quickly as possibly. Anybody who has ever managed or organised a large group of people will tell you the same. Really, it should have happened after the home Cup game débâcle against Tranmere last season. Instead, the board soldiered on, doubtless influenced by Bill Kenwright's obvious loyalty and close personal friendship with Walter. Now the sacking has taken place it might reinforce the board for other much-needed actions.

For me, Smiffy's tenure is summed up by what he said to Kenwright after the takeover, "One day you will have to sack me…………" It's a peculiar doomy thing to say in greeting and doesn't exactly exude confidence and enthusiasm for the future. Only Walter Smith can tell you why he has such a view of the world. When I heard it I was immediately reminded of a 1945 writing of Henry Miller, "………the flesh would not have died if the spirit had not been killed already." We all know what happened to the "flesh" out on the pitch. Walter has to answer to himself for his own "spirit." Fortunately there is no lack of spirit amongst Evertonians, be it ever so fractious. In Walter's case, whatever blow he gets to his self esteem will be more than cushioned by the compensation package.

David Moyes was immediately mentioned as the anointed one. After a day and night of negotiation he was duly appointed on Thursday. Afterwards, he made all the right cocky populist noises in interviews. You could tell they were the right noises because what's left of local pinky support, and as we all know it isn't much, immediately went bananas, haha. Nice one, Moyesy, I hope you keep sticking it to them at appropriate moments. If his managerial performance matches his seeming determinism then we should win the championship next season and dominate Europe for years. If only it was so simple. We'll see.

[REALITY CHECK: Midweek, the Appointed Pretzel Prez said the election result in Zimbawe was unacceptable because the electoral process was "flawed." He said this without any noticeable irony, though I have to admit I might have missed it because I was lying on my back on the floor kicking my legs in the air at the time. He was also ordered to tell the world the Americans might use nuclear weapons against Iraq if a proposed illegal conventional attack fails. So that's alright then. Needless to say, not a cheep from our Chief Messenger Boy.

Interestingly, even the youngest members of our family are asking why the Pretzel Prez only speaks in sentences of four or five words. I promise you I did not prompt the immediate and innocent response, "Maybe that's all he knows." Out of the mouths of babes……………………

Meanwhile, the Yanks showed they haven't quite ignored their own Constitution when accountants and "management-consultants" (read: bullshit merchants) Arthur Andersen were indicted by a grand jury in Houston. Amongst other things they are charged with destruction of important evidence in the Enron scam. Appropriately, Andersen's head office too is in Chicago and it was from there that their bosses said it was nothing to do with them, that their Houston employees had taken it into their heads unilaterally to empty filing cabinets and shred thousands of documents. Yes, of course they did. Remember that next time your bosses ask you to commit an illegal or immoral act. Blow the whistle on the bastards and blow it good and hard straight in their faces. There's more of us than them.

On Thursday four hundred Merseysiders lost their jobs at a computerised home goods firm partly owned by Granada, one of the sponsors and shareholders of ten percent of the pinkies. You could have forecast the usual tiresome bullshit excuse: "Over capacity in the market." Ho hum. What it actually means is that the stupid bastards who own it didn't know what they were doing………but guess who suffers the consequences? Free thinkers will be prompted to ask what we do with "over capacity" (read: surplus value. Go on, look it up) in our economy and help prevent this kind of horror. Unfortunately, free thinkers are few and far between these days so this is merely typical of your future if things don't change. Don't hold your breath. England is a country more and more dominated by thick, one dimensional salesmen with phony jargon (is there anything funnier than hearing one of these "deal" prone bubblebrains use Yank slang like "all that"?) and a forehead as deep as a your fingernail.

The week closed out with one of our trades union leaders, John Monks, accusing the Chief Messenger Boy of siding with Italy and Spain in eroding employees' rights. Italy is managed by right wing loony fascist Berlusconi and Spain by right wing apparachik clerk Aznar. The Chief Messenger Boy was in the same grinning company as the loony fascist all week. Surprise, surprise when Monks called him "bloody stupid." That's your future, people, wherever you work in Europe or the USA. Get used to it. It's your choice.]

