Everton:
Wright, Yobo, Weir
,
Stubbs,
Unsworth, Watson, Gravesen,
Carsley, Nacesmith,
Rooney, Campbell.
Bench:Simonsen,
Alexandersson, Li Tie, Ferguson (on for Watson 68m) Gemmill (on for
Gravesen 74m)
I
am glad I never wrote this report last night, I was too drunk and
too angry and I would have regretted some things I would have said.
Even though I am still angry I have calmed down a bit.
I
can remember before the game thinking we will never have a better
chance to really stuff the shite. But probably like the fans the players
were trying to do it too quickly and we just didn't play any footy.
We didn't pass it, we just seemed to get the ball up to our forwards
waiting for one of the centre halves to make a mistake.
Even
though we were on top for the first 20 minutes we didn't create any
real chances. Nace came closest with a free kick outside the box that
was well saved..
The
shite went ahead when the shite no 10 cut in from the left and shot
past Wrighty. I won't watch the goals on the telly but I think Richard
should have saved it.
Half
Time 0-1
The
2nd half started like the first with Everton the team trying to force
the issue.Tommy Grave went close with a low drive. We got our reward
for best bit of footy a passing move between Unsy and Tommy ended
with Nace being brought down in the box. Penalty. I can remember as
Unsy was preparing to take the kick Stubbsy was on his knees looking
towards the Park End. He couldn't watch. No problem Unsy smashed the
ball high into the right hand corner. I can remember thinking, come
on lets go and beat the pricks now.
It
just didn't happen. Five or six minutes later a shite player hit a
beauty past Wrighty.
Duncan
and Scot came on for Wato and Tommy. We seemed intent on throwing
it up to the Super and Dunc for flick ons. Not once did we get wide
and put any crosses in wide.
Late
on Davie Weir and Nace were sent off for 2nd bookable offences.
The
defence defended well. Stubbsey getting my Blue Kipper Star Man award.
Overall it was a poor performance from the Blues and we are all gutted
in the knowledge that had we performed the way we have for most of
the season we would have beaten the shite. But it wasn't to be.
This
morning I have woke up with the thoughts that Moyesy and the boys
have still have a great chance of a European spot and I love Everton
more and more and my hatred for the shite will go on for ever.
Quotes
Moyesy
said:"
Our better players didn’t perform well.The
people who we needed to open things up and make things happen didn’t
do that. Our passing today was poor and we gave away possession too
easily in key areas.
Turned
out nice again
By
Mickey Blue Eyes
Summer, glorious summer, here early this
year. The week before the derby game was sumptuously warm and sunny,
sometimes even with a slight heat haze. Or it might have been suburban
salesmen motorists poisoning the air with their motorized tin cans
and empty, semi-detached heads. Nevertheless, a gorgeous week before
the derby match killed off remaining chills from the previous seven
days. It was a good and cheery omen. Beautiful fragrant women with
hour-glass bare, bronzed midriffs appeared everywhere to sashay gorgeous
oscillating hips. It was a wonderful relief from viewing male equivalents
in crummy tee shirt, baggy shorts, hairy legs, black socks and white
trainers. It is a mystery why the female half of Generation X should
be so marvelous and the male half should be so Americanised, obese,
ugly, flatulent and exuding halitosis or worse. I exaggerate of course
but the human race at bay is worth it for the laughs.
Evening after the home game V The Skunks,
a Howard Kendall night at GP for the charity Wellcare.
The comedian was Mickey Finn and he recounted
the story of a little Scouser who followed crowds into Royal Birkdale
golf course because he thought there was a fight. Instead he stumbled
on the Brit Open and there was Tiger Woods teeing off at the first
hole. Tiger carefully addressed the ball and immaculately thwacked
it half a kilometre down the fairway. There was a short, awed silence
broken only by the Scouser’s loud and bleak comment:
“Shite.”
The caddy gave him a piercing look.
Second shot. Tiger got on the green with
another brilliant effort. Again the Scouser was scathing:
“Crap.”
As they walked toward the green the caddy
collared the Scouser and said angrily, “Look, this is the greatest
golfer in the history of the game. You don’t know what you’re talking
about. You look like you’ve never played golf in your life. Have some
respect.”
The Scouser was unimpressed. “Dead right,
la. I’ve never played it – but I can do better than him. He’s shite.”
