08.08.15 – Watford (h)
Opening day and the same old woes from last season. Slack defensively, ponderous in possession, negative atmosphere, shite result. Booooooooo. An absolute rip snorter from Barkley and a neat finish on the run from the Ivorian Eminem saved too much embarrassment but newly promoted sides with 10 new signings should be lambs to the slaughter for Everton.
Positives. A solid debut from Tom Cleverley and a more than decent showing from the young lad Galloway at left back. Barkley’s goal was a belter and Kone will take confidence from his showing. The negatives? Tim Howard’s positioning is as awkward as amputee porn and Gareth Barry is slower than a week in Barlinnie. Improvement needed.
15.08.15 – Southampton (a)
After a week of disruption, anger and social media angst, a trip to the south coast and the home of the most lad bible set of football supporters ever to grace to top flight. Fusey haircuts, suns out guns out vests and wacky, wacky banter everywhere. Tedious cunts.
A surprising line up with absolutely no width whatsoever but two up top split opinion pre match. So did the Fantasy Island protest against the board. Ze plane boss, ze plane! The first twenty minutes were turgid shite. Penned in and without an idea to get forward. More of the same we thought. Enter Arouna Kone.
A quick break from a Southampton corner, linking well with Barkley and a delightful cross led to a towering Lukaku header and it was a first St Marys goal in four games for Everton. George Weah with a peroxide do. From then on, there was no looking back and a further sublime Lukaku strike from a quick counter attack and a delightful Barkley strike late on were enough to put paid to the goal music playing, hashtag loving banter merchants. What’s our fucking name?
Potential signings? Almost wrapped up you say? Like fuck, it’s Everton. Whisperings of Andriy Yarmolenko, the Kyiv winger that ripped us to pieces in the Europa last season were gathering pace all week. Rumours he was at Finch Farm, he’d be revealed before the match turned out to be absolute mince as he lined up for Kyiv and scored a hat trick against a pub team. You still watched though, didn’t you?
Apparently a deal is almost done for Argentinian international centre half Ramiro Funes Mori. Not as a replacement for Stones, you bad fucking mings in your Fleet Street offices, dying to sell him to Chelsea for a few column inches. Fuck off Matt Law. Back to Mori then, and according to Tim Vickery, the football pundit that most resembles a leather handbag, he’s runny dog shit but since Timothy declared Paulinho for Spurs would be “better than Bryan Robson”, I’ll reserve judgement for now.
23.08.15 – City (h)
Starting XI unchanged following a great result and performance on the south coast. Ramiro Funes Mori in the crowd, looking suspiciously like an Eastern European lesbian. City had more of the ball for the first half and Galloway was given a torrid time as most of their attacks came down the left. We looked fairly solid without being spectacular and Lukaku almost broke the deadlock on half time with a free kick that made Joe Hart look a twat. Incidentally, is it just me or does Hart’s forehead mole make anyone else want to kick kittens? Just me then.
Second half was, for want of a better phrase, fucking crap. Kolarov put City in front. Tim Howard in “beaten at his near post from a tight angle” shocker. Naismith replaced the quiet Kone. Naismith’s a lovely guy but he’s shite at football and shouldn’t be getting game time, not with Mirallas and Deulofeu on the bench. The latter made his second Goodison bow, with Martinez inexplicably waiting until there were five minutes left to bring him on. Nasri killed things off with 3 minutes to go by lobbing Howard inside his 6 yard box after a mistake from McCarthy.
Frustrating afternoon as Everton huffed and puffed, without really looking threatening at any point. City were professional, clinical and unflustered. They’ll absolutely piss the league this season too.
25.08.15 – DON’T LEAVE ME JOHNNY FOR FUCK SAKE
26.08.15 – Barnsley (a)
I moan like a right tedious bastard on social media about how much I hate Tim Howard but when you see his possible replacement, you can tell why he still plays every week. Like a 6 foot 8, hideously ugly vampire, Joel looked terrified of every cross that came near him. Somehow, despite dominating, we went in 2 down at the break after a couple of yard dogs scored a couple of scrappy goals. Who names their fucking kid Marley anyway? Christ. John Stones got a great reception, straight off the back of handing in a transfer request and played dead shit in response. He’ll come back though. Funny that the only abuse he got was off some fat bald fella trying his best impression of that ginger bint off Game Of Thrones. “Yer a rat and ye nurr nuthin Jun Sturrnnsss” or words to that effect.
Second half, Barkley and Deulofeu came on and we sexed them fucking everywhere apart from more dodgy defending from Jagielka and Stones leading to a third, right after we’d clawed back to two each. Wee Geri was non stop movement, like his wee gay dug looking for a bush in Sefton Park to shit behind. Popping up on the left, the right, down the middle, his crossing was immense and set up two very good goals. The difference between him and McGeady is like a posh meal and a chew off Margot Robbie and going to Maccies with that big unit off Towie and getting a wank behind the bins. Goals from Lukaku and an own goal won it in extra time and the L4 Azzurri were into the next round and a trip to the Tory heartland of Berkshire. Fuck yer magic of the cup.
Club statement from the arl luvvy, Johnny fuckin’ Stones is going nowhere. As an aside, the club would make a fortune off that on a t shirt. Much wailing and gnashing of teeth. Oliver Holt and Darren Anderson said to be inconsolable. Robbie Savage comes out and chats shite whilst looking like the scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz has just announced his bisexuality to his disconsolate parents. We ignore them all and go on. A moody Uruguayan striker who looks lethal from six yards joins. Welcome Leandro hashtags aplenty. Funes Mori has been in the Hilton for so long, the bar staff have started calling him Norm.
29.08.15 – Spurs (a)
The last game before the international break and there was one change from City with Oviedo replacing the injured Galloway. Everton started well, retaining possession and playing the ball around nicely without any real intent up front. A long range effort from the busy Tom Cleverley was the closest we came to a first half goal. Harry Kane, the footballer most likely to exist entirely on the sustenance of chewing gum, crayons and rainwater collected in buckets, went through on goal but a smart save from Howard denied him the goal that the entire Sky Sports staff were so desperate for him to score. Cleverley was caught up in a strong but fair challenge that left him being stretchered off in some distress. A real shame because he’s started really well this season. Half time.
Second half and we never really got going. The thoroughly predictable 70th minute Naismith for Kone substitution happened, except it wasn’t Kone that was replaced but Lukaku who looked right off the ball, having been bang on it midweek. The camel whisperer almost opened the scoring with a flicked header from a neat Oviedo cross but it barely evaded the far post of Lloris. Naismith annoyed everyone in white and may have had a penalty, had he been playing for Chelsea or City at the time. In truth, Spurs dominated and should have scored on several occasions but thankfully their big dopey mouth-breather was still massively off form. All in all, it was solid but unspectacular stuff in a bit of a dull stalemate that certainly won’t feature on Premier League years come June.
That was August then. One win, one defeat and two draws. A transfer deadline day extravaganza to come, with Lad Bible loving dickheads frothing themselves over Jim White. Pricks. At least another two players needed in for us to kick on, especially with tough fixtures coming.
Until next month then. Up the Toffees x