Moyesy says: "It's a good feeling. We were definitely aware of just winning games by one goal, because they were never easy. The saying was among the coaching staff was the players never made it easy for us, we could never sit back and relax from the bench. I thought that at three goals up at half-time, we should have been able to do better, but Fulham went a little big gung-ho to try and get the goals and put us under pressure. We were never really that comfortable in the second half. To go on and win by four or five would have been nice, but it didn't happen. But if you'd have said to me before the game that we'd have won 3-1, I'd have taken that."

Jogger says: " This pie's too hot."

Roy’s a twerp
By
Mickey Blue Eyes.

I’m sorry about that headline. I’ll explain at the end of this report.

Monday after the Gooners game Thierry Henry claimed he was greeting his lady when he ran over to the Everton fans after scoring his penalty. Since I was less than twenty metres from the incident I can assure you this is a load of lying bollocks. It gives me enormous relish to invite m. Henry to sue me. I’ll see you in court, Thierry, you lying bastard.

I can give you all my statement now – Henry never lifted his eyes more than about ten rows above the first ranks of Everton fans. As he backed off he blew a kiss alright. To those very same front rows. By then the damage had been done by previous actions. He had only one aim and that was to rile the fans. Which is a clear breach of FA rules. He should be brought to book for his behaviour and fined at least two or three month’s wages, enough to sting him and make sure he doesn’t do it again. None of which of course excuses the loony reactions of a few Evertonians who threw things at him. But Henry started it and has to bear proportionate responsibility.

The sad thing is that he is a truly great player, one of the best I have ever seen. He has no need of this kind of behaviour, not even when he is as snuffed as he was by Joey Yobo. So if he plays at Goodison this season he can expect to get some summary verbal treatment whether or not the FA deal with him as they should. It will be acceptable only so long as the fans keep it at just that and nothing more. It is after all the only way they can make their opinions widely known without censorship. A sensible apology from Henry would help bury it………… but he’s French, and, well, you know…………Ginola, Cantona, Robert, French Air traffic Control, Old Uncle Jacques Chirac ‘n’ all. Don’t hold your breath, people.

Then again this isn’t the first time Henry has gone off his cake against us. A couple of seasons ago at GP he launched one of the worst waist high “tackles” I have ever seen. It was in the Park End and it nearly cut the recipient in two. I have no idea why he did it. All I can say is that as of the Highbury game this is one fan who no longer has any respect for Thierry Henry. Which is a pity.

Monday also brought the news that Oldham Athletic need £1.2 million before the end of September or they go into liquidation. Last season they were in the playoffs. Since then the previous owner has written off his losses and sold to an internal management group for £1. Of course they can’t make it work despite hard dedication and help from the players and their union. Fact is, nobody could in similar circumstances. The system of rat-eat-rat ensures it. It will be a sports tragedy if Oldham go to the wall but they aren’t the first and they won’t be the last. If the game is to be saved as a community sport it will have to be made into a trust, a subject I have banged on about elsewhere in detail. But you can’t expect our one party right wing state to understand that. The nation isn’t called “Ripoff Britain” for nothing. The future of the professional game remains in the balance, potentially as bleak and antiseptic as the movie “Rollerball.”

On Tuesday Everton issued a statement via Ian Ross that we are staying at Goodison for the foreseeable future. No surprise there, then, and no alternative really. If we couldn’t raise a mere £30 million for the wonderful HOK design for Kings Dock then we aren’t likely to get double that for a stand-alone stadium or even redevelopment within the boundaries of the existing site, the latter of which is absurd anyway. All of which means the club will now fall even further behind the two Manchester clubs, Newcastle, Chelsea, and Arsenal and the pinkies when they build their new stadiums. You might as well brace yourself for it now, Moyesy’s ongoing playing miracle notwithstanding.

You don’t have to be a nuclear physicist to work out the implications. With a stadium of only 40,000 capacity the only way the club can raise extra revenue is by raising seat prices. Arsenal have done this each season. This season’s first match cost us visitors minimum £31 per seat. And our average gate is higher than theirs. Anything else, fans’ club trust included (desirable though it is), would be strictly a temporary measure. Relative playing success might cushion the impact but it won’t ease fans’ feelings when we visit grounds far better than ours.

