It's 2pm Sunday & the match report is late, apologies, yesterday was the TMDO (Toffeemen's Day Out), the first of our twice seasonal bash where the match is usually an interruption on an otherwise great day out! Yesterday was different, what a game!
Moyesy surprised us all by starting with Big Dunc and dropping Ossie to the bench, thinking about it, it was not really a surprise as Ossie has not been cutting the mustard of late whilst Dunc has been finding the back of the net.

We started well enough but Bolton caught us out, surprise, surprise from a set piece. A corner was punched out weakly by Big Nige, if fact it didn't even get out of the box, and fell to Davies who volleyed home. We were then chasing the game against a team who are very comfortable of the ball, Bolton looked good despite their recent slump in form and could have gone further ahead had their Euro winner not blazed a chance wide.
The ref, who is new to the Prem, was doing his best to ruin a good contest. He lost the plot completely at one point in the first half and had both sets of players screaming at him, he was clueless and out of his depth and on this performance we won't be seeing him around at this level for much longer.

Make no mistake, we deserved this win. We ground it out & did what every Toffeeman loves to do - came from behind, twice! Ooo the thought of it!

We did have two chances to go level before Big Dunc did the business, Harry Hill (this season's revelation) put one just wide & Timmy the Blue Kangaroo should have scored with a diving header. But it was the big man who came good, Pisto sent over a cross, Big Dunc rose like a giant and battered a header past the keeper who got a hand to it but it was too powerful, cue mayhem as Dunc gave the clenched fist salute to the Park End.

Half time: EVERTON 1, notloB 1.

What a time to level it, bang on half time. So it was a cheery Kipper crew half way down the stairs as we supped our Chang & thought about 2nd place.

Benty should have given us a dream start to the 2nd half as he ran clear from half way with just the goalie to beat but he pulled his shot wide in true Radz style. They weren't going to lie down though, Davies hit the bar then a few minutes later went one better. A cross came over from the right and Tony Hibbert was out jumped by Davies who sent a looping header past Big Nige. Game on.

The happiest person on the pitch at this point was Shit'ouse Speed who to be fair had a good game but despite his whinging we were to have the last laugh.

Big Dunc was wrestled to the ground on the edge of the box and as the ref blew the anticipation of an imminent goal could be smelt throughout the ground. Tommy had to retake the kick as Jay Jay tried to take it first, on the retake Stubbsy went into WWF mode and sacked their wall making space for Tommy to drive it hard and low. Cue mayhem again plus bulging eyes, we love you Tommy!

The goal had come after two canny substitutions by Moyesy, Macca for Killa & Ossy for Timmy. Killa looked knackered & Macca got stuck straight in and had his best showing for ages but it was Ossy who forced the winner. He had a poke from the edge of the box, Jaidi swung a leg and it landed in the net. Cue total mayhem 7 mins to go and we are in front, Come on you Blues!

They moaned and we saw out the 3 mins added time, fuckin brilliant! Isn't it great to be a Toffee? They NEVER let you down! Bring on the shite!!

A real hard earned win some some good performances, Tommy in the second half was magnificent, Big Dunc tremendous (some worries too, Big Nige & Hibbo - but they can have off days when we win) but my Blue Kipper Star Man goes to..............I never thought I'd ever say this............Sandro Pistone, socks or no socks the good looking boy had a blinder.

PS We won!

Full time: EVERTON 3, notloB 2.

Duncan - Goal

Tommy - Goal

Match Report From Goodison

Blue Kipper Star Man

Pisto

 

 

Goal

 

 

Goal

 

 

My Goal, Honest

notloB and the Meaning of Life*
By
Mickey Blue Eyes

*Both terms taken from Monty Python satire in the 70s. The comedy method is still funny and well worth using to deflate the pompous and self-important. Especially in footy. Use it, friends, use it. Scorn ‘em to death.

Betting really is a mug’s game. Bookmakers couldn’t make money otherwise.