Match eve brought news that Blatter at FIFA wants to reduce UEFA representation. I bet he does. He's mired in accusations of bribery of ex-UEFA bodies to get him elected. Most of the accusations originate in Europe. Everyone in the UEFA game knows the truth of it. Blatter was supported in his candidacy by, guess who? Jaoa Havelange, former chief of FIFA and up to his balls in everything wrong with football. Which is why………………

Meantime, UEFA were up to their own rotten-to-the-core behaviour with a proposed new licensing system for clubs playing in European competitions. Seems they approached the corrupt G14 Group (English clubs include the Mancs and the pinkies) and got their "approval" before taking it further. I bet they did. Me, I'd fuck G14 off to Siberia without hope of remission. "Rollerball" gets closer by the day, for which you can thank G14, led by, guess who? Berlusconi. Part of the license application includes so-called proof of "liquidity." Be interesting to see how Real Madrid's accounts stack up, particularly if the crooked Bernabeu office blocks deal is subtracted from the arithmetic. Of course the Madrileños are up to their cojones in astronomical debt but their francoist sponsors will ensure this is buried in a filing cabinet somewhere. You can safely bet it won't be an Arthur Andersen cabinet. Suit spokesmen will lie in their teeth and ingenues will believe them. Oh well. Actually, all you have to do is your own (repeat, OWN) research and you'll have the authentic picture. It takes time but it is worth it. Salesmen excluded, you'll be horrified. Walk away from the truth and you'll deserve what you get.

Matchday, collected Neil at Lime Street station and thence to the Spellow, at another invitation from the Kipper boys, wherein dwelt what seemed like a million Blue Bellies. The staff were fine, the ale coagulated shite of the worst type. But it wouldn't have mattered if we'd been drinking yak urine. Everybody, everywhere was smiling, grinning, euphoric even and ab-so-lute-ly UP FOR IT. I haven't seen it in years. There was a palpable sense of release. You couldn't blame anyone. Under Walter the best you ever got to feel was wire-happy. Reality may yet deal a severe blow to the general feeling but nobody except the most sour of personalities could begrudge the fans their new found sensibility.

Inside the pub, some truly head shaking personalities swapped hilarious stories and opinions. The funniest opinion I heard was that The Gravedigger was a good footy player. I wanted to go outside and get two bin lids and bang them together with the responsible head at front and centre, i.e. Mogsy's. Also there, Rold from, erm, Sweden, and the two Daves all the way from Elgin. I'll leave the distance calculations to the anoraks out there. Keith was there in his Royal Blue and white SS runes, which was distinctly bad news for anybody with the remotest connection to the pinkies. The Editor and Lady Barbara showed, the latter as gorgeous as ever………………I hope her dress sense and elegance eventually helps The Editor to cease his impressions of a mobile haystack. Even Phil and his Da arrived all the way from the land of Glyndwr.

The only dissenting voice in all this was Texyla in curmudgeonly mode. O show me thy happy face thou itinerant rapscallion! Well, you can't please all of the people all of the time. Some people aren't even happy unless they're UNhappy or control-freaking or cursing some individual or group. One of the attractions of the human species is its diversity. I love it all. Well, mostly. Only the French piss me off. Actually, I pissed meself off rather dramatically when I discovered I had walked out without my season ticket. Texyla saved the day with a quick moby call to his fave gerl at the box office and I got a time saving signed slip to get me in. See, there's a light at the end of every tunnel, something like that.

The light at the end of our tunnel is allegedly one David Moyes esq. On a hunch, I hurried to the ground early. Sure enough, there he was with the squad out on the park, looking whiplash slim and hungry and energetic as a fox. He had them working out in front of him in twos, pure psychology for everybody, crowd included. Some of the players reacted immediately to his instructions, some of them delayed slightly or even slouched. Guess who'll likely last the course with him, assuming he lasts the course himself. They finished the exercises and went off to a storm of applause. Normally it's a trickle of clapping. You couldn't help wondering how long the euphoria of change was going to last.

