Everton: Martyn, Hibbert, Unsworth, Stubbs, Pistone, Carsley, Gravesen, Kilbane, Watson, Ferguson, Jeffers.

Bench: .Rooney (Jeffers 46), Radzinski (Watson 46), Naysmith (Pistone 46), Simonsen, Linderoth.

Referee: Neal Barry

Out of the Cup, stranded near the bottom, and who have we next at Goodison, but Premiership Champions Manchester United. Life couldn't be any better if you are a Blue. Moyesy once again, shuffled his deck, starting with Jeffers and Big Dunc, ahead of The Duke, and The Rad, and Steve Watson replacing Alex Nyarko. Stubbsy was an expected change, as Naysmith dropped to the bench. United without doubt are one of the best sides in Europe, blessed with talent right through the side, and as early as the fifth minute, Horses head should have put the visitors ahead. United midfielder Scholes, who in the first half was awarded the freedom of Goodison Park, hit a low drive against Martyn's post, and as the ball bobbled out to the head, he some how managed to scoop the ball over the bar. You just felt though a goal was looming, as Everton were camped in their own half for the early exchanges, and sure enough in the ninth minute the deadlock was broken, when Saha easily beat the offside trap to fire low past Martyn. The Everton defence confirmed he was never off side, as not one complained to the officials, but Stubbsy and Unsey, must take some a hard look at themselves, as if they would have ran as quick as they threw their arms up for offside, they might have made Saha's job a tadge harder. Everton had their first effort in earnest when after good hold up from Big Dunc, Tommy Grav fired into the side netting. United were right back in Everton's faces though and within twenty odd minutes, they went two up, through Horse's Head, when he got in behind Stubbsy and Unsworth again, to fire a shot past Martyn. You could hear the groans, and many pissed off from their seats, for an early early half time cuppa, but worse was still to come. Paul Scholes who was to put it mildly awesome, picked out Saha, who was left un marked as Hibbert was left in no man's land. He had time to control himself, look up, and you have heard this before, fire a low shot past the helpless Martyn, who unfortunately for him, had Sven in the stands running the rule over him, and a few others out there today. The ground emptied as everyone could bear no more, and the cue's at the pissers, and the tea bar were unbearable. United really, should and could have gone in at least five or six up, as The Blues, where not really at the races. As to seal a disastrous first half, the heavens opened, and as I said at the start, life just couldn't get any better.

Half Time: Everton 0, United 3

The half time discussion, with Sausage, Jogger and myself was what pub shall we go to right now. Ten minutes we said we would give it, and thankfully we did. Three half time changes were the catalyst Everton needed. Rooney on for Jeffers, The Rad on for an obviously not fit Watson, and Pistone who to put it bluntly was shite, was replaced by Gary Naysmith. It took all off four minutes for Everton to pull the deficit back, after an excellent corner from Nace, Unsworth redeemed himself, with a diving header at the far post. Could the Man City factor be on here at Goodison, the fans sensed it, and as one we roared the boys forward. Rooney was inspired taunting the United defence at every opportunity, and with the rain still lashing down, United were most definitely under the cosh. Howard in the United sticks had to be at his best to first parry one over from The Duke, and also push one around the post from the youngster aswell. From the resulting corner, Nace once again produced a perfect centre, where under pressure from Big Dunc, O'Shea rocketed a header into his own net. The crowd went mental, and with still twenty five minutes on the clock to go, Everton sensed something sensational. The crowd who are to be applauded, never let up, all off the second half, and their support was rewarded, when in the 75th minute, Everton were level. This time Gravesen swung in a free kick from right in front of the visiting's fans, and Zinedine rose like the proverbial Salmon, to pull the Blues level. I went about three rows forward as I hugged complete stranger's, such was our delight. We could do this, we could really do this, as United were rocking. This is were at all changed for me, as the boys just seemed to sit back and shut up shop. Alex Ferguson, no doubt fuming now, as much as Moyesy in the first half, threw on Ronaldo. Whatever the antics to follow with this Portuguese buffoon, and I did witness it myself, you can not take away that the kid has got some talent. Well that talent was there to see, when in the ninetieth minute, he swung a superb cross in to Horse head at the far post, whose dive at the ball beat Hibbert, to seal all the points for the Mancs. It was unbelievable, in ninety minutes of football, to me , it encapsulated what being an Evertonian is all about, so near but yet so far. I was sat in the Upper Bullens, and I saw exactly what went on with Ronaldo, instead of just being happy about setting up the winner, he ran straight to the Lower Bullens to remonstrate with them, and I for one hope the the FA act upon the claims. They are quick to jump on fans and banning them from entering on the pitch, and rightly so, but the Polices and Stewards job is made that much harder when idiots like Ronaldo, enflame the crowd in such a manner. It did take away from an highly enjoyable afternoon's entertainment, and still Rooney could have grabbed a point, when he missed in injury time, although luckily for him the linesman, had his flag up for offside. Let's take from this, that if they can play like they did in the second half of this match, in reality there should not be a lot of clubs who should live with The Blues in that vein of form, but aren't you growing tired of hearing that every week.

