Let’s hit it straight from the off, fuck off Everton. Take your meek five nil bummings and fuck right off until you dwell in the swamp for a generation and find yourself a backbone.
It’s pretty evident that a fortnight passing does not dull Everton pain but we must move on, that’s what we have to do. Because, well, what the fuck else can we do?
Only two paragraphs in and newsnow won’t publish this preview because of three swears, it’s plastic as fuck this moralising bubble that the country is creating. But more of that a bit later.
If Ronald Koeman, face like a dreadful yoghurt, didn’t realise the task ahead of him then he will have no disillusions now in what’s been a fortnightus horribulus for him. First his Everton team get stiffed at Chelsea in another pretend-it’s-not-happening game that you want consigned to years of Walter Smith past, but then after that he let his brain go walkabout and started bigging up the shite’s title challenge and urging Lukaku to move to fulfill his dreams by fucking off somewhere else.
As with most things Everton at the moment the action causes a reaction that polarises the support into two distinct opposing camps. One side raging and lambasting him for shitting on Dixie Dean’s memory for not gracing Everton with praise every second sentence, and the other side acting all dead cool and saying he’s telling the truth and how refreshing it all is, and that’s he’s exactly the man we need to cut through all this bullshit and get Everton winning stuff again. Do you care if I express an opinion on it? Like fuck, it’s been done to death so I’ll leave you all at it.
One thing though is that this current team of not quite nearly good enough need booting out and a new generation of an Everton that doesn’t shit itself needs forging.
Swansea ride into town this week going through what can only be described as a shitter of a season. It wasn’t too long ago that Swansea fell into the trap of trying to act like Everton’s peer by finishing in the same segment of the table as us, completely forgetting one hundred odd years of documented history and the basic stark fact that they are Swansea and we are Everton. Whatever the fuck they do they will never ever know our feeling.
No shame in that as they’re a rugby part of the island where absolutely nothing ever happens. And this is part of the wider problem of Wales. It rains a lot, it’s shit and nothing ever happens. It’s enough to send a man insane, or to be more accurate approximately 2.9 million human beings.
It must be somewhat disconcerting to realise that you’re little more than a jarg Scotland and that the only collective pride you take is in hating your bigger, wealthier neighbour. Hey that’s no criticism as we don’t like them much either but Wales needs a rethink and a rebrand to try and stir some interest. To make something happen. To create some sort of relevance other than being for all intents and purposes the dangling haemorrhoid of the UK.
They can sing though, they sing ace songs in almost perfect note and specialise in rugby bantz behaviour en masse while speaking like a Brummie having a stroke. Absolutely no one gives a fuck of “fierce” local rivalry between Swansea and Cardiff as it’s no different from a virulent strain of bacteria eating another form of bacteria.
I had to do that as I’ve been dead kind to Swansea in every other preview I’ve done as truth be told I have a huge soft spot for the people down there. They’re much better than their North Wales counterparts who can barely hide their disdain for scousers, unless of course they’re in Liverpool in which case they pretend to be our best mates. The weird fucking caravan park attending scruffs. South Wales isn’t that so they’re ahead in my book.
They’re managed by Bob Bradley which is ridiculous but caused by another shitty takeover going wrong with a load of Americans sat around in an executive committee talking about merchandise margins and the amount of yardage a wing back has ran before lashing a stupid bid in for some foreign league shithouse who promptly gets volleyed out of English football. I make that two really shit American appointments in one month but at least Bob Bradley doesn’t have nuclear launch codes.
And hang on, has Rooney said sorry yet? Has he apologised for going to someone’s wedding without permission from the GREAT British public. Was he even wearing a poppy? How could he?
Ultimately there’s a narrative in football that turns you off it and thus localises you more in your Everton bubble. That narrative is dictated by the media and pundits alike. It’s like watching a game on holiday accompanied by an annoying cockney nugget or over emotional teenager. He’s doing this. He’s finished. He’s that. These are the best. These are on the way down. He needs to move for the good of his career. I hear he’s not happy.
Is it possible to enjoy the game of football with the commentary turned off, not just on the telly but for the whole Premier League media and pundits alike? What happened to reasoned, responsible, moderate opinion? Who appointed these titheads as the David Attenborough of the game? I don’t want to fucking listen to them, I don’t want their opinion thrust on me and the dickheads who hang off their every word. Just give me Everton and a few sound other teams playing football and having ups and downs.
It’s enlightening to watch more and more wake up to the likes of The Sun and it’s a start. We need to go deep and cut the cancer out and that’s Murdoch. And then the kopite pundits and Robbie Savage and all them fucking helmets. The banter twats with sleeve tattoos doing jaeger shots because they’re in company. The tits who eat steak as rare as they can because they pretend they enjoy it to gain some sort of alpha male kudos. Meat tastes better cooked you fucking texans, even if it’s only cooked on the outside. Absolute fucking bellends and the stench of them infects the game you fill your weekends with but while they may speak the same language and share the same passport – they are not us.
America voted a bigot in who I guarantee wouldn’t last more than forty minutes in any pub of your choice in an L postcode. Smug sneering fuckwits like Farage and Boris Johnson infect our daily lives. You know why they don’t like us? Because we know they’re knobheads and have no fear in remarking it. Liverpool has always been good at spotting knobheads, it’s grained into you by DNA. Don’t act a fucking beaut. Don’t be a tit and be nasty to people, there’s always someone bigger and tougher ready to smack you down. Or the most fearsome of them all: yer mar.
Fuck knows what tangent I’m off on but that concludes your Swansea City insight.
Lukaku starts up front wanting to score goals to enrich his brand in order to get a big fuck off transfer and lump sum to his agent and a million more instagram followers when he plays for one of the world’s elite. If he does like, he’s useful as shit in a team when their backs are against the wall. Best Everton striker for beards though.
I have little idea if Barkley plays but hope the circus around his inclusion fucks off at some point in the season. If he remains then it realises he’s got it into his head how many more attributes he has compared to even a fellow Premier League player. Thankfully our beloved royal blue Power Ranger Gana Gueye is back to do all sorts of action in the middle but he’ll be missing his trusty side kick in Barry who’s suspended. McCarthy is fit so that’s the likely replacement for me as playing Tom Cleverley is as much use as wearing massive headphones for two hours playing binaural sounds and focusing on your breathing. Bolasie will start on one side and another of your selection box of out of date Everton wingers on the other.
The three at the back probably won’t make a showing for a while so I reckon it’s safe to assume that Jagielka and Williams will be the two centre halves with Coleman and a fit again Leighton Baines playing at full back. I honestly don’t care who we play in goal because it’s just shades of shite until proven otherwise.
An optimistic Everton preview to warm the cockles then. Failure to put this bunch of shitehawks away will only deepen the autumn depression that Everton are festering on my weekends.
Make Everton great again. And soon please.