Quotes

Moyesy says: "We had opportunities to score and we didn't take our chances. Radzinski had a couple of opportunities, Wayne had a chance and I think we had the clearer cut chances in the second half, but we didn't score. But when you're forwards aren't scoring, you look for your defenders to be reliable and make sure that they do their job correctly. On a couple of occasions today, that didn't happen. It was a disappointing day and one that we didn't expect. We gave away two horrendous goals in the second half and maybe even the first one was just as bad. We missed chances and we conceded poor goals. It doesn't work when you do that. When you miss chances at the other end, it's a recipe for disaster."

Off The Ball

Thierry hasn’t contacted me
By
Mickey Blue Eyes

Come, knit hands, and beat the ground,
In a light fantastic round
…………
And filled the air with barbarous dissonance

JOHN MILTON – “Comus” (1637) L.143 and 550.

Well, there’s a surprise. And with me and my lawyer on standby too. Come on, Thierry, let’s thrash it out in public. I can’t wait.

On Monday the Sean Davis saga came to an abrupt halt when he failed a second medical at Goodison. Naturally, Moyesy said he wouldn’t sign him. Straight forward enough, n’est-ce pas? Are you with me so far?

Er, no, not for a tiny number of loony slaverers (henceforth dubbed “droolies”) who masquerade as fans of ours. By their “reasoning” somehow Moyesy and the board screwed up and, guess what, everyone everywhere in the Universe is to blame too, including the nearest proximity of Mars in 60,000 years.

Sigh.

Like all footy “message forums” they make no sense at all except as a study of the kind of drivel produced by, for instance, the Sun newspaper, or self-congratulatory back-slapping dickheads.

So let’s get this straight even though it has been said so many times you would have to be as thick as the droolies to misunderstand it:

1. We have next to no money. The present board – for all their faults – have never claimed to have any money for transfers. The main aim was to try to steady the financial situation so we didn’t go into liquidation.

2. David Moyes is completely aware of the situation and has been since before he was appointed. He and Kenwright speak every day and understand the money situation and which players are wanted – TOTALLY. The club can no longer spend money it doesn’t have. No club can. We still suffer from the legacy of Peter Johnson and will do so for some time yet, a good run in Europe notwithstanding. Even WITH money there are no guarantees. You only have to look across the park and elsewhere for confirmation thereof.

3. Nobody else wants to buy the club. Whimper all you want, bang on all you want, droolies. BUT NOBODY WANTS TO BUY OUR CLUB. Period.

4. We are in a slightly better position than we were when Johnson owned our club, borrowed us into worse debt, and gave it to a manager who made too many player and team misjudgements. Bill Kenwright provides a balance of sorts. Without him, there’s no balance at all.

Now, forgive me, but that is as crystal clear as you can get without kicking it into thick heads and force-feeding it to them ten times a day a la Clockwork Orange.

One of the few constructive things to be done with their kind of “mind” is to pass them a box of tissues and tell them to wipe away the foam – from both ends. Me, I’m all in favour of giving them a pair of concrete wellies and a permanent season ticket for the bottom of Sefton Park lake. Since they add nothing to our club they might as well add something to the lake even if it’s only as poisoned fish bait.

Meanwhile, Moyesy also said he would like to sign Ferguson of Rangers but said in the same breath he didn’t think we had the finances to complete a deal even though he tabled a bid. Which is the kind of thing all of us say about almost any player who comes up for transfer. Straight forward enough too, n’est-ce pas? Then McManaman asked for a three year contract to take him to thirty-four years of age plus 30% more wages than our wages cap. He was rightly told to fuck off sharpish. Which he did, to Manc City and, wait for it, a two year contract. Still straight forward, n’est-ce pas? Nobody in their right mind signs somebody for the sake of making a signing or doing a deal. Kenwright learned that the hard way with Gascoigne, Ginola and Ferguson. You would have thought even the droolies would have drawn some sensible conclusions from the disaster of borrowed money.

But no, there they were in short order, in again, squealing, “Nyaaarrgghh! Shplarrrrg!! Crankkkk!!! Shtum!!!! Shpittttt!!!!!” Needless to say it’s the same people who want to do really constructive things such as sell The Rad. Pass the sick bag, Alice.

I freely admit I have no idea what passes between the ears of these people, why they watch football or why, gawd help us, some of them attach themselves to our club in the Fishwife Section of the Melledrew Tendency. Opinions are one thing, mindless masochistic bullshit quite another. You can safely bet these loonies will find something or someone to hate at all times, even if we had the greatest team in our history. In an earlier age they would lock themselves in a monk’s cell, wear a hair shirt and slash themselves with a flagellant. If they had been at Salem they would have been the first to call for the flogging of Tituba. They probably spend their spare time pulling the wings off flies. Come to think of it, why can’t we stick them in the same room as Thierry Henry and leave them to it for the rest of the season? Then the rest of us could get on with watching the footy in passable sanity.