Every now and then, though, there are certain things for which you can wager your dosh with reasonable safety. Take the so-called “transfer window” in January. You can guarantee there’ll be media and fans “speculation” at all clubs leading up to the free-for-all. Most of it will be instigated by leaks during negotiations by agents or clubs or players themselves, and a tiny portion of it will be the tiresome, predictable rantings of paranoid “fans” – the Melledrew Tendency – with nothing better to do than hate somebody – anybody – for what is about to happen, whatever it may be. In the paranoid mindset, if a disliked player stays put it will be because the club didn’t try hard enough to sell him. If a liked player leaves it will be because he was “forced out,” whatever that idiotic claptrap means. If a disliked player gets a pay rise then there’s no “business sense.” If a liked player doesn’t get a pay rise then there’s a plot afoot. Everybody is of course scheming against the empty-life paranoid who KNOWS. Not. There are many other in-between loopy scenarios. Meantime, plain sanity flies the coop.

Sadly, too many fans have become every bit as neurotic and rickety – sometimes just as corrupt – as the contemporary system of overpaid players, bought-and-paid for infoclerk media, ownership and administration in the game. Too many spout the sort of persecuted muck you can hear in anyone filled with reinforcing alcohol or mere personality inadequacy in the corner of any pub. I freely admit that, viewing that kind of false glitter-eyed, joyless world from the outside, one can’t help feeling the loons deserve each other. A sensible man smiles, shrugs and moves on and leaves them to eat out their own intestines. It’s only a game, not a gossipmongering hatefest for people with nothing else in their lives. And there are many more important things in life. Me, I am content to leave the decisions to David Moyes (or Walter Smith if he was still around), be he “right” or “wrong” (some will work out, some won’t, that’s life), though you can be sure it is only a matter of time before he and Keith Wyness too become hate figures large enough to fill some empty craniums. Place your bets on the ranting Melledrew Tendency now.

So, purely in the interests of common sense here’s a very rough guide as to how legal negotiation works between two free parties now that players’ freedom of contract is in place. Similar parameters apply during a transfer deal. Best absorb it now with eleven of our players out of contract come season end. It is really a statement of the glaring obvious but every now and then you have to repeat it if only to try to save some members of the Tendency from being carted off in a strait jacket while foaming from the mouth:

1. The club always seeks to pay the minimum amount to the player. The player always seeks to get as much as possible. All the negotiations are mitigated by what is affordable by both parties.

2. If the player isn’t happy with the offer he can and frequently does move on to another club.

3. Whoever has the strongest position will prevail. Sometimes both parties have an equally strong position and they settle for an agreement somewhere between. Hence negotiation.

4. Players usually employ agents who get paid according to the settlement reached.

5. “Loyalty” by either party plays next to no part in the negotiations. There are only interests at stake. As in history, the only things that matter is what is gained and what is lost. Shaking hands is usually a sign of relief the whole necessary circus has ended.

6. Both sides employ all kinds of legal manuevring to get their way. Occasionally someone does something illegal, gets found out, and the deal ends up in court. The court decides the outcome subject to possible appeal.

7. Only the amounts of money at stake are relevant. Nobody outside the negotiations matters a jot.

8. When the contract is signed it is because both parties agree to its contents.

And that’s about it. The method hasn’t changed (sophisticated details and flashes of temperament aside) since human beings first adopted it. Most times the negotiations go reasonably smoothly and confidentially and the contract gets signed and everyone gets on with their lives. Sometimes, not. You get the same kind of thing between any union and employer or any individual employee and employer. There’s no mystery, only human scattiness.

These days first class players come and go pretty much as they please because they have the strength of their abilities to bargain with. For the rest it is usually a matter of make do and mend. But in both cases it is a relatively short working life. A bad injury can finish them. Where the clubs and fans are concerned they are interested only in what any player can offer them in the short and long term. In short, mostly a sort of financial and philosophical anarchy. You don’t like it? Tough. Change it, get used to it, or do one. That’s life.

