Everton:
Martyn, Hibbert, Unsworth, Pistone, Naysmith, Carsley
,
Nyarko, Gravesen, Kilbane, Rooney, Radzinski
Subs: Simonsen, Clarke, Jeffers ( Radzinski
63), Watson (Nyarko 63), Linderoth.
Referee : Paul Gherkin
Apart
from the shite, I have never really had a side that I love to hate
with a passion that was until Fulham came on the scene, in the last
few seasons. Thinking they are the big boys from the West End of London,
they rent a third rate ground from a team two divisions below them.
They have fans like Hugh Grant; they sit in the top six of the Premiership,
and still struggle to fill a twenty thousand capacity, when their
fans sing songs to us about having no cash. Well to set the record
straight I fuckin’ hate them, with an absolute passion. This hatred
does not stem from the last few weeks, with the Boa Morte incident,
but it is a hatred that has been bubbling up in me, since I seen the
said player volley Davey Weir, in another ill tempered game a few
seasons ago. As my colleague Lard says, they are Twats who all live
in Twatshire, and it is to Twatshire that I headed for this Cup Replay.
A few shocks were in store for us at the start of the game, Big Dunc
out, and more alarmingly Stubbsy aswell. Unsworth and Carsley were
recalled to the starting line up, as Everton went in search of the
fifth round. The game at the start did not bode well, as Everton to
put it bluntly were shite, and Fulham were right into gear at the
off. Everton who were in their yellow away strip, were fortunate not
to get an early booking when Carsley clattered Boa Morte, and was
extremely lucky to get the benefit of the doubt off the man in black.
Malbranque and Inamoto fired chances in the first five minutes that
should have had the alarm bells ringing then. Boa Morte sought revenge
on Carsley as the tempo and the heat of the game rose to fever pitch,
and once again Paul Durkin thought better of pulling his card out.
Everton were on the back foot, and were finding it hard to get out
of their own half. In fact it was nearly half an hour into the game
till the Blues had their first chance in anger, when The Duke shot
over from some distance. Fulham came straight back onto Everton and
one time transfer target, Sean Davis had Fulham’s chance of the first
half when he pulled a fine stop out of in form Nigel Martyn, who turned
his shot round the post. With the last ten minutes of the half upon
us, Everton actually moved up a gear and were unlucky not to take
the lead, albeit against the run of play. The Rad collected a pass
from an out of form Nyarko, and drilled his low shot against the woodwork,
or whatever they are made out of nowadays, and seconds later Rooney
missed a header, right in front of Van Der Saar’s goal, when it looked
a lot easier to hit the back of the onion bag. Half time was upon
us, and surely all eleven were on for a half time bollicking off Moyesy,
as apart from the last couple of minutes in the first half, all they
managed to serve up was total shite.
Half
Time: Fulham 0, Everton 0
That
half time bollicking must have happened, as Everton started like a
different team, not fuckin’ brilliant, but just a different team.
Minutes in and Tommy Grav laid on Zinedine Kilbane, and he was unlucky
to see his shot deflected wide. The game went from end to end, as
Hayles for Fulham, and then The Rad for the Blues both went close.
On the hour mark though Fulham’s dominance paid off, when Inamoto
blasted a blistering drive, that Martyn could do absolutely jack shit
about. To be fair, and I hate too, were Fulham are involved, but it
was a lead they thoroughly deserved. Moyesy reacted instantly and
brought off, an out of sorts Nyarko, and replaced him with Stevey
Watto, and also the Rad’s number was up, in favour of first game hero
Franny Jeffers. The change, changed Everton, as they pushed up in
search of the equaliser, and straight away, Carsley went close, shooting
comfortably into Van der Saar chest, sounds rude, and why not. Watson
himself went close, as Everton pressed on, at last looking like a
team on a mission. A succession of corners went Everton’s way, but
the clock was not on our side. With the last minute of the game upon
us, and Everton camped in the Fulham box, that man again, super sub
Franny Jeffers, got on the end of a Carsley flick on, to guide his
header passed Van der Saar, to the delight of the travelling hordes
of us Blues. Jeffers could have finished the job off, in the ninety
aswell, but he missed an easy header, and shot wide, as Everton piled
forward to get the job done in normal time. Extra time was upon us,
another thirty nail biting minutes ahead.