Teams: Hibbert, Gravesen, Carsley and The Yin in. For them, the usual assortment of beret wearing Gallic arseholes. Cantona, Madar, Dacourt anybody? (Listen, don't bother mailing about my alleged racism against the French. Thick snobs apart, there isn't an educated individual in the world who likes them, particularly the Paris lot. An Englishman has two traditional enemies: His wife. And the French. And I'm an Englishman. And if you don't like it, fuck YEW. Go and write your own match report.) I was delighted at the appearance of young Hibbert. The Yin was captain, yet one more populist move by Moyes. Hmm.

The atmosphere was electric. It's the only word. Then it went up a few KVa when the announcer introduced David Moyes. You could feel hope rolling down from the stands and across the pitch. The last time I felt this kind of level was……………Smiffy's first match in charge versus Aston Villa. But that was three and a half millennia away in the past and it's all going to be different now isn't it. Well, isn't it?

We needed an early goal. So fuck me we went and got one in the Park End and the ground went off its head. Inside twenty seconds we got a throw in on the left, mid penalty area. Sandro chucked a long one into the nearside box, the Yin got a head on it, it fell to The Rad, he held it up then fed it back gently as Unsy came steaming in left side D, which is his usual opportunist location. Now, given the individual technique, a first time shot requires a little luck. Beloved Lard Arse hasn't had much luck with his shooting this season. However, this time the ball bobbled (our pitch has cut up badly since Christmas) and stood up perfectly for him and he hit one of the hardest left foot shots I have ever seen. There was no ellipse to it, it went in straight and just under a metre height into de Sar's bottom left corner. People were going mad all around me. But I was floating off the ground too. Unsy took off on a celeb run parallel with Bullens Road and didn't stop until he was almost at the pie counter. It was a truly magical moment, one of those which seemingly makes up for everything.

Midfield immediately became a narky, nasty area inhabited by narky, nasty Frenchmen, the kind who like elbowing, tripping and shirt pulling but can't stand it when the same gets done to them in retaliation. No, I don't like Fulham, their owner or their overblown Lahndan-media manufactured reputation. Sure, they can pass rather well. So what? Once it goes away from them they just turn horrible. And they haven't got a clue inside the penalty area. I am willing to say, Al Fayed crooked money or no money, continuance of this kind of nonsense will have them in real relegation trouble next season. And if they continue behaving like this, fucking good riddance.

The Yin was noticeable for aerial victories which actually got nodded to one of ours for a change. He and The Rad looked good together for the first time. Almost every second ball The Rad received ended up with him on the floor after a knee in the back or a kick around the ankles. Fulham got worse as the half wore on and eventually late on The Rad took one too many hits and had to go off. Meanwhile, the useless ref did nothing, reacted late, or got it wrong.

Needless to say once Fulham started this kind of thing nobody was going to stand around to get kicked and, regrettably, we started to dish out some of our own garbage. In short order The Gravedigger got booked while play hovered continually around the halfway line, slight territorial gains to them. But we were still the most likely looking side.

About a quarter hour into the half and we got a second through The Yin. Tony Hibbert delivered an excellent long ball down our right from midway in our half. I stand to be corrected when I say I think it was The Rad who nodded it on toward the centre of their box. De Sar came out as The Yin closed, shit himself at close quarters, hit it against the big man and The Yin simply ran around the Cheesehead and knocked it home from a sharp angle. At which point, Fulham were there for the taking.

This was never better illustrated than when de Sar made another horse's ass and got stranded out on our left and the ball got played into the centre about twenty five metres out, goal wide open. Unfortunately it came to Lee Carsley, my idea of a potherb on legs. All he had to do, and he had more than enough time, was sidefoot it firmly and it was gameshot. Sadly, this requires a little bit of instinctive thought and Lee is not well blessed in that department. He scuffed it so badly it almost went out for a throw in. Oh well.

So what happens, just when steady heads are required to increase our lead and put the game out of their reach? The Gravedigger gets sent off, that's what, the irresponsible dickhead. It was maddening, especially since he walked straight into a straightforward sucker trap, exactly the type the coaches warn you about. And he did it right in front of the ref. As he walked off I might have shouted something not inadjacent to You Fucking Daft Twat.

