Tony Hibbert was too ill to travel and was unable to play, so Steve Watson played right back. Big Dunc started up front with James Beattie on the bench. Pisto returned to left back.

With Craven Cottage bursting at the seams with Evertonians in every part of the ground, we came out of the blocks flying. Tim Cahill lead the way and was fouled. Our Tater took the free kick. Dunc glanced the ball goal ward with Van Der Sarr beaten, Killa crashed the ball home only to be pulled up for offside. I don't know if Dunc's header would have gone in without the touch. Again Tim Cahill went on a run, but his right foot drive was screwed wide. Everton were taking the game to Fulham.

A foul by Papa Bouba Diop on Tim Cahill resulted in the Everton player receiving treatment. He came on again, but was obviously in pain. He was replaced by Ossie after unlucky 13minutes. Pistone was booked by that man Bennett for time wasting. 13minutes gone. I ask you? He was waiting for Cahill to get substituted.

Fulham took the lead with their first shot when the ball was crossed from the left. A bit of pin ball ensued and the ball fell lovely to John who scored. The game became scrappy with lots of niggling fouls. When Everton did have the ball, mostly from Ferguson, who led the line well, the crosses from Killbane, Arteta and Pistone were awful.

Fulham went two up. Out of nothing a cross from the left was headed powerfully home from Bake McBride. Again Everton couldn't get control of the ball and the half fizzled out.

Half-Time: Fulham 2 EVERTON 0

No changes at half time. Everton pressed again, but the moves broke down with players being caught offside, notably Bent and Killbane. Dunc was winning all the headers and playing out of his skin, but the rest of the team looked as though the sun had sapped all their energy.

A foul by Arteta on Papa Bouba Diop resulted in the Everton player being booked. The dip stick Bennett gestured that this was the 3rd time so he was being booked. It was appalling as Diop had fouled at least 6 times. Everton made a double substitution. Arteta was replaced by James McFadden and Marcus Bent was replaced by James Beattie.

Both tried to get in the game, but looked out of sorts. Everton huffed and puffed, but couldn't get the goal. The best chance came when Big Dunc again won a header and placed it into the incoming Carsley who drove his shot wide from about the penalty spot.

The turning point in this match was when Tim Cahill went off. Everton were poor after that. Arteta, Bent, Kilbane, Carsley all were under par. Let's hope Tiny Tim is fit for next week.

Star man was Duncan Ferguson. Nobody in the Everton side came close to him. Neither did Zak Knight who is 2 inches taller.

Full-Time: Fulham 2 EVERTON 0

Jellied Eel Reports from Craven Cottage

Blue Kipper
Star Man

Duncan Ferguson

 

 

Injured

 

 

Disallowed Goal

A groggy day in Lahndan tahn
By
Mickey Blue Eyes

Now that we are back in European competition, midweek Keith Wyness sent in a wolf-pack to scatter a few squeaking mice with a press interview saying well done to Moyesy and Bill Kenwright while identifying Paul Gregg as the director who wanted Moyesy out while things were going badly. Off stage you can safely bet it left a few hate-filled alehouse revolutionaries foaming at the mouth for your light amusement. After all, there’s no show without a neurotic Punch.

Since dear Paul started this sort of thing on the eve of this successful season and continued it sporadically throughout he can’t rightly complain when his own appalling PR company tactics blow up in his face and he gets a pre-emptive strike right in the gonads. It’s a grubby business, but he started it. I use the term “tactics” loosely, you understand. Said firm, October Communications, couldn’t direct a “campaign” of this sort to save their Mathew Street lives. Anyone would think they’d drafted in some Great Homer Street barrow boys or BNP Bootle boot boys to help. Should have attended more matches, Paul, should have at least looked interested when it mattered. Now it is too late. PR-wise, you look merely hapless, like you are trying to bilk the situation for all the dosh you can get out of it. The funny thing is few fans blame you for wanting to get your money back, and nor do they hate you. Most fans I know just want you to take your footy-disinterested behind elsewhere. Forget the PR, just do us all a favour and do one with the same amount you put in and then you could go with reasonable farewells ringing in your ears. You took your gamble, and footy being what it is, you didn’t beat the odds. No loss, no gain, fair deal. Leave our club alone.

But of course we haven’t heard the last of this. It doesn’t take an Einstein to figure it’s going to kick off all over again in the summer, a claque of raised rabid voices and hovering opportunist spivs in the background. If Paul and Anita are stamping their separate financial feet, then so be it. This writer has more than a few bleak questions to pose them and their attendants if a custard pie fracas breaks out again. As I said, two can play at this game. And will if necessary. Should the Gregg absurdity restart – watch this space, laughs guaranteed……………………

Also midweek, Radio Five, breakfast-time presenter Nick Campbell said, “…………malcontents on internet forums…………are these people REAL?” At which I almost inhaled my breakfast whole while trying to hold my sides together. Try it sometime; it makes for interesting gymnastic geometry with your early morning bran and orange juice. Sadly for Nick’s quite reasonable question, some people actually depend upon that nonsense as their route to notoriety, most news-seeking expats excluded. Footy is no more immune to strangely obsessive human behaviour than any other activity. In fact sometimes it seems uniquely suited to it, especially now we have self-styled “businessmen” leaving their spiv calling cards everywhere. The Paul Gregg saga is one such situation made for small minds with nothing else to engage their lives.

