Well, I don't know how you guys do this every week. I'm having a hard enough time trying to put this day into perspective. So here goes. This was my first game I've ever attended. The day started off perfect, had some pints with some new friends and left the women and children off to do a lot of shopping. What's so ironic is we all met at Chepstow Castle Pub at which earlier in the week I had visited the Chepstow Castle along the Severn in Chepstow (Tourist Spot ). Enough of that, My reason for this visit was all due to my friend Jamie, who's an owner of Gingers Pub in Chicago and your contact for the Chicago Everton Supporters Club. Jamie has been to a bunch of games in the past so he was leading the way. In talking to all the gang who operate The Bluekipper it was a very educating experience. I could see everyone's dedication to their team. I learned real quick a lot of the lingo and was instructed on the hatred for the Red Shite. I had to leave the pub early because we had to pick up our tickets. With the great help of some phone calls we finally found some tickets. You could tell as quoted by Jogger "These arrrre some great times to be an Evertonian," and it showed cause the stadium was sold out. We were lucky enough to have seats in the park stand. It was a sight, just as we're walking in there's all the Lads huddling in front of the TVs each with a pint or 2. Then the next thing I hear is the West Brom fans starting to chant as loud as they could until the players started to come out of the tunnel. Nonstop action thru-out the first half with plenty of bad calls by the Refs and missed opportunities of scoring and passing. It's no different in the States each Ref needs thicker glasses. After watching Rad score, and finally shutting up them damn Broms it was great to see. Then to see Rooney come out on the pitch and the roar of the fans cheering him on was loud. He looks to be a greater player as he matures.

My only down fall I could see as I had explained to Mickey after the game was Beer sales at half-time takes forever and more fans need to show their Blue Pride with a shirt, scarf, or a hat. So when your walking the streets you can tell the RED Shites to go piss off.

Once again, Mickey, Kipper, Jogger, StingRay, Lard, and let's not forget Redundant Jeff
Cheers for you have made it easy to call myself an Evertonian.

Next time its off to Aphrodities after the game.

Steve from Chicago,IL. (27/11/02)

Hands up. Who thought we'd be in this position in the table by now?

Nobody? Thought so. But gosh! Isn't it EXCITING.

Pre-match in the Chepstow everybody wore the expression of a shell shocked swivel-eyed loon bird on haha sherbet. A bit like my computer, really. Entirely through my own fault the collection of wires, bits of metal and miniaturised circuits went down like a brick zeppelin. As I write, I await my internet settings from the provider. They failed once over the phone, doubtless they'll fail again - traditional Brit uselessness at anything to do with service. But anyway.

You couldn't fail to be perky on Saturday morning. Here we were, fourth, and if we won and the Bates Motel failed to win at notloB we would go third. And on top of that a gloriously sunny and slightly chilly day. If you were a ponce you'd shout, "Hurrah!" But this is our beloved city, and in these circumstances you are supposed to say, "Ey, isn't this fuckn gear, like." At least you do if you believe the media shite. Actually, almost everyone looked slightly suspicious and disbelieving. You couldn't blame them, not after the last six years. The difference now is an air of expectancy instead of only irrational enthusiasm. The feeling is palpable for those who got through these last years without losing their sporting sanity.

Prominent in the company were Steve and Jamie representing the Chicago Supporters Club and dealing gallantly with Limey beer and scouse social mores. A bit earlier notice and we would have laid on something special for them. Still, it just shows how times have changed. Easy air travel makes this less than surprising, anywhere. Not that this has filtered through to Mogsy yet. Seems he can't arrange a footy visit to Barça until June. You can't help wondering if they still write with quill pen and cartridge paper in Widnes. Unsurprisingly, he can't play snooker either. Oh aye yeh, it was quite a mixture in the Cheppy.

We watched the Mancs bladder the Skunks on TV, laughed uproariously at the baldy Frog letting in a long left wing cross and jeered at the self-styled TV pundits making underwhelming statements of the obvious. The latter wouldn't be so hilariously funny if the thick bastards didn't take themselves so seriously while the rest of us are writhing with laughter at them. That's a necessarily mutually dependent infrastructure they have there, producers, front-men, pundits, the lot of 'em. While the rest of us say things like, "Did you HEAR what that stupid twat just said?" they carry on with profundities like, "Tremendous goal by Shearer, that," and, "Bad mistake by Barthez, that." Television for the blind, the kind of conversation killing the art of television. You can hear more sensible things in your local pub. In the meantime, you can guarantee the TV studios have nothing but contempt for footy fans. In my case, it is returned with twice the force. We don't need them. Get shut, the sooner the better.