Coincidentally the condition of the game was never better demonstrated than the pinkies’ AGM on Thursday night. Apparently their branch of the Melledrew Tendency was there as usual, bleating away like irritated sheep. The pinkies chairman and owner is David Moores, a good man and a committed football fan who now sounds as though he is ready to quit the club in tired disgust, besieged by opportunist spivvery and whining fans aghast, amongst other things, at an annual loss of £22 millions and the prospect of groundshare and the sale of their star player for only £8 millions. Meanwhile a strange cast of property-dealing spivs, Thai CD sellers, Hollywood barrow boys and lord-knows-who-all-else tries to buy the club for whatever spurious reason. Of course nobody questioned Moores’ judgment while they were spending millions on usually ineffective players and sending their wages ratio through the ceiling, especially not when a few trophies ended up in the cabinet. For them, the long, fifteen years fall from grace has been impossible to swallow. All it shows is that self-deluded insanity on and off the pitch, some fans included, has almost submerged the game to the point of worthlessness.

All of which means our own eerily similar AGM next week will have its own resonance and high comedy duly reported by your correspondent. Somehow, you can’t help hoping the Melledrew Tendency cacologists will be there for some light entertainment. There’s no show without Punch, as the EGM apparently showed so graphically. I can’t wait.

Match eve, and Wrexham went into administration and had ten points docked by the Coca Cola League, thus entrenching them in the relegation zone. Nothing unusual there, then, since at least half the so-called “small” clubs are practically or actually insolvent anyway. What would be truly interesting is if they en masse went into administration, got shut of or resigned the Coca Cola League, and reformed into a new league run on more sensible egalitarian lines without phoney hype. But that’s a distant hope almost at vanishing point.

Incidentally, did you know Coca Cola once included cocaine as part of its ingredients, hence its name?

No?

Oh well.

Match mornings used to be highlighted by listening to Radio Five. But now the prime hours have been allocated to an utter narcissist named Eamon Holmes you end up not bothering and getting the latest news from reliable friends via telephone and internet. From which source I heard the slightly surprising news of The Big Yin in from the start, Leon on the bench and 4-4-2 on the cards. Someone, I surmise, is being shown the error of his ways by Moyesy.

The day was beautifully temperate, early on some bright sunshine that later vanished behind closed up clouds, yet another perfect day for a match.

Playing patterns and events followed much the same track established during the last month or so. In the first few minutes we attacked with some reasonable efforts, then Bolton took and held the inititiative for over half an hour, then we hit back through seemingly indomitable team spirit and will to win, and Moyesy’s substitutions once again sealed the situation. You have to say, especially after last season (which Moyesy now officially describes as a “blip”), that the turnaround in the latter aspect is simply amazing. Doubtless cynics will have some more convoluted explanation. For most fans their hour and a half at the match is virtually the only thing they are interested in. Which is their right since they pay for it all, but which is also a strictly one-dimensional way of looking at the sport. But Time and Tide…………………………

The Gravedigger had our first shot and then Bolton took over. They are a big, strong side and set out to physically intimidate from the start, and then got paid back in full coin. The result was a mostly unsatisfactory if sometimes-exciting match of niggling, barging and confrontation. Plainly, Everton do not roll over and die this season. Both sides were equally guilty. At times it was like looking at two teams of Bellamys and you can’t get more fractious than that. Most of the time it had the appearance of an old style English Football League encounter, and it was enough to keep the crowd engaged and up for it.

After a couple of near misses – one a superb volley from right of the goal area that just cleared the Street End bar – Bolton took the lead after Nige could only manage a weak punch out from a corner on our right and Davies bladdered it home low easily from around the penalty spot. We couldn’t really complain even though the goaline circumstances were distinctly suspicious. Bolton were full value at that stage.

It took us another quarter of an hour to summon a good move but it was well worth the wait. Lee Carsley did what he’s been doing all season, won the ball well in midfield and played it right to Marcus Bent, once again running himself daft, this time right mid. He finally got in an awkward cross at waist height and Cahill made a magnificent right side diving header that would have been goal of the season had it buried instead of missing by a gnat’s fart.