Where Everton are concerned the board of directors must accept their full share of responsibility for the situation. To say, as the statement does, that “lessons were learned” is a fatuous observation. It doesn’t take two and a half years to do the basic arithmetic or complete formalities. The EfKD Group did them right at the beginning. The story of “increased construction costs” is a load of utter bollocks. How Rossy kept his face straight when he delivered THAT pile of fish heads is beyond my ken. Frankly, I wouldn’t have his job for a big clock since it involves too many deliveries of “economies with the truth,” poor bastard. At times he must feel like Ron Ziegler during Watergate. On the stadium issue the fact is the board were eventually nothing less than a collection of useless, factionalised arseholes with not the least idea of how to ride a gift horse. Philip Carter’s upfront public pomposity is no longer credible, nor is Bill Kenwright’s unquestioned enthusiasm and dedication, or Paul Gregg’s claim to businesslike management. The rest of them don’t matter, including narcissistic Jon Woods.

Enough is enough. The honeymoon is over for the “new” owners and board of directors. They had their chance and the fans gave it to them openly and generously, and by the club’s own calculations it cost us £1.5 million in fees. They blew it all by themselves. If the Halewood Academy fails too they will have finally lost all the fans in the same way as Peter Johnson and Walter Smith. If current playing success melts away too the likely mass reaction is entirely predictable. It would be typical of their head-in-the-sands attitude for them to mistake current fans’ silence as acquiescence. The fans’ attitude is changing slowly, deliberately and with great determination. Initial steps have already been taken. If anyone on the board thinks the fans will forget, they are wrong, and very badly wrong. Given the right circumstances, at some future date it could well hound the entire board into oblivion. They can’t say they haven’t been warned.

Also, if any single director or group thereof think they can ripoff the club in a wholly private property deal to their personal benefit, they can think again. For this reason Kenwright and the rest of the board rightly kicked Gregg’s KD “reverse mortgage” proposal firmly into touch by a vote of five to one. Kings Dock was acceptable in principle because it was a once in a lifetime 50-50 public/private deal which would have benefited the whole city. If one or two directors deliberately sabotaged the project then it will become obvious which ones as events unfold in subsequent years. They won’t be forgiven. The minority shareholders will be watching and will action accordingly. [We already know which local politicians were less than helpful. They were “New” Labour MP Kilfoyle (typically, author of two-faced EDM 923), “New” Labour councillors Brant, Munby and Anderson on Merseyside, and drafted-in Manchester Euro MP McCarthy]. But keep your eye on the directors, including any new or replacements. Together, the board, politicians, agencies and bureaucrats have made a horse’s ass of our ground prospects and thereby our future.

Remember – QUE BONO? Do your own thinking and research. Draw your own conclusions. We live in interesting times. Don’t let them pass you by. Engage the issue.

Tuesday night also saw The Duke get two goals for the reserves. Moyesy promptly said he wasn’t match-fit enough for a start on Saturday. Footy-wise, nothing much else happened during the week except for England V Croatia friendlies at Under 21 and full level. In the former match England were pulverised by a superb looking bunch of youngsters, while the latter had us winning uncomfortably. The Sean Davis saga rumbled on with the news that he has ligament damage which might prevent him signing. Oh well.

Match morning. An interview with much-loved Bobby Robson on BBC Radio Five on their midday game with The Mancs. Bobby said, “If we win we get three points, which they don’t get.” My breakfast nearly went everywhere. The season only really starts when you get one of Bobby’s bewildering cracker-barrel specials. He has now supplanted ‘Arry as my favourite enemy manager. A returned ‘Arry is going to have to go some at Pompey to beat increasingly absent-minded, avuncular Bobby. Interestingly, last week after Pompey beat Villa on TV, someone I took to be Pompey’s owner with an expression of apoplectic glee was wrapped around ‘Arry’s neck. I pondered meanly if he’ll be strangling him if they go straight back down. Returning to Bobby, I would give anything to be in on one of his team talks. Added to the difficulties of his multi-national team is the increasing return of his Geordie – these days he talks a lot about being at “hoowam” – and what that does to the comprehension of lads like Lua-Lua and Solano, never mind Welshman Gary Speed or the Gaul, Robert. Footy at its best. I tell you it is more of an international language than music. Nobody asks what nationality or colour you are if you’re banging in goals, winning tackles, passing well and dribbling past your opponents. Loony racists please note. In the meantime dear old Bobby entertains us every time he opens his uncertain mouth.