So Mogsy goes and outdistances the pundits with, "We'll win 3-0 and Rooney'll get a hat-trick." This was breathtaking even by totally subjective standards. I said so, or words to that affect. And Mogsy said, "No faith, you." Jaysus, here we are on our first genuine run in yonks and already Mogsy has it down to religion. I suppose it has roughly equivalent relevance that all religion is self-deceptive, superstitious shite. Despite all that, I heard myself say, "Well, I hope so." Mad, the lot of us.

The match was a sell-out, thus demonstrating what kind of gates we could expect in a new ground with larger capacity and a more successful team. This comes as no surprise to those who truly know, which automatically excludes the Suits and bean-counters who have attached themselves to The Beautiful Game. Properly conducted, the potential is enormous.

And in relation thereto, by December 7th the decision probably will have been made finally on Kings Dock. Our club's board of directors meet on 5th December and the board of Liverpool Vision meet on 6th December. Theoretically it could be stretched to February next year but that's vaguely unlikely. The next two weeks will decide if we go to a world-class stadium in a world-class location, or if we end up in a soulless IKEA flat-pack in the middle of a derelict area similar to Pride Park or The Smoggies' mess at Middlesbrough. Whatever happens, you can expect weeping, wailing and gnashing of teeth. Landmark decisions are like that. If KD goes down (for whatever reason) it will be a wonderful opportunity lost to classic Brit mithering, barrow-boy secretive dealing and tiny-minded dithering and self-interested political wittering on all sides.

You long for someone to act and deal like a grown-up with sharp talent and enlightened leadership. Instead, all you see is incapable tackiness surrounded by howling dingo dogs, private and public varieties. Sadly, it is deeply rooted in English culture. Elsewhere in Europe and the USA, people design and build projects and try to regenerate. In England we produce Victor Melledrew (it scans better than Meldrew) and his ilk, not happy unless unhappy. All of which is thrown into sharp relief by Manchester's modest but capable regeneration achievements, the exception which proves the rule. Whatever.

Wending your way to the ground through side street rivulets you could feel the same expectancy as in the Cheppy. It was intoxicating. You really don't need alcohol to feel good about life, something Generation X could learn before it's too late. Everybody had a spring in their step and hurried a little more than usual. In one street, two tiny kids in Blue Belly shirts (isn't it great to have the REAL blue back again?) were kicking a ball around shouting, "Roooneyyy!!!" Even the trashy litter didn't seem so bad. GP's tacky grey cladding glowed in the sunshine. Irresistible smiles abounded. Expectancy is the perfect companion for enthusiasm.

Our team, no change. Everybody readily acknowledged this was the kind of game we had to win to prove our progress. On paper it was easy…………………West Brom were bottom, we were fourth. No sweat. Only it never quite works out that way. We know that to our cost. This was no exception.

In fact Albion were almost a perfect mirror of how Gary Megson used to play. They chased everything, harassed everybody and kept it tight and physical. But there wasn't much creative about them. It was similar to the unwelcome attention of a small squadron of flies at a picnic. They had no outstanding player, though their 'keeper looked excellent when taking crosses.

For all that they were the first to make a break through the middle after a few minutes and get a shot on target. It went straight at Wrighty, and that was their last direct effort for twenty minutes. Meantime, our team shape was good and coherent. Nobody gave the ball away in midfield in the fashion which used to drive us crazy. I made Unsy our man of the match, an opinion later described by Kipper as "total shite." Oh well.

Joey Yobo had another stormer and took Stubbsy's form up another notch. The latter looks unrecognisable to the slow-on-the-turn centre back who had us all muttering. Whereas Joey has formed a chemistry with the crowd which demonstrates that racists at GP are indeed a tiny minority. Bad news, that, for the no-mark punks who like denigrating all of our fans.

We won the midfield scrap, but only just. Albion didn't give up the geist so easily. And you have to say we won it because of the difference made by The Gravedigger. Like virtually everybody else his form has improved remarkably with the arrival of Moyesy. The fist-waving has gone away with the lousy passing and anarchic positional play. His close control gets him out of difficult, locked-in moves at the touchline. Like Li Tie, he makes himself available for lay-offs. It's impossible to praise the transformation too highly. Slaphead and Nace are the real workhorses, likely the ones who will get caught out against class teams. Noticeable too that if Carsley wanders slightly out of position Tony immediately gets faced with two men wide left. Word gets around quickly among owl-arse pros.