It turned the game of course. Better teams than us sometimes use this kind of event to remotivate themselves. But to do that you need to have something in reserve. We all know we don't have anything at all in reserve so we knew immediately we were in for a hard time. Less players meant they would have more space to pass it around and that might just tell eventually. Against a better team than them and likely it would have done. At any rate we got to half time with the only scares being down our right where young Hibbert was given yet another hard test against multiple opponents.

At half time a steady drizzle had become relentless English rain at its most indefatigable.

The one thing we didn't need was an early goal against. So of course we go and let one in after five minutes or so. It originated on their left, our right, as did much of their second half movement. Davey-Stubbsy failed to get it away in a goal mouth scramble and it got prodded in. After which it was like The Alamo in our half. Except this time the Good Guys won. (Yes, yes, alright, I won't necessarily argue if you claim it was the Texicans who were carpetbagging again).

For all their possession and passing they complied with my match report comments on the game at their place. They didn't have a clue in the penalty area. In fact we had only two genuine scares. One when Hayles missed an open goal and ballooned it left side into the arms of a grateful Park End, and the second when he looped a header against the bar in the closing minute.

Still, it was all bloody nervous and edgy right to the end. We might be in a new era but nobody is stupid enough to forget our old failings. Perforce match observations are related to the reality of our situation. Which means The Yin had to drop back to midfield, sometimes defence, and work his socks off, which he did apparently willingly and to much affect. Which was just as well because Scott was the invisible man and Carsley was "helping" Tony Hibbert on our right. You shuddered when you thought what damage, say, the Mancs might inflict in similar conditions.

The final whistle went with us still clinging precariously to the points. Just as well, isn't it, people? A loss here would have been the semi-final catastrophe in yet another disastrous season. I'm glad too we did it against Fulham and their nasty, narky players and their nasty, narky "temperament." I wish them nothing impersonal when I say I hope they go and get fucked by a camel in Harrods in full view of their tory-voting, Daily Mail-reading lower middle class arsehole fans. There. That was a good, chest clearing rant. Don't bother mailing because I couldn't give a shit what you think.

Outside, the rain had gone off, it was still broad daylight, and everyone was smiling broadly and, in some cases, ecstatically. Winter has finally, finally departed. The first Spring sacrifice has taken place. No need for the Wicker Man, after all.

Back in The Spellow the ale still tasted like something drained from a dead yeti's bladder. But the female staff were all very nice and efficient, if somewhat tube-tanned. Why doesn't someone tell the girls they turn orange, not brown, and all the cream in the world can't disguise it when they tube-tan? And that the skin wrinkles in a particular, easily recognised way too? That true attractive personality, which they had in abundance, means a good deal more than phony cosmetics?

The same applies to Everton Football Club.

Right. Who and what are next? Oh aye yeh. Derby away. Interesting.

This is it boys. This is the one. This is a must win game. So what players are available for David to pick his first team. There is a major doubt over Captain Cambell and a minor doubt over The Rad. But the good news is that Duncan is fit again, Mad Dog is available after suspension and Harry Hill is back after being cup-tied .

This game will give certain players the chance to show the new boss what they can do. The stage is set for 11 heros.But there is one player who can prove he has still got what it takes to be an Everton legend. He has been injured for most of the season. Now is the time for him to come good. Come on down Duncan Ferguson.

David Moyes has this to say about his first game and the future:“It is a massive job and I don’t think anybody who took over this job would say any different,” he added.

“It is a difficult situation and we are going to everything we can to stay in the Premiership and then we are going to build on that.

“It won’t happen overnight, there is going to be a lot of change but I think the Everton supporters deserve a good side.

“But the most important thing is that we start winning games quickly. It will make everyone feel good about themselves and put behind the disappointment of last Sunday behind them.

“I think then, people around Goodison and Liverpool in general will start to feel good about themselves again.”

“What Everton needs more than anything else is stability and continuity and it will come from having a group of young players who can work well together.

“Hopefully a young manager can go along with that and I think from that you start to build a club that can make progress.”