Tuesday night, and a creditable draw with Charlton despite falling behind twice to penalties. I listened to it on Radio Merseyside where ex-player Ronnie Goodlass is one of the commentators. It’s impossible not to like Ronnie The One because he always says “we” and “us” when referring to, erm, us, actually. More to the point you don’t get any bullshit out of him. If we play badly, he says so. If we play well, he says so. His is an opinion well worth seeking out. The Duke got an absolute classic second equaliser after a first touch you won’t see bettered anywhere in the world by anybody. And he did it all within a few metres and with two central defenders virtually inside his shorts. Ronnie and the other commentator almost swallowed their mikes. When I saw it later on TV I almost stood and applauded.

Quite simply, Rooney’s in a world class all his own – touch-turn-shoot, left or right. Next night I watched brief highlights on TV and paid special attention to how the Charlton defenders reacted to the goal. Needless to say the poor bemused bastards just looked at each other with the sort of helpless exchange of glances we have got used to when The Duke bladders one in, or when he runs straight at the opposition without a care in the world. Friends, treasure these Ducal Events while you can. It won’t be long before the part-time know-nothing Sunday badged-up coaches are bleating away about the “faults in his technique” or that “he should fall back a bit further to collect the ball.” If you are ever within expletive distance of one of these thick dickheads just tell him to fuck off and grow up, and while he’s at it to shove his badge up his arse. Sharp end first. Meantime, relish Rooney and remember he’s STILL only seventeen. He’s the kind of once-in-a-lifetime player who evolves in his own way and at his own rate. Anything can happen. Moyesy isn’t about to change any of that.

Meanwhile, next night, the pinks were scrambling to a draw with Totteringham at analfield. Normally I can’t be bothered with the pinkies except occasionally to scrape at the curious mutant species of wart attached to them. Whenever I encounter one of them in a pub I make an initial point of ignoring them unless they come tugging at my elbow like an unshaven, dandruff-ridden oik reeking of meths (or should that be “meffs” as insisted on by my youngest offpring) with some long-forgotten grievance over some piss-take I did on them in Neolithic times. But this was derby week so you are more or less duty-bound to follow up and rub-in their current circumstances with a douche of razor blades.

Not that it takes much effort. All you have to do, if you have the time or the inclination, is to listen to one of the local radio phone-ins. Wherein you will hear a group of pinks who make our section of the Melledrew Tendency sound like the local minister en famille. After which you just recount what was said, or repeat the latest astonishing statement of Who?llier, and tuttut sympathetically before politely brushing off the dwarf-like pink drunk and turning to your much more amenable companion. Works every time. In fact it drives them up the wall as it only can when you do it to someone who lives permanently in a cloud cuckoo land of their own manufacture. As a friend of mine once pointed out, in fact they’re easier to wind up than a cuckoo clock.

There, that’s the rivalry bit dealt with. Gosh, it can be TIRESOME.

But jaysus it wasn’t as tiresome as the match itself, in which we got roundly battered if you pay too much attention to the scoreline. In the end the loss was well deserved but they were never three goals better. None of the goals had that much to commend them. Not that it matters in a derby game. Win by one, you might as well win by five.

During the week I had a good feeling about the game too. I kept telling everyone so. Just goes to show – those whom the gods would destroy they first make content. And I’ve watched enough of these games to know by now that the very worst thing you can do is try to forecast them. Then again, so did almost every other Evertonian I spoke too, including Paul and Cathy at a great dinner the previous evening at the Valparaiso in Hardman Street. I can recommend Chilean white wine so much because I quaffed almost two bottles of it in a wide ranging taste experiment. Unfortunately I neglected to drink it sensibly with water. By the time I stood up to get into the taxi the room had acquired a sort of rotating three dimensional oval shape with interesting multi-coloured abstract shapes bouncing off the ceiling. Jimi Hendrix, where are you when I need an explanation?

Needless to say, next morning dehydration and a moribund mindset had set in. A friend of mine calls this “alcoholic remorse,” which I think is quite neat and totally accurate. Like Horatio Hornblower, I don’t like not being in full command of all my senses. I tell you this purely to add comical perspective to the day’s succeeding events. Fortunately the day’s weather was nothing less than gorgeous, relatively low temperature and bright sunshine with a scattering of high clouds. Perfect footy weather.

I phoned for a taxi and had to wait three quarters of an hour, which meant I got into the game ten minutes late. If you believe in omens this will mean something to you. Is there any worse torture for a footy fan than being outside a ground with crowd noise swelling and falling on the inside? I hurried along Gwladys Street from the school thinking we were either a goal up or a goal down, persecuted by a hangover the size of the mortgage or credit card debt the system has inflicted you with. The streets were deserted except for attentive and suspicious bizzies. No wonder paranoia is a recognised element in hang overs.

Anyway, there’s the game, not much to it really and not much skill from either side, and we get two opportunities, one to The Rad and one to the Duke. They both missed. You felt uh oh, sort of. It took the pinks twenty minutes into the game to muster a shot and then they had two in quick succession, the second bringing a great save out of Simmo. Then we let one in five minutes before half time that must have had Moyesy tearing his hair out. An innocuous move through the middle, two half-hearted tackles, and the ball bounced through to the Welsh Dwarf in the clear. Even then it only just crept in off a post. My hangover felt worse. All around me were the rumblings of revolution. But it might have been the Chilean white.