If Li Tie's willingness and passing could be matched with physical strength he'd be a world-beater. As matters stand, he tires about three quarters of the way through and his passing gets a bit wayward as a result. Early on, though, he's as lively and quick as a panther. The first half winner came because of his talents. A bit of air-ball took place in their half, dead centre on the edge of the centre circle. Eventually he brought it down, moved forward and played a glorious diagonal ground pass to right of the penalty spot. The Rad was on it like a heat seeking missile and at the kind of angle you expect him to miss. So he smashed it home right footed. Someone please explain to me why he does this with the hard ones and buggers up the easy tap-ins.

The Rad and SuperKev yet again showed how good a pairing they are up front. I don't know what magic wand Moyesy has waved over them but it works and works quite dramatically. They gave Albion a dose of their own heels-snapping and never let them rest all afternoon. Thus demonstrating the obvious, that team play can't be dealt with in attack-midfield-defence compartments. I take particular pleasure in Kevin's resurgence. The affects of that appalling injury fade a little more each week.

In the last quarter Albion came into it more and more, probably a result of Li Tie's fading presence. Whatever, it got to be annoying even though they didn't create anything. It happens too often to get comfortable with it. We can ride it out against teams like Blackburn and Albion but the higher teams will murder us in similar fashion to the Mancs at OT.

Moyesy left it late to bring on The Duke this time. There was only something like three minutes on the clock. It was enough for one run and a cocky little shtick which he employs at severe risk to his lower body. He got the ball and stood over it, hands on hips before trying to accelerate away from the nearest offender. Do that against someone like Roy Keane and he might get decapitated at the waist or end up with a splintered shin. Stay cheeky, Dook, but be careful how you do it.

Taken overall we deserved the win. The gradual improvement continues, our team are hungry and they won't give ground willingly. This win took us to, erm, third, three points or so off the top. At this rate, fate notwithstanding, who knows where or when it's all going to finish? You have to keep rubbing your eyes. Enjoy it while it's there, friends.

This report wouldn't be complete without an observation on the behaviour of too many of the Albion fans. Not just them, but Birmingham fans in general. Only guesswork can give us an idea why too many of them seem intent on acting like complete arseheads during a match. Too often it's like viewing a rerun of the unlamented seventies and eighties, when the game was at its nadir of fans behaviour. Maybe it has something to do with the terrible redundancies in the car and engineering industries. Whatever, Villa, Brum and Albion appear to me to have the worst number of one hundred percent dickheads of any area in the country. It goes without saying that they aren't a majority, but they are of sufficient number to cause concern to us all. Just as I vehemently don't want to see a return of standing terraces, so I don't want to see a resurgence of fans' misbehaviour. Nor is it helped by the location of the away section at GP, right next, it seems, to our own brand of loony. It will have to be dealt with sooner or later. In the meantime it is as well to acknowledge this ugly problem is undergoing an embryonic reappearance and that Brum fans are the worst of the lot. Cauterise it now, before it gets out of hand. And start in Birmingham. (24/11/02)

Team News

A full house at Goodison for the visit of the bottom club. That is the measure of what Moyesy has done this season. The doom & gloom merchants have been out with the 'this is the game we could fall on our faces' line. Possible? Yes. But no chance. I think The Rad will finally take his chances tomorrow, & we'll end up comfortable winners. Moysey is definatley not someone to rest on his laurals.

Moysey says: "The players are doing really well at the moment and long may it continue, but when you have a lot of confidence and self-belief in what you’re doing, it makes getting results much easier,” he continued. We’re doing our job quietly and people are starting to take notice. We want to do better than we are. I’m not going to rest on being fourth, I want to try and better do than that.”

Pembo joins, Toby, Saint Nic, Dunc & Rodrigo(remember him?) on the sidelines. His calf problem keeps him out. All the international players came back unscathed. I think Moysey will resist the temptation of starting with Rooney in a 4-3-3 system, but don't be suprised if he used it in the second half of the game.

Lard's eleven to start: Wright, Hibbert, Stubbs, Yobo, Unsworth, Carsley, Li Tie, Gravesen, Naysmith, Radzinski, Campbell.