Full
Time: Fulham 1, Everton 1
If
there ever is a good time to score, that must have been it. Fulham
were probably looking forward to their encounter with West Ham, until
Franny netted, now they had to lift themselves for another thirty
minutes. Franny should have put the game beyond doubt when he missed
a glaring oppurtunity, in the first few minutes of extra time, when
he chipped over the bar, with the goal beckoning from five or six
yards out. The end to end theme continued, when Fulham broke out of
their half and Volz forced a save out of Martyn. Fulham now regained
the composure the had in abundance in the first half, and it paid
off handsomely for them, when after a neat passing move they regained
the lead through Malbranque, at the end of the first period of over
time. The second period was all Everton, lots of possesion, but no
clear cut chances. A valid penalty claim was waved away as Everton
pressed on late in the game, with even Martyn joining the outfield
players, in the vain search for the goal that would bring penalties.
In the end it was not to be, another Cardiff trip, has passed us by,
saying that I fuckin' hate Wales anyway. Overall Everton were poor,
Grav and Nyarko not on the ball. Even though we were second best,
we had enough decent chances to put this game beyond Fulham, but that
sadly has been the story of our season up to date. My bluekipper.com
starman has gone to Nigel Martyn, as I can't really put my finger
on any outfield player, and Nige once again made some decent saves,
and his all round game was better than most tonights.
Full
Time, Extra Time: Fulham 2, Everton 1.
The
injected prop shaft hits Watford Gap
By
Mickey Blue Eyes
If
there’s one place you don’t want to be in England during rush hour
it’s Lahndan. The experience is inhuman and to be avoided at all costs.
Only a family emergency or an FA Cup replay would get me entangled
in such a carbon-monoxide choked greenhouse nightmare, hence my presence
for a rare away match. Kipper showed up too, as did Dicky Mint from
an adjacent season ticket seat. And thence to The Bus for the looong
journey to Unloved Babylon.
Match
apart, occasionally you have an exhilarating experience which confirms
your childhood decision to be a footy fan and Evertonian. This was
one of them. Just three hundred metres short of Watford Gap service
station The Bus – a different “new” vehicle – developed an alarming
knocking sound which had me off on an instant search of my memory
banks. “Prop shaft,” I thought as the driver pulled over to the hard
shoulder. Texyla and Danny The Drive risked the slipstream of near
lane heavy metal to lift up a side hatch and pretend to know what
they were looking for. You could tell by their creased foreheads they
didn’t have the slightest clue what was going on in the mass of wires,
pipes, tubes and metallurgical ingenuity. Me, I never look under the
bonnet unless pressed against it with a Magnum 45. I am barely acquainted
with the workings of the internal combustion engine and its associated
parts and that’s the way it will stay. Only a fool thinks oil and
dirt have any attraction.
Eventually
a risk was taken and The Bus crawled off the motorway and into the
service station, wherein Texyla and Danny busily engaged phone contact
with the world outside the strip of polluted asphalt. Danny ordered
a replacement for the replacement and then Texyla delivered impeccably
on his network of contacts, this time with the Wakefield Blues. They
were thirty minutes ahead of us but, incredibly, turned around to
collect us and take us to the game. The replacement would be ready
and waiting after the game. The Yorkshiremen did us proud and earned
our undying thanks. Without them, we would never have made it. Genuine
camaraderie, authentic unity of action, no self-styled glory-hunting,
the Yorkshiremen just DID it. There are an awful lot of peculiar people
out there who could learn from them. We owe the Wakefield Blues one,
big style.
Meantime
on The Broken Bus we pondered the loss of Stubbsy and The Big Yin
for the match. Weird, isn’t it, how easily we can point out various
playing deficiencies but the minute they aren’t there we notice their
strengths too. Previously I had been cautiously optimistic but now
I felt gloomy about our bare-bones chances. Still, when life bites
you on the arse occasionally you have to turn around and kick it in
the teeth and then trample all over it while laughing uproariously.