The Gravedigger was brought on for the second half and made no difference. Nor did The Big Yin later on, a last desperate gamble if ever there was one. We leaked an equally stupid second about ten minutes after the restart when Joey was left to do the right back’s job – and we know what THAT means – and it got pulled back for The Dwarf to check back slightly, left side penalty area, and pick his spot. We were all over the place.

By the time the third arrived it was a breakaway and a Simo mistake so ludicrous you’d think he had coaching lessons from Paul Gerrard. The dope came charging out of goal needlessly, got sidestepped easily on our left and it got rolled across an open goal to The Overpriced and Overrated Kangaroo and even he couldn’t miss. It was so hapless it was downright comical.

It was easily the worst result and display since Moyesy took over. The pinks were no great shakes – easy to see why they get even more slaughtered by their own fans than we do – and had we taken the chances which came our way it might have been an interesting scoreline. As it was, the Rad and The Duke both missed more chances and then The Yin hit the bar with a free kick, and their ‘keeper made a couple of useful saves. As I said, they deserved to win but it was our own structural faults which led to the margin of loss.

It’s safe to say everything which could go wrong all went wrong all at the same time. Simo finally lost any hope he has of ever being first choice ‘keeper. Sandro was at his very worst in the maddeningly wrong position of right back. Unsy was turgid. Stubbsy was so slow it was painful and Joey had his worst game at centre back since he got back there. The midfield eventually was almost non-existent, while this of course guaranteed a reduced supply to the front men. In short, put it down to experience and swallow it. I bet Moyesy will have them swallowing something else this week.

It’s of marginal importance that Riley’s refereeing really was the very worst I have ever seen. It certainly didn’t affect the result. But it certainly affected fans’ tempers when he booked The Duke for kicking the ball away after no less than three pinks had done precisely the same thing right in front of him and he took no action.

On my left, Peter Junior was shouting at the directors’ box, “I’ll put ten pounds in if you will, yer buncher cunts!”, while in front The Glebe Reprobates sat in silence throughout. Me, I had me chin in me hands for the whole game. It was the only way I could ease the hangover and watch the mess out on the park at the same time.

Afterwards in Wetherspoons there was a sombre gathering of the faithful. Paul was as bright as a button, though he might still have been pissed from the night before. Cathy was over the worst. Ray and Flo dealt with the situation by ignoring it. Kipper was struck dumb. Mrs. Kipper, fresh from five weeks in Mexico, was irrepressible to the point where you wanted to ask why she was so cheerful. The Bus was there, as philosophical as ever, except Mogsy looked a bit flushed. Everyone was apparently en route for a night on the town. Me, I couldn’t have made it even if we had won 6-0. I made my excuses and left after about an hour. Outside, Kipper was using his moby. “Where the fuck,” he asked sternly, “are you goin’?” What else could I say but, “I’m goin’ ‘ome to throw meself in the river.”

Later in the day, Totteringham, who drew 0-0 at the pinks, lost 3-0 at home to Fulham who we slaughtered 3-1. It’s no consolation of course. I just threw it in because I’m as pissed off as you and clinging to straws too.

Oh well.

We owe the shite one, so let's do it. As for the team Wrighty will have a late fitness test as will Tommy Gravesen. Even if Tommy is fit I expect the team will be the same that has started the last two games. If Wrighty doesn't make it Simmo will take his place. Will Big Dunc be on the bench? I hope so.

Moyesy said:" We will give Richard as much time as we can.and leave a decision until the last minute. He had some fluid drained from the knee yesterday and we will see how he is today."

"Tommy has trained and is fit, but I must decide whether to bring him straight back in.We have had two good results with Mark Pembridge and Tobias Linderoth together."

Stevie Watson said:"As soon as the game finished against Charlton, we started preparation for the derby.The fans have been looking at the fixtures since the day they came out to see when the derby is. It’s come pretty early in the season, so they’ll be looking forward to it. It’s highly charged. You’ve got to know how much it means to the supporters to have a derby win. We haven’t won a derby since I’ve been here and I’ll be looking to put that right on Saturday. I want to have a derby win. I want to experience what it’s like.”

Stubbsey said: "It’s been a while now since we actually beat them, so there’s no better time to put the record straight."

Unsy said: "There's no doubt we are due a derby win.You get spells like this in derbies where somebody is due a victory, and hopefully it will be our turn on Saturday.I've played in too many now to know they are impossible to predict. It doesn't matter how either side has been playing in the build-up. It's what each set of players does on the day."

Jogger said:" I'm shitting myself."

Team from: Wright, Pistone, Hibbert, Stubbs, Yobo, Weir, Unsworth, Radzinski, Pembridge, Watson, Naysmith, Rooney, Osman, Chadwick, Linderoth, Alexandersson, Clarke, Simonsen, Ferguson.

Sausage's Team To Start: Wright, Pisto, Joey, Stubbsy, Unsy, Watto, Toby, Pembo, Nace, The Duke & The Rad