Full Time: Everton 3, United 4.

 

A hit, a very palpable hit
By
Mickey Blue Eyes

The bad affects of our Cup defeat at Fulham had worn off, the dreams put away for another year. We faced the prospect of a game against Manchester United and shrugged, “What the fuck?”

Yes, indeed, what IS the fuck? Probably us, you think sardonically. There was a time when it was the other way around and doubtless there will be a time when it is once again. Meantime, you deal with it and get on with the prospect of a quite sound rogering. At times like this I recall an old American quotation: “When an Englishman says ‘With respect’ you know he’s going to ream himself a new orifice in your nether regions.” Brilliant that, and an enormous tribute to our national culture.

In The Clock pub we met up with the Wakefield Blues to say an inadequate thanks for their huge and comradely act en route to Fulham, and to discuss how many goals we were going to lose to the Mancs. Additional entertainment was provided by Lavo and his description of a vasectomy and its results from the previous week. Talking of nether regions, you should have seen the size of HIS gonads even through his jeans. You had to be concerned for the boy. Naturally he was asked all kinds of personal questions which I won’t go into here, primarily because it will have you giggling far too much. The match was avoided pretty much the way a platoon of infantry try to avoid talking about a looming battle. We spent a lot of time giggling at some apoplectic e-mails recently received by Kipper. We roundly encourage this sort of thing since it keeps the site hits spiralling and the resultant envy stirred just as much as the bon vivant atmosphere when we gather around the camp fire.

Out of The Clock and a slow walk up to the ground in bright sunshine and the beginnings of VERY cold gusts from the north west. You hoped it wasn’t an omen while making sure you kept warm.

Inside couldn’t have been warmer. A packed crowd and a sizeable contingent of The Godalming Bell Ringers and The Essex Rotary Club in their usual place in the away section.

For us, Stubbsy back to partner Unsy at the centre of defence, Sandro moved to left back, Stevie wide right mid, Slaphead with The Gravedigger centre mid, Killa wide left, and The Ears with Dunc up front. For them – ah shit. Who wanted to look. All you needed to know was it cost them billions as usual. Their bench was probably just as overdraft worthy.

We kicked off attacking the Street End and basically that was the last we saw of the ball for, oh I don’t know, maybe three quarters of an hour. They could have had two goals in the first five minutes. We were missing all over the place. The surprise was it took them ten minutes to get one, then twenty more minutes to get another two. I had expected a route but not a total massacre. After the second goal a guy two rows down said he was going home. After the third, Stevie (next to me) said, “I’ll see you later,” but he disappeared and I haven’t seen him since. You couldn’t blame either of them. Advice hurled at the players and the bench varied between the merely outraged and visceral pornography. Some of it was so choice and novel I made a mental note to use the better examples at some future date. Well, you either laughed or you cried. Around me, some people were plainly very close to bursting into hysteria.

The first goal came when a long ball from the left pierced a quite useless offside trap right through the centre and their latest PLC purchase had a clear run and couldn’t miss. Fifteen minutes later the Horse Faced Cheesehead took advantage of clown-like defending to lash one in from just right of the goal area. And then the best of the lot came five minutes later when some red headed bastard – not Moyesy – got wide right and looped a superb pass over thirty metres to their unmarked PLC purchase and he couldn’t miss again.

Well, it was all over wasn’t it. Three down, fifteen minutes left, could have been five or six already anyway. What the FUCK are we doing here? asked almost everybody. Why am I putting myself through this? came the universal question. For a short while the Street End was a Convention of Jean-Paul Sartres Waiting For Godot.

Needless to say, times like this bring out the worst in almost everybody. Favourite scapegoats appeared from the mists of extreme neuroses. It’s The Gravedigger’s fault – no, fuck that, it’s that carthorse Unsy – well, warrabout that headbanded lazy twat at left back doin’ shite all again – if Stubbsy started out now he’d still miss the last bleedin’ bus – that Carsley isn’t worth the price of an Ozzy White – Ferguson’s a fuckn lamppost ‘n’ all. And so on. This wasn’t The Melledrew Tendency. This was The Melledrew ARMY. Now, I adore the human race but there’s no question it severely tries my patience on occasion. I mean, what did everyone expect? Dazzling footwork? It reminded me of that moment in the movie “Zulu” when a terrified young private whimpers, “Why us? Why us?” and a stern faced, mutton chop whiskered sergeant played by Nigel Green says, “Because we’re ‘ere, lad. There’s no one else.” At this rate, I thought, there’ll be no one else in the bloody ground.