The caddy was outraged in a semi-detached
house Wirral sort of way. “Okay, we’ll give you a crack at the next
hole and see how good you are.”
Next tee, a very annoyed Tiger and the
Scouser teed off side by side. Both balls screamed off straight as
an arrow. They arrived at the green. The Scouser’s ball was half a
metre from the hole and Tiger’s was on the edge of the green. The
Scouser said, “What do I do now?” and the uncomfortable caddy said,
“You have to put it in the hole.”
And the irritated Scouser said, “Why
didn’t you tell me that back there?”
Cue yours truly rolling on the floor
with helpless laughter.
Behind me, a couple of hecklers tried
to be funnier than Mickey. Big mistake. Mercilessly he disposed of
the male half with, “The top of yer ‘ead’s sticking through yer wig
la,” and of the female half with, “Is yer tongue afraid of the dark
or wha’?”
At one point he turned to Howard and
said, “I played footy once, but I don’t go on about it.” That caught
even Howard on the funny bone, and not only him. Everywhere you looked
world-weary Evertonians were holding their sides or on the floor chewing
the carpet. Waitresses carrying trays of drinks body-swerved expertly
around disgraceful beer bellies and swaying shoulders. Another great
Blue Night.
First midweek, Real Madrid took a break
from racking up huge debts to run rings around a strangely disoriented
Mancs team in a match between two members of the corrupt G14 Group
in the Chumps League. For some strange reason the Mancs just weren’t
up to the over-hyped night and managed luckily to escape an even sounder
rogering by Raul and co. Goofy looks done for to me…………………he’s as
overweight as Maradona at his nadir, listless, and looking as capable
as, say, Mark Hughes the week before he retired. Raul and Roberto
Carlos were stars of the show. You have to say though that it was
more Harlem Globetrotters than the footy contest we all hoped for.
On Friday came one of the worst days
in our club’s modern history with the formal announcement of the demise
of the Kings Dock project. I have dealt with this elsewhere in great
detail and won’t repeat it here, except to say it’s a tragedy for
our city and our club, both of whom must now settle for an inferior
solution – probably with design standards to match. Only a third-rate
mentality or a cheap salesman could derive any satisfaction from it.
In the meantime our club has to get on with available options and
try to avoid the hoods and carpet baggers hovering like flies around
a cowpat. That’s life. No point whingeing and moaning, leave that
to the Melledrew Tendency. Shrug your shoulders. Life goes on. I have
been involved in design of too many similarly large projects to think
otherwise. Some you win, some you lose.
When the next stadium proposal comes
along it will be mandatory to check the backers and where the profits
go – always assuming you help prevent it being wrapped in the same
kind of secrecy. Stay alert, people. But be under no illusion. Whatever
happens, it will be nowhere near as good as what was lost. Nothing
could. There’s no point wishing for the stars because you aren’t going
to get them, not now Kings Dock won’t happen. Meanwhile, Arsenal’s
new £400 million development is held up because of a “………a range
of issues………” Well, of course it is. This is an England with Uriah
Heep and Peter Ridsdale book-keeping as cultural icon. Oh well, what’s
noo in the millenium?
Once the club makes its decision (whatever
it is – go or stay) the fans should make every effort to support its
progress. Bill Kenwright deserves wholehearted support and loyalty
in his attempts to restore the clubs fortunes. He was the only one
who came forward at a critical time in the clubs history. While others
whined and mithered, he got stuck in, albeit in an inexperienced and
unsatisfactory way. In my view so far some of the rest of the directors
and their messenger boy(s) have been nothing less than two-faced,
craven and disloyal in their actions, a subject I will deal with in
an upcoming separate essay. Kenwright too seriously needs to address
his scatty decision-making methods and who he trusts while he lives
and works at distance in London. Me, I wouldn’t trust some of the
other directors to empty my bin.
Saturday, alas once again I couldn’t
go but we beat The Baggies in what most reports said was a poor game,
and probably condemned them to relegation. Once again The Duke laid
on the winner. Apparently it was the sort of stultifying game likely
we would have lost under Smiffy. Once again a notorious minority of
midlands fans demonstrated their peculiarly angry and sad view of
life. Fighting broke out as the old spectre of crowd violence raised
its disgusting head as I have previously warned it might. If it continues,
every ground will be policed in similar fashion to north-east methods.