Meanwhile, loonies and spivs aside, thankfully the game goes on and the season reaches its climax. One tiresome argument relates to the struggle for fourth place and therefore qualification for the Chumpions League. I can’t imagine why, even allowing for the vagaries of human behaviour and its occasional precedents. At the start of the season UEFA announced:

1. Winning the trophy would not qualify the winner to get into the tournament the following season.

2. Gaining fourth place in the so-called FA Premier League WOULD qualify for entry.

There was no confusion and nobody questioned it except to say it was a bit hard on the winners. Real Madrid once breached this at the expense of Real Zaragoza but that was corrected when the same situation arose later in Italy. Apart from that the arguments in favour were and are quite sound. That is, you have to qualify by virtue of your overall position in your national league whichever country you play in, thus ensuring relatively higher quality in the competition. In fact that was of course the basis for the original format of “champions only” two-leg knockout. Those who say it was a better format then – and I agree completely it was – can’t have it both ways at the same time. In any case the argument is academic until (if they have to) the UEFA Executive Committee make a decision. It’s their tournament. The English FA can make any proposal they want but it is UEFA who will have the final say. But a week is a long, long time in footy……………………….

Saturday’s matches could have solved the fourth place saga once and for all. All we had to do was win at Fulham and Bolton and the pinkies lose their games and one half of the argument became irrelevant. Would that results were so straightforward this season. Alas, no. The tail end still twitches, the uncertainty continues. Whatever else it is, it remains sports-exciting almost to the last game. Gosh, I bet you are biting your nails down to your elbow.

I don’t much like visiting London and only do so when family and business make it unavoidable. Like Athens it is an ugly, sprawling, polluted city with a few highlights. The only thing to commend it is a stolen concentration of economic and cultural activity. But you can get that at the end of a short airplane journey to Europe these days and usually in much more attractive surroundings. No, apart from earning a living there is no real reason to visit our unloved capital. Unless your team is playing there, that is.

And so we found ourselves at one of the few metropolitan highlights, a riverside pub named The Duke’s Head in Putney, courtesy of The Squire’s recommendation. It was outrageously over priced and served up in squishy plastic containers but the alcohol, bar service, camaraderie and footy chat was pleasant enough to take your mind off the riverside mud. A police van filled with pimply adolescent metro bizzies parked on a nearby corner without making any attempt to interfere. Thus proving not all police forces are narrow foreheaded, uneducated, no-neck morons like the north east nazis. As a result it was all very relaxed apart from the usual exchange of vigorous opinions and piss taking, quite different from that awful racist-ridden day last time we played at Craven Cottage a few years ago. In the distance on the other side of the river Fulham’s floodlights were switched on in the sunshine for some reason. Darkly, The Squire claimed it was a tax dodge of some sort.

With half an hour to go we strolled across a bridge and then through a pretty little linear park named Bishop’s Park. It was full of Lahndaners gasping for oxygen amidst the drifting clouds of automobile carbon monoxide. We were ensconced in the Putney End and it quickly filled up with what seemed like about four thousand Evertonians intent on singing the place to pieces. You could actually feel the stand vibrate with noise and expectation. Plainly, all of us thought this was a walkover. Alas.

I won’t bother you with the teams. Our squad is so small it almost picks itself these days. We have few alternatives and all the Moyesy alchemy in the world can’t make it otherwise. In these circumstances you get on with what you have. You have no choice. Anyway, we played very badly from start to finish and once again deserved absolutely nothing from the game. We were awful, though it might, just might, have been very different had Killa, offside, not touched Davey’s second minute goal bound header. Nevertheless Fulham were full value for the points. Saying anything else would be churlish.

The game quickly assumed the usual niggly format between these two sides and ref Steve Bennett failed to stamp it out early on. Tim Cahill got crocked and Mikky Arteta was bowled over at every available opportunity while we did more or less the same to them. Meanwhile, we were undeniably outplayed and seemingly short of motivation. Me, I’m baffled when I see them play as they have during the last two games after doing so well in the Manc game. Play like this in Europe and, well, we’ll be hard put to get past Dunkerque Strawberrypickers. More steel is required in midfield and more pace or better positional play in Joey’s centre back partner, who surely isn’t Davey, much as we love him. Once again our midfield had neither nous nor staying power. In the first half of the season a mediocre first half presaged a second half assault on the opposition’s goal usually led by Tommy Gravesen. When he went, he took it with him. As we know, none of the rest of the midfield has been able to pick up the gauntlet. For all our obvious team spirit we lack necessary playing balance and chemistry in a few vital areas. Up front, The Big Yin simply can’t do it for a whole game any more…………in this game he was dominated by the giant Zak Knight anyway. Marcus has run out of steam after running his knackers off for most of the season. All in all we just looked totally goosed. The question is whether Our Boys can raise themselves for one last lunge over the finish line.

Fulham didn’t have many chances and there was a little bit of luck about both their goals. However they well earned their luck and the build up play to the scores was very good. Being biased, you couldn’t help thinking our two centre backs should have got both away before they were buried. But I carp. Even with one of theirs sent off our final flourish was never really convincing. In fact we lost our chance to get back into the game just after half time when The Yin won an important heading duel to leave Lee Carsley clear, dead centre of the box, and he scuffed it wide. Coulda. Shoulda. Mighta. Those words again.

But you wouldn’t have it any other way……………………………would you?