Then the phone went. It was Kipper complaining about low, leaden skies and clinging drizzle. Yes, you’re dead right. I suggested he bring a lightweight shower jacket. His reply, and I shit you not, was, “Fuck off. I’m not walking around with a hood over me head. It’s uncool. I’ve got a reputation to uphold.” Nothing explains more the incapability and unwillingness of the English to come to terms with their weather. Everyone else does what is necessary to stay dry, warm or at the necessary temperature. Not the English, nosir! The prime example is of course the Scott expedition and captain “I’m going outside and I may be some little time” Oates. To this may now be added Kipper’s Total Avoidance Technique. No wonder we also invented Boy Scouts and cold showers in a hopeless quest to defeat rampant sexual adolescence.

We shared a taxi to the Hillsborough Memorial, and then a slow walk through Stanley Park to Saint Frances de Sales club for a few Blue Kipper presentations. Encouragingly, park landscaping maintenance is better these days. Unfortunately the buildings are in a truly wretched state after the local HeHe! Generation have made a determined effort to demolish them or cover them in graffiti. As usual, local politicos of all stripes have been useless in protecting the park. Re-employment of the old Park Police would probably have averted the disaster. As matters stand, there can surely be little question the proposed pinkies stadium scheme would be a big plus for the city and regeneration of the remaining park area. As Kipper pointed out, in general the idea of a city park is a laudable Victorian philanthropic idea now outdated by improved access to the countryside and easier travelling. If we want to keep them we better make sure they are properly cared for. Otherwise…………………………

Once in the club it was a pleasure to see ex-players Gary Jones and Ian Snodin and their families there for the presentations. For Gary it must have been something of an ordeal because of the tragic loss of his mother just months ago. His presentation was to the hospital who cared for her. Both ex-players looked in great physical shape, a tribute to sensible living. On big screen TV The Mancs were turning over The Skunks 2-1. You could lip read Fergy telling fourth official Geoff Winter “……and you can fuck off ‘n’ all” before disappearing to a seat in the stands on the order of Uriah Rennie. Everyone cheered because that’s precisely what we’ve all wanted to tell the useless, unshaven, scruffy, false-tanned bastard every time he’s reffed one of our games. Bobby’s post match interview was a classic of infuriated quiet diction. He said, “Once…………again…………they…………had…………just…………that…………little…………bit…………more…………than…………us.” Last season The Mancs won 6-2 at The Skunks’ peculiarly compromised, lop sided stadium. Bobby obviously has trouble with complicated arithmetic but none at all with an endearing side-to-side head movement reminiscent of a ventriloquist’s dummy.

I left early because the humidity in the club was unbearable and as I walked up to the ground I found myself following in the steps of Ian and his family, Yorkshire Blues all. Fans streamed everywhere without noticing one of the best and unluckiest players who ever pulled on a Royal Blue shirt. The caprice of fame.

Appropriately the sun came out as (again) freshly painted and penanted Goodison Park loomed up. Inevitably I encountered Texyla in Goodison Road. As we stopped to swap footy chat outside the Winslow Ann waved to me from the GP kitchen window. All this makes you feel good, part of the one hundred and twenty five years old great Everton Family. All shapes, sizes, gender and races ambled around the ground in blue favours. I saw only one forlorn looking Fulham fan. Optimism abounded, the Melledrew Tendency in full flight.

By the time I got inside the ground was dappled in glorious sunshine as the clouds fled. It was still as humid as hell. The floor beneath the Lower Street End was also dappled in a new paint cover. It was specially designed to ensure you fell over if you got your centre of gravity alignment wrong by one or two degrees. I imagine the culprit was intent on promoting insurance claims amongst the fans. Whoever put the specification together should be garrotted by the scrotum along with the dope who approved the finished job. I retreated to my seat thankful I hadn’t ruptured an ankle tendon or skidded into someone carrying three pints of lager. The guilty party should be put against a wall and pelted with the same speci paint balls.

Everyone turned up within twenty minutes of the kick off. All the usual suspects had renewed their season tickets. New match hoppo Stevie was ensconsced on my right, Peter and Peter Senior on my left, The Glebe reprobates in the row in front, Kevin far right and ready to live up to the nickname Slack Bladder. Handshakes and intros all round. The teams came out to the stirring strains of Z Cars and a huge roar. Well, it was huge from everywhere except the away section where a few hundred Hush Puppy-wearing, Daily Mail/Sun-reading, council tax dodging whingers had turned up.