Which means the game won’t be worth having, and also means I won’t
bother devoting any of my leisure time to it. I’ll have more important
things to do if the decent fans, the overwhelming majority, can’t
show they want to maintain improved conditions gained at such terrible
cost. Meantime Moyesy was ordered from the dugout for presumably telling
referee Graham Poll what we all thought of him. It was sound preparation
for the derby game.
Earlier in the day The Mancs got off
their backside and walked all over The Skunks so comprehensively it
was almost comical. 4-1 up at half time, 6-1 at one point and ending
up 6-2. Just to add fuel to the fire Shearer stuck an elbow in Keane’s
face but nobody called him a coward, probably because it’s a usual
occurrence and it gets boring after a while. Maybe he mistimed it
because he lost his concentration during an unexpected rout. Maybe.
As I have said before, imagine we get to the last match V The Mancs
and fourth place and the championship depends on it…………………erk………………
Same time as us, the pinkies won in lack
lustre fashion while commemorating the heart break of Hillsborough.
I remember at the time all too clearly the feeling of my youngest
daughter, not long out of infancy, as she slumped deadweight onto
my shoulder at the sight of blue and red scarves tied together in
a chain across Stanley Park. It was the weight of utterly innocent
child-sadness. She even asked me if we tied scarves together when
granddad died. It was our city responding at its rawest and very best.
It would be all too easy to forget the injustice visited on the families
and that surviving victims continue to suffer unnecessarily. Their
fight for simple justice goes on even after all this time. We owe
it to them NEVER to forget. Which is why I feel so heartily ashamed
every time I hear some of our fans start up that disgusting “murderers”
muck. People who indulge that garbage aren’t real fans and aren’t
wanted, any more than the few hundred perpetrators of Heysel. The
only thing which matters is the awful injustice and useless loss of
life in both disasters. Enough is enough. Is it asking too much for
plain understanding, for the majority to impose themselves on the
few loonies who besmirch our city and both our clubs even now?
Second midweek brought a draw between
the Gooners and the Mancs. Which leaves the Mancs in pole position
to clinch the championship again. The sooner they do it the better
for us in the final match of the season. Because we face The Mancs
while the pinkies face Bates Motel………………………interesting, non?
So derby day arrived and the weather
went cool. We might have known. All week gleeful Blue Bellies were
exploiting uncomfortable pinks, a lot of whom were saying things like,
“I’ve lost interest.” I don’t join in this kind of thing unless really
pressed by a dopey pink to the point where you never look a gift horse
in the mouth. You can never tell in a derby game, which is a lesson
learned only the hard way by youth and the more concrete headed of
fans. It’s always in the lap of treacherous, capricious fate. Anyone
who thinks otherwise just hasn’t looked closely at the subject.
On my doorstep, ringing the bell and
bearing an overnight bag and a travel weary visage, a much welcome
cockney toffee. We repaired to the kitchen to devour bacon butties
and non-alcoholic beverages. Outside my window, the Mersey tide turned.
“I hope,” I said in morning morose, “that doesn’t indicate something
or other.” Cockney toffee was much perkier and outright optimistic.
Still, I’m like everyone else, I love and hate the games in equal
proportion. They are what you want, the ones you feel most intensely
about – but they burn a hole through your intestines and you want
them over almost as soon as they kick off…………paradoxically, if you
are doing well. Blow the whistle while we’re ahead. Footy, don’tcha
just love it.
Delayed taxi to County Road and into
the pub, wherein dwelt the Kipper boys without Kipper himself, still
in Florida. Bulging walls just about contained a pack of cockahoop
Blues with even more cockahoop songs. Anti-pink and anti-Popeye The
Gaul/The Nose gags abounded but none of them were new. It’s almost
as though people have run out of pisstakes in the wake of some of
Houllier’s jaw-dropping observations. More and more he looks and sounds
like m. Hulot and the aptly named m. Tati. Someone inevitably compared
him to the hapless Iraqi minister of information but that was unfair.
On the minister.
Plans are being laid for the Fulham away
trip. Mike again told me we are booked into the Clapham Grand nightclub
as guests of the management and that he’s “………gonna get yer to cop
off with a fifty years old bird in a mini…………” Since he deals in the
construction of airplanes he should know what constitutes a “bird.”