It’s the only way. It’s either that or Through A Glass Darkly or Snort
Your Way To Hell. Relaxed escapism is okay, liquid or powder oblivion
emphatically not. Footy of course falls somewhere in between and,
sensibly approached, with more on the side of the angels than the
demons.
We
got to what passes for the football ground about three quarters of
an hour before the game. The area and the stadium are like throw backs
to the unlamented grey fifties and with an air of distinctive English
tackiness to boot. Outside the stadium, police everywhere, Ian Mac
stood forlornly asking if anyone had spares as thousands of Blue Bellies
streamed past in high spirits. Kipper described the scene by moby
to Alan Jackson’s phone-in on Radio Merseyside. For all that – like
the first game – you couldn’t get the usual tingle of an FA Cup game.
There’s something about Fulham that promotes a sort of duffle-coated
poujadisme, Brian Glanville in mufti. They’re not anything, they’re
going nowhere, they know it, but they’ll stay open till midnight anyway.
I’m being mean of course. I don’t like Fulham anymore than anyone
else. They are all lower middle class Lahndan threadbare artificial
fur coat and no knickers. This notion was eventually reinforced by
the attendance of eleven-thousand odd that included over three thousand
Evertonians. The place was barely five eighths full.
Inside,
short meetings again with The Squire and cockney toffee. The Squire
was attired in a natty black leather jacket and ct was out of breath
because he was, er, late. Now there’s a surprise. Then Tim showed
up for a few words about the behind-the-scenes situation. It was all
too brief. The breakdown had taken its toll. Still, there was the
match.
For
us the novelty was Sandro at centre back once again, this time partnering
Unsy. Up front The Rad and The Duke against their two VERY large centre
backs. Our centre midfield was occupied by The Gravedigger and Alex
Nyarko with Slaphead and Killa wide right and left respectively, Tony
and Nace at full backs.
Given
the lineups the match went pretty much the way you would expect and
fairly similar to the first game. Our centre midfield was, yawn, staccato
at best and gave the ball away far too easily and too often. You can’t
do that with a player like Malbranque around. In fact Fulham quickly
got much more shape and pattern into their play and passed it reasonably
well and fluently. We battled hard for what we got but you never felt
we could build anything of worth and they kept coming back at us relentlessly.
Gary Naysmith had a particularly torrid time at left back, Tony’s
distribution is still woeful, while Alex Nyarko lost the ball in far
too many fifty-fifties. Nevertheless they were restricted to only
a few chances. Once again Sandro gave a master class in positional
sense, pace and tackling at centre back. Astonishingly he showed terrific
heading ability too when he had to, even though he gave the impression
he found heading a bit distasteful and something which shouldn’t be
allowed to disturb his headband………..pure class the man is now he’s
had a run of games in place of a run of injuries. By comparison a
whole hearted Unsy looked a bit cumbersome and got berated by Nige
for a few moments of slow thought.
Our
best first half moments came in the last five minutes of the first
half. An excellent pass-and-move scissors (bloody hell was that US!?
you thought) down the left got The Rad clear in the penalty area left
side and he hit a superb ground shot into their left side of the goal………….where
it hit the post at the base and rebounded along the ground for a grateful
Cheesehead to fall on it in a pile of bodies. A couple of minutes
later we opened them up down the left again, left their defence for
dead and a superb cross left Wayne Rooney clear in the air right side
of the edge of the goal area. He couldn’t miss. But he did. He did
it too text book, headed it down……..but it bounced too far in front
of goal and got cleared.
At
times like this you can almost see him trying to embellish the end
product instead of doing the deadly and simple thing. He WANTS to
be spectacular. He’ll learn the hard way or he won’t learn at all.
When he does – and in this game, like the derby, there were flashes
of last season’s incandescence – he’s going to ruin an awful lot of
sleep patterns. At the moment he’s agog with his own eagerness and
expectation. Get in the zone, Wayne, and you’ll be unbeatable.
We
were a little better in the second half but they went and got one
after what looked a clear hand-ball offence from where I was sitting.
Our centre defence backed off as it broke loose just outside the D
and their man lashed at it right-footed more in hope than good technique.
As sometimes happens it swerved wickedly (I am convinced without the
intention) and dipped low down under Nige’s diving left arm. Shit.