Moysey played his final card at half time and brought on The Duke, The Rad and Nace for Jeffers, Stevie and Sandro respectively. Actually he could have taken anyone off. The only innocent party was Nige. What the hell, it couldn’t be much worse.

Oh NO? Within a few minutes Horse Face Cheesehead left Unsy for dead by two metres and missed an easy fourth. Which must have pissed the Chorley lad off no end because he went down the other end and dived in to head one back a minute later from a Nace corner on the right. People immediately cheered up everywhere. It’s amazing what one goal can do in the midst of a massacre. The same people who were moaning a few minutes before were now saying, “At least we got one back.” Oh well.

Encouraged, the Royal Blue shirts poured forward. Rooney was plainly going to have a go whatever else happened. You realised he was full of it and going to do them on his own if he got the chance. A few minutes after the goal he did one of his classic surges from the left, went past two tackles, got himself into the penalty area just inside the angle and hit a marvellous effort which their Yank ‘keeper did really well to palm over. Suddenly the place was in uproar, The Duke lacerating them down our left. He was the catalyst and they simply didn’t have a clue how to handle him. Nobody does when he’s in this mood. All the holes so gaping before half time suddenly weren’t there any more. We were winning the ball in defence and in midfield and stretching them right across the park. For the first time they looked highly nervous, especially when Rooney got the ball and hared – it’s the only word – straight at them as though he couldn’t give a square shit who was in the way.

Fifteen minutes of pressure later our second arrived when a cross from the right got headed in. I thought Dunc had buried it but it turned out to be an own goal by a querulous centre back of theirs. The impossible had happened. We were back in the game with a vengeance and the Mancs were back peddling frantically. You could see them wilting as the minutes wore on. Appropriately, lashing rain arrived, and then sleet, all of it blowing straight into the Mancs’ faces defending the Park End. They must have thought Thor was on our side.

And then the equaliser with a quarter hour left with a goal every bit as good as anything the Mancs had achieved. A great cross from the left hung for a second before Killa dived in and bulleted a simply magnificent header from left side of the penalty area into the left side of the net. The entire ground went off its collective head. They had scored three goals in half an hour, but so had we, and our goals were at least as good as theirs. We were level and you had to pinch yourself after you got down from the roof. For a moment, Alex Ferguson’s face appeared on the giant screen. He was drained white even allowing for the rosacea and the chewing gum. Whatever happened now, Moyesy had proved he was his equal with considerably less resources.

We began to think the impossible, a win after being three down and outclassed by a considerable distance and then some. Ferguson brought on the foot flutterer but he got short shrift in short order, including a bad foul by Carsley which correctly drew a booking.

Funnily enough, to me it looked as though the effort had deflated us, not them. The scoring balance was then reflected in the pattern of play. United got back into it more. Of course you can never write a great team off and this game, for all its drama, was no exception.

So with us attacking they get a break down the right and the foot flutterer gets in an excellent cross from the right, nobody cleared it, and Horse Face Cheesehead butts it in low down at the back post for a last minute winner. All over? Not on your life. We then got an equal break down the right and The Rad hit a hard cross/cross shot which the Duke got a touch on but sent wide. He was offside anyway. It was full time.

It was of course a quite magnificent spectacle, one of the greatest games I have ever seen, and paralleled a famous 3-3 draw at Goodison with the Busby Babes, a midweek game watched by over 70,000 people. They don’t make them like they used to? Don’t you believe it. Football is still the greatest game in the world even allowing for the fickleness of human nature, the waywardness of some of the fans and the disgusting way the game is presently owned and administered.

For us, what remains to be seen is how the players will now respond to the remaining fixtures. Moyesy’s done his bit.

 

 

Lavington Reports from Goodison Park

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Blue Kipper Star Man

Rooney, Was The Difference In The Second Half

 

 

Equaliser

 

 

Superb Again

 

 

 

 

 

Quotes

Moyesy says: "I could have taken off any of the players at half-time. We didn't defend well in the first half but Manchester United played some tremendous stuff. But it was too easy for them. I felt the players had to show that they cared - and they did that. It’s important that when you put the jersey on here that you wear it with pride and when you go over that white line you give the best you can. So maybe in that second half we gave that back. The substitutes did play well, but you give people the opportunities, you pick the team you always pick the team that you think is going to get you the best result. You don’t pick one that you think won’t get you a good result. I felt as if we had to freshen up and I think the changes showed that we did.” (08/02/04)

 

Off The Ball

* The One I saw was Christian Ronaldo, deciding not to join his team mates, when he set up United's winner, but instead wind up the fans in The Lower Bullens instead, wanker.