Meanwhile, to his enormous credit The Yin was making sure the large Bolton defenders were fully occupied whenever the ball came near him, shielding it, taking knees in the back and kicks around the ankles, the kind of day-to-day stuff all strikers have to contend with, and which Marcus has been taking all season. We weren’t creating anything but the usual bouqet of Very Large People congregated around both men and it was enough to blunt the possibility of a greater threat during our moribund phase.

Which was never better shown than when the equaliser came. Sandro joined in down the left, turned inward and got in an excellent far post cross. Whence came unmarked The Yin, falling slightly backwards and to his left, and he contorted enough to butt it firmly across and in off their ‘keeper’s right hand just inside the post half way up. Right on half time, it came right out of the blue and just at the right time to demoralise Bolton.

Almost straight from the restart the wonderful clown Campo got dispossessed – not for the last time this half – and Marcus got put through galloping angled right toward the corner of the D, closely attended by one of their big men. The ball bobbled twice just before he hit it and it was enough for it to go just wide.

Then Bolton reasserted themselves, five minutes later hit the bar, and then five minutes after that got a second. Their man crossed well from wide right and Davies headed it high, arcing and in. I bet Nige kicked himself over that one. At which point I thought we were dead and buried since I assumed it was going to be a low scoring game and 2-1 would probably be enough. I was wrong.

Instead of folding, you could almost see them roll up their sleeves and set about the task of rescuing something. It was impressive in a muscular sort of way. After a few concentrated but ineffectual attacks Killa finally set off on one of his runs, the sort we haven’t seen enough of in recent weeks – possibly because he’s been asked to play a little deeper, got right through their left side to the angle of the box, and smacked one so hard it rebounded from the ‘keeper’s clutched hands. At which point Moyesy made his substitutions: Leon and Jamie for Tim and Killa. In the final minutes Joey came on for The Yin, but not before the big man had sealed the win.

A quarter of an hour after Bolton’s goal we got the equaliser with a free kick, plumb centre, edge of the penalty area. The Yin had turned their defenders brilliantly and got downed without ceremony in keeping with much of the match and both sides’ defending. Even a fairly useless ref like Webb made sure the wall pushed back the necessary nine metres before The ‘Digger smashed it against a rush from Okocha, who promptly got booked for encroachment. For some reason the kick wasn’t advanced and was taken from the same spot. This time The ‘Digger blasted it along the ground inside the right hand post. And then promptly milked it for all its worth, all the way back to the centre circle, arms extended upward like a gladiator. You don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

We were then in full flow, particularly effective wide right and left through Leon and a rejuvenated more determined Jamie. Bolton were at full stretch and unable to mount any attacks worthy of the name. Ten minutes later we got the winner when the ball looped out to Leon, right of the D and he cracked it back on the volley. It was heading in the right direction until their man decided to do what all defenders had been doing all afternoon and volley it clear. Instead, it hit him on the ankle and shot backwards and sharply to the ‘keeper’s left. Gosh, how my working class chums cheered. (Look, don’t blame me for that sentence. I was brow beaten into it by Dicky Mint and Chris, sans drug dealer’s wooly hat, in the row in front. Accompanying them was a very well mannered young man who knows his footy and had a lot of sound common sense. What he was doing with those two reprobates I’ll never know.)

Good to see Joey come on for a few minutes and get a hand shake from Davey, whose place he threatens to take. Mind you, he has some way to go to learn an owl arse trick like Davey’s contrived booking of Davies just before half time. Right in front of the dug out, he delayed a clearance for a microsecond and suckered the hapless Davies into a quite needless sliding tackle that dumped Davey on his arse but got the perpetrator in the book. Of such things are seasoned pros made. Meanwhile, Joey must bide his time and try to win back a place in the team. But, once again, the way Davey and Stubbsy are playing, season weariness notwithstanding, Joey will have to wait until next season.

So we’re still third and still pissing off the misery mongers.

Coming up………………..the AGM and attendant harridans………………and the derby match. Don’t place any bets. Here’s Bill with the weather.