Changes – Nace and Pembo left midfield, The Duke up front. For them the same ankle-tapping, shirt-pulling meffs they usually have. Their new manager Coleman made himself really popular by wearing a red top out at the dotted line, daft bugger.

First, an old style, typically over-generalised, foam-flecked footy rant. Brace yourself.

Look, I’m not one to hold grudges but I don’t like Fulham. There’s nothing personal in this, it’s their type I don’t like. They are part of the Melledrew Tendency, Lahndan branch.

You can include the ugly soot stained yellow brick area in that. Too many of their fans are the nastiest type of minority Daily Mail and Sun-reading type, lower middle class, council tax-dodging loony whingers of the first rank, and the sort attacked exuberantly by the admirable American Greg Pallast in his book, “The Best Democracy Money Can Buy.” If you despise the tories, “New” Labour and the Texas oil thugs and the one-party society they created I recommend the tome for your enlightenment. You’ll find it describes them and suburban picket-fence Yank Republicans right down to their disgusting socks. Your average Fulham fan is Alf Garnett in Hush Puppies, corduroy trousers and barn jacket. The team are a nasty bunch of ankle-tapping, shirt pulling snides. All told, the lot of ‘em match each other perfectly. That includes the Egyptian spiv Mohammed – Al or El, depends on who you believe – Fayed who bought them and promptly made them homeless. There’s supreme irony in this since the present Atlantic rightist political alliance (see Pallast) reintroduced loony religion, planned homelessness and fear of destitution to a generation unacquainted with the concept. Mohammed simply goes along with conventional wisdom, or, to be more accurate, inflicted misery. Me, I hope they get relegated by November. Fuck them.

Okay, rant over.

And then we went and pulverised them for the entire first half, odd scare apart. It was the most comprehensive and punishing display since Moyesy’s arrival. And don’t let anyone undersell it. Fulham were useless because they were hardly allowed to have the ball. When we had it, it zipped around in neat, sharp passing movements which had them running in circles. It was exhilarating and well earned through a tremendous willingness to chase everything to the last bounce. The only time the opposition threatened was a long shot after a few seconds, an insane Unsy back pass which almost trickled in, and some uncertain Wrighty behaviour at harmless crosses which he should have claimed first time. Apart from that, we battered them in the most satisfying way.

Pressure told after seven minutes after a neat right wing movement threaded across the edge of the penalty area and the ball stood up beautifully for Nace as he closed in and bladdered a brilliant daisy cutter in left footed. Even the giant Cheesehead in goal stood no chance. It went in just inside his left post while he fell over slowly like the leaning tower of Pisa.

On fourteen minutes we got an even more brilliant second. Unsy hit a fifty metre left-to-right high crossfield ball to The Duke almost out at the right touchline. He let it sail over his head and then killed it stone dead with his right foot as he turned. It was sublime, but no more so than a quick shuffle which undid the concentration of his close marker long enough for him to lay it off to nearby Pembo. A quick long pass found Nace near the centre of the D and he backheeled it to Stevie on the prowl. From whence it was pushed sharp inside their right back for Unsy to run on and smack it in angled from ten metres. Fulham were cut to shreds.

Then The Duke immediately went off on one of his fearsome shark solos through the inside right channel as their defence fell back in panic mode. It was the Arsenal and Leeds away goals all over again but this time he got crowded out. You can almost smell the fear in opposing defences when he gets this kind of opportunity. As it was the ball bounced loose to Nace again in the centre of the D and he wellied it narrowly over the bar, again left footed.

After half an hour we got a free kick right of centre, twenty five metres out. We were right in line with it. As the ball got placed Peter Junior said, “I wish Stubbsy’d fuck off at these and give someone else a chance.” It was the same training ground routine as last week – two decoys and a dead stop for Stubbsy to smack it one – but the angle made it a bit easier for deception. The shot whistled around a two metre ellipse before cracking against the Cheesehead’s left post half way up and rebounding away.

The third one came a few minutes later after Fulham were left in tatters from a quick movement, left side of the box. The Duke got clear, narrow angle, left goal line and unselfishly pulled it back for Stevie to knock over the line from close in. I swear my mate Billy gave it some help from where his ashes are buried. He would have liked that.