I turned to Kipper and said glumly, “That’s us out.” I couldn’t see
where we were going to raise our game and through whom. We were running
around a lot and chasing everything – one of the problems really –
without looking like we had the necessary spare gear. Meanwhile, Malbranque
ran the midfield pretty much the way he wanted and had sterling help
from Sean Davis. I have to say this is the first time I have watched
Davis closely. For the first time I could see clearly what is obvious
to Moyesy, that Davis can give us part of necessary midfield consistency.
We
got increasingly desperate as time ran out. Killa even moved to centre
forward. Credit where it’s due though, we never gave up despite a
couple of scares when they could and should have buried it. The subs
came on, The Ears for a very tired Rad, and Stevie for an uncertain
Alex. We got a series of corners. The away end was in uproar. Kipper,
agog with excitement, gasped, “This is what you come the game FOR
isn’t it?” Of course he was right. It’s the FA Cup, the world’s greatest
knock out competition and then some. Those English members of the
G14 group who have tried to kill it deserve all the contempt true
fans can level at them.
Amazingly,
The Ears got another late equaliser – an umpteenth cross from our
right evaded their two giant centre backs and he got a forehead on
it despite being charged down by a couple of desperate, sweat soaked
defenders. From their left side goal area the ball looped in slow
motion, then bounced, then bounced again as The Cheesehead ‘keeper
slipped………and finally crossed the line with Evertonians cascading
everywhere.
Even
more amazingly we could have won it in the closing minute. Suddenly,
Fulham’s defence had completely melted away. It was inexplicable.
We missed two gilt edged chances. Then The Ears made the worst miss
I have ever seen from less than a metre when he stooped to head in
and sent it wide…………..fortunately for his reputation, from an offside
position.
After
the whistle the teams gathered at the half way line for the usual
liquid replacements. Both looked as worn out as the fans, shirts sodden
with sweat, Fulham shell shocked and still grateful for being alive,
us looking as though we had shot our bolt. Extra time, and you can
never tell what the reaction will be.
Within
a few minutes the Ears was giving them more grief with (what used
to be characteristic) darts behind their defence that had them all
over the place. Within a few minutes he and The Duke had combined
brilliantly only for Jeffers, left side and close in, to knock it
over instead of in. But once again they cut through our left side
defence far too easily and the ball got squared to Malbranque for
him to side foot home easily. Off to my left a divvy said, “Hibbert
played him onside.” The same dope had castigated Tony all through
the match as, “The worst right back in the prem.” I tell you the Melledrew
Tendency are not dead, they’re just resting on their bile-filled,
loony masochistic mattresses.
From
then on we huffed and puffed without managing what Jack Nicholson
did in The Shining. It might have been different with more players
available. Then again, it might not. We all know why. In the end,
strictly relatively speaking, the better team won. They had better
and more consistent teamwork and in Malbranque they had an individual
player better than anything we had to offer. We battled hard and creditably
and that was about the best you could say for us. We went out heroically
and gallantly. But it’s not good enough even though we all know there’s
no immediate solution. Moyesy’s fresh out of miracles. He has shuffled
the pack as much as he can.
Back
at The Bus I asked Danny The Drive what was the problem? He said,
“The mechanic told me it was an injector.” I wondered if it had somehow
got mangled in the prop shaft and then settled down for the journey
home. Texyla stuck a DVD on the TV, a “comedy” featuring someone called
Peter Kay, a fat Bolton lad with one too many falsettos in his voice.
Inspired moments aside, it was as funny as a broken prop shaft or
a malfunctioning injector but a near perfect reflection of the tackiness
of English culture. I went to sleep. I was in that kind of mood.
Off
The Ball
*The
Widnes Blues Bus breaking down at Watford Gap, just thought I'd give
you a mention lads. Another bus( Wakefield Blues) turning back to
cram the lads on, well played to all concerned, especially Brian.
*The
banner in our end ' Houllier Must Stay '
*
The linesman in the second half down our end, going down quicker than
Jordan's grundies in the jungle, when a player ran into him.
*
The Duke ending up in the crowd, after not being able to stop himself.
He looked well pleased!!