It worries the shit out of me. I mean, Clapham………………………
Very quickly the place filled up even
more and that was my cue to get into the fresh air and into the ground
a good half hour before the kick off. Pre-match I think I saw only
three pink shirts, yet another demonstration of how far apart the
fans have become. It never used to be like this, not even during the
nadir of organized hooliganism on spectator terraces. If both clubs
allow this nonsense to continue it can only get worse. Ct told me
there had been radio reports of (once again) paint splattered over
the Dixie Dean statue and the Hillsborough memorial. See where that
garbage leads us? The Theory of Logical Conclusions directs us toward
a looming tragedy. And I don’t use the word loosely. We have already
seen a deterioration in general fans behaviour now the novelty of
all-seater stadia has worn off. Time for the clubs to seize the problem
by the scruff of its neck and get it sorted.
Bright sunshine broke through well before
the kickoff. The teams were out doing those odd looking loosening
up exercises. In previous times the ground would have been packed
long before the kickoff and the spontaneous gradual build up of feeling
for the game crackling through the air, human chemistry in action.
This doesn’t happen with an allocated seat. You can leave entry until
five minutes before the kickoff – as many do – and still get a good
view. The result is employment of the pitch side nerd with a microphone
who tries to “get the crowd going.” Along with almost everyone else
I wish the guy would simply fuck off and die and leave the crowd to
get on with its own feelings for the game. The only people who create
atmosphere are the fans. Pitch side clowns with a mike are merely
a squirm-inducing embarrassment.
This was never better demonstrated than
when the ground got full and you could almost fry an egg in the collective
feeling. It is a long time since I have seen Goodison so intense and
up for it. The usual suspects arrived in our place in my beloved Street
End. Peter had temporarily abandoned a family holiday in Wales to
come home for the match. His ears still looked scorched by the verbal
response. Dickymint and the crew arrived in the row in front and hands
were clasped all round, a prayer as fervent as any Roman Legion going
into battle. The place was raucous, the clutch of besieged pinkies
in the corner of the Bullens Road stand almost swept away with the
noise.
And when the game started we almost swept
the pinkies off the park too. At least we did for about a quarter
of an hour. Noticeably though we weren’t creating much in the penalty
area. Our only real chance came when the ball got loose left side
of the penalty spot, ‘keeper on the ground and SuperKev turned on
it and hit it left footed toward the goal where it was hacked off
the line. A goal looked imminent as the pinkies funneled back and
hardly crossed the half way line. For the first time I saw why they
have attracted so much criticism with the way they play.
Frustration gradually crept in and the
yellow cards mounted throughout the half. But for once you couldn’t
really blame the ref, Paul Durkin. He tried to let it flow as sensibly
as he good. Sadly, a combination of unyielding pink defence and Blues
frustration had them niggling away at each other all match. The Theory
of Logical Conclusions eventually got proved during the last ten minutes
of the game.
The pinkies scored after half an hour
after crossing the half way line maybe twice previously. Owen got
the ball wide left, jinked into the box at the angle with Joey in
close attendance, knocked it slightly right and as it “stood up” conveniently
hit an absolutely magnificent opportunist shot into Wrighty’s bottom
right corner. You couldn’t take anything away from it, not even Joey’s
slight hesitation when he should have tackled or the way the ball
bounced before the shot. It was another world class goal similar to
Robert’s V The Skunks. Wrighty had drifted slightly to his left expecting,
as we all were, a cross. It left just enough of a gap and that’s where
it went. It was pissy-offy in the extreme.
We were actually playing good stuff up
to the goal, midfield notwithstanding. Even then, the general impetus
was in our favour and looked likely to pay off. After the goal, the
pinkies came out of their shell a little more and might even have
snatched another. But it would have been undeserved.
It was interesting to see the way The
Duke played and was played against. After all, it was his first full
derby game. Either through instruction or instinct he scarcely went
wide the way he usually does. He positioned himself mostly across
the centre. Plainly, the pinkies were shit scared of him because they
scarcely lost an opportunism to climb all over him or kick around
him. None of it was outright dirty but it was obviously calculated
to work him over, which it did. Welcome to the real game, Duke. Fortunately
he only responded rashly on one occasion. The experience can only
be good for him.