While all this was going on, Pembo was winning balls quickly and efficiently and laying them off. Centre left mid is his best position and nobody will convince me otherwise. His lack of pace makes him a liability at wide left whereas further in he can at least do some damage when he’s on form. He certainly made life easier for Nace until both of them blew a gasket in the second half. Unsy’s long passing was erratic throughout but his physical presence can work well against a team of no-marks like Fulham. Sandro again had a poor game at right back – will someone tell me why he crosses the ball so well from left back and can’t get it past the first defender on the opposite flank? At the centre of the defence Joey was himself, which is another way of saying superb, where his heading power, speed and interceptions have become a feature of play. Which is just as well because Stubbsy was iffy again.

In midfield Stevie was man of the match and seemed to be everywhere all at the same time. It was his energy and forward movement which maintained the impetus.

Up front The Duke is obviously still not match fit, though he was plenty good enough for Fulham. The Rad took over from where he left off last season and accelerated his work rate into the bargain. I can’t believe there are some Melledrew Tendency dopes who denigrate last season’s Player Of The Year. It just goes to show how whining insanity can defy common sense and the evidence of your own eyes. Plainly, some inadequate people will always need a victim to beat up on.

Unsurprisingly we couldn’t keep it up in the second half. I doubt any team could have. After the monotonous routine of subs the balance of the game settled into a stalemate with Fulham having a slight edge. They missed a few chances along the way but so did we. In one of these The Duke got clear at forty five degrees to the right side penalty area and only the keeper to beat. Unfortunately their man was quick enough to cut off a further turn inside to open up a wider shooting angle, so The Duke tried to lob him and it ended up as a tame gimme. Pity. Eventually they got one back when the repulsive Heavy Head Hayles came on and kicked everyone and everything until he got a scrambled goal.

Yes, it’s true maybe we could have got more goals. Then again, it’s a long time since we slaughtered someone so comprehensively. West Ham springs to mind. We could have no real complaint after such a good start. The old faults are there and will be until we get some new players in. It’s a simple fact of life and all the whingeing and whining in the world isn’t going to change things. Me, I’ll take Moyesy’s judgement anyday over the usual useless moaning minority twats. He’s more than earned it.

Afterwards we went into town to indulge ourselves in the Mathew Street Festival. We started in the White Star pub at Jogger’s behest and it turned out to be a sound choice. I haven’t seen so many pub characters in a long time. Roy claimed one of them looked like Jack Nicholson in The Shining, the horror movie where he axes down a door to get at Shelley Duval and leers, “Heeeeere’s Johnny!” Yanks actually call this kind of picture “a horr movie” but what do they know? We indulged footy chat until Roy went full circle, got pissed and made a complete arse hole of himself. That’s why he’s a twerp. Still later we ended up in a, wait for it, Funky Seventies Club in Mathew Street. Frankly they could have played bongo music for all it mattered. I was too busy admiring the shape and looks of various gloriously gorgeous women in dresses they almost wore.

So our home season opened well. Apart from Roy, that is. Watch this space. Rooney might not get him. But I will, haha.

Team News            Last Season's Game

First Home match of the season. Thank Fuck. These summers drag & drag. Everton are without Thomas Gravesen, Super Kev , Scot Gemmill and Harry Hill all injured plus Duncan Ferguson suspended. Tony Hibbert has a slight knee injury, which he picked up from the reserve game against the barcodes.

Moyesy says : “Gravesen jarred his knee - we don’t think it’s too severe, but it may keep him out for a little while. We will have a look at Tony to see how he is. Wayne was in the squad last week but he's probably in need of another three or four weeks before he's back, sharp and at his best. But we are a little short of bodies at the moment so he will certainly be involved, but we'll have another look at him before kick off."

One fella who wans to do well is Nick 'Jammy' Chadwick. He had a very quiet game against Arsenal last week, & wants to make amends.

Jammy says: "I got the nickname, because all the five yarders seem to fall to me. But you have to be Johnny on the spot, because if chances keep coming my way I will score one sooner or later. " Let's hope it's tomorrow.

Everton from: Wright, Hibbert, Stubbs, Yobo, Pistone, Unsworth, Watson, Li Tie, Linderoth, Pembridge, Naysmith, Radzinski, Rooney, Chadwick, Osman, Weir, Alexandersson, Clarke, Simonsen, Gerrard.

Lard's eleven to start: Wright, Hibbert, Yobo, Stubbs, Pistone, Watson, Linderoth, Li Tie, Pembridge, Chadwick, Radzinski.