The second half opened with us attacking
down our right, the ball bouncing out to The Gravedigger right side
of the D, and he crashing a shot millimeters outside their left side
post. From our seats it looked in and we were dancing around manically.
The scoreboard even flashed GOAL! Before we realized it had missed.
A goal then and it might have developed completely differently, especially
since we know the team are much fitter now and won’t give up so long
as there’s a breath in their bodies.
More fractious and uneven, scrappy play,
more yellow cards, before we got the equalizer about a quarter hour
into the half. A sharp move down the left into the penalty area wide
left, Nace absolutely skinned their last man with a quick turn and
got downed with a clear angled run on goal. Penalty. And it should
have been a straight red card on the pinky. Alas, no. Everywhere fans
couldn’t watch. Out on the park, Stubbsy turned his back on it. Calmly,
Beloved Lard Arse placed it on the spot with the usual gamesmanship
going on all around him. Then he lashed it high into the left centre
of the net with the stadium doing an impression of Bosch at his wildest.
“RIGHT!” we all said. “This is where
it turns around.” That is our experience all season. But this time
it was wrong.
Six minutes later we gave the ball away
in centre midfield for the zillionth time and nobody closed down their
man, left side outside the box. With oodles of space, as it bobbled
he had time to pick his spot and part lob it home off Wrighty’s left
post. It was a stupid goal to let in and should have been snuffed
out before it even moved forward in midfield.
Sadly, it was fairly typical of how the
Twin Slaphead centre mids played for most of the game, particularly
The Gravedigger, who I think has now crossed the same Rubicon as Smiffy
and Archie did at Blackburn and lost the fans. His distribution was
so appalling in this match even his most ardent fan couldn’t defend
him. Likely Moyesy will have him on his way as soon as we can get
a suitable replacement. That said, he was far from the only poor performer
once the game went away from us. Unsy had his worst game in ages,
Joey demonstrated once again (despite flashes of class) that he isn’t
and never will be a full back, Lee Carsley lost it because The ’digger
wasn’t helping much, and Nace and Stevie had hardly any direct affect.
Davey-Stubbsy were solid enough though. Up front, SuperKev and The
Duke got hardly any service. The Rad was badly missed as usual. Likely
his pace would have made all the difference here. But really that’s
clutching at straws.
From that point the game deteriorated
badly into a niggling sprawl which could only suit the pinkies defensive
methods. Again, it wasn’t outright dirty – that scarcely happens these
days thanks to better regard for the Laws of The Game – it was just
mostly irritating. And for once since Moyesy took the reins it was
us who got more niggled. In the last ten minutes we lost two men to
a second yellow, both of them deserved as the frustration grew.
Towards the end the pinks could have
had a couple more but were so intent on defensive play you could see
why adverse reports of their formation and playing method seem justified.
As Lard said, albeit out of sheer pique, “If I’d spent a hundred million
and that’s the best I could do I’d think of getting another job.”
Afterwards, he repeated it to a pinky waiter during a meal in De Courbetin’s
and the waiter agreed with him. It was no consolation. It never is
when you lose a derby game.
It was also a pointer of what we could
expect if – a big If now – we get into Europe. Popeye The Gaul and
The Nose played that way while they were in Europe and got roundly
castigated for it but in truth it’s standard practice for teams who
can’t hack it, which is most of them. With our present centre midfield
we don’t stand a prayer. But where are we going to get the money to
buy Scott Parker or someone similar?
Afterwards, we assembled in St. Francis’s
and stared glumly into our beer. It was our best chance of beating
them in ages and we blew it. It was our own fault. The pinkies are
shite and everyone knows it, including themselves. The only light
relief we got was Lard’s attempted description at The Gravedigger’s
uniquely incapable passing/kicking technique. Rhetorically, I asked
why it is so bad. Lard reckons it’s because he’s attempting this sort
of instep-toe end method, which, if it comes off, could revolutionise
the game. More likely The ‘digger is going to be one of Moyesy’s children
who get swallowed by the revolution.
Then we went into town for a few bevies.
It didn’t lessen the pain. It never does if you’re a real footy fan.
Over in Iraq a little boy has lost both
his arms and is burned beyond recognition because of an American missile
attack. Both his parents were killed. It isn’t the only such murder,
nor was it without prediction. Individual and social catastrophes
prevail in thousands, as in Afghanistan, Nicaragua, Haiti, Salvador,
Grenada, Panama, Somalia, Korea, the Phillipines and Vietnam. Everywhere
the American military goes it leaves murder, tyranny and destruction
in its wake, now aided by the poodle Brits. No weapons of mass destruction
have been found. No link with Al Qaeda has been found. Like a dockside
bully the Americans threatened Syria and Iran too. None of the propaganda
leveled against the Iraqis has been directed against all similar regimes
in the Middle East, the ones supported (as was Saddam Hussein until
he stepped out of line) by the Americans and the Brits and all the
major Western powers. Of course the same loonies who instigated or
who support the war can’t explain why they are ready to sacrifice
Iraqi innocents instead of, say, their own parents or children. I
wish I could say, “Be it on their heads,” but actually we will all
pay the price one way or another. History will submit its tragic overall
invoice in due course. It always does. But in the meantime guess who’ll
pay the small matter of America’s $20 billions cost to date plus $2
billions per month for the military presence – and then complain about
“………increasing taxes to fund useless social programmes……” or create
“…………lower taxes for the rich to encourage ‘wealth creation.’ “ So
far, typically, no bill for the Brit poodle effort. But one day the
penny will drop. I hope revengeful history doesn’t get there first.
If it does, we will have our own versions of the tragic little boy.
It scarcely bears thinking about. Which is why most people prefer
to shovel the whole dirty, rotten episode under the carpet as soon
as possible.
It
gives added understanding to Ghandi’s famous response to the question,
“What do you think of western civilization?” He answered, “It would
be a good idea
Team
News
There doesn't seem to be any injury problems
and the good news that The Hibbert and The Rad are both fit. But I
still think that Moyesy will keep the same starting team as in the
last two games.
I
am getting very very nervous but I believe the boys in blue will give
it to the shite.The thing I'm starting to worry about is the state
I'll be in on Saturday night, trying to watch the Premiership on ITV
with only one eye and completely naked. Come On You Blues
Jogger's
eleven to start: Wright, Yobo, Weir, Stubbs, Unsworth, Watson,
Gravesen, Carsley, Pembridge, Rooney, Campbell.
Below
is what Toffeemen have been saying this week about the game.
David
Moyes said: "Yes, it could be the biggest game I have
been involved in as a manager, but I also think there could be bigger
games around the corner.We are in good shape. The players are right
mentally. It's our home game and I know that our supporters will play
a big part at Goodison Park.The supporters have made a massive difference
to our home form this season. At the start there were only a few who
believed what might happen, but now they are right behind every player.
If they do that again on Saturday and contest every decision - which
they have done all season - they will continue to play a big part
in the three home games we have left."
Alan
Stubbs said:“You can sense Liverpool fans are not looking
forward to the game because we are playing well. They haven’t had
a great season by their standards and they would probably admit that.The
boys are really looking forward to the game and we want to win it.”
Kevin
Campbell said:“The derby game is always massive and we can
look forward to it without any fear because we’re not in a relegation
battle, we’re looking to stay above Liverpool. Although we’re above
them at the moment, we desperately want to be above them at 5 o’clock
on Saturday evening. We want to win it."
John
Bailey said:““Derby matches are all about getting three points
and putting one over on the enemy and we need no extra incentive to
win the game."
Colin
Harvey said:"Anything can happen in a derby. The first
time I played at Anfield, we rolled them over 4-0."
Kevin
Ratcliffe said:"Everton go into the game in the driving
seat and there is much more to lose for Liverpool"
Li
Tie said:"I know that the derby is a big game. Unfortunately
I didn't get the chance to play in the last one as I was on the substitutes'
bench, but I could still feel a big difference from the other games.
The atmosphere and the attitude of the play-ers is different and I
can feel what it meant to the fans. I hope to play in this very special
game. I know how important it is."
Davie
Weir said: "Anytime you play against Liverpool, you're
aware of how much it means to the fans. We'll be approaching it in
the right way because we want to win it for ourselves and for them.”
David
Unsworth said:"Beating Newcastle in the way we did,
and then in a totally different performance against West Brom picking
up maximum points again, has set us up to make it three on the run
against Liverpool on Saturday.”
