The cold, dark nights are drawing in, the clocks have gone back and Everton have reverted to being absolutely fucking dog shit. What a time to be alive. If you’re looking for happiness and positivity, swerve this right off because it’s going to be a fucking horrible read. Still here? Sitting comfortably? Fan of self flagellation by any chance? Sound, here we go.
05.11.16 Chelsea (a)
Bonfire night. A celebration of Guy Fawkes, the last man to enter the Houses of Parliament with honest intention. And while fireworks exploded overhead, Everton’s return to positivity from West Ham the week before was blown to absolute fuck in much more spectacular style with a performance that was even more pathetic than the half arsed display off some boats on the Mersey.
No in depth review here because I was out watching said fireworks, didn’t see any of the game and point blank refuse to watch any highlights because I’m not a sadist. Needless to say, from what I’ve heard and read, we were fucking woeful from start to finish. Absolutely torn to shreds by a Chelsea side starting to hit a real vein of form. It’s never pretty getting five nil’d, but the apparent lack of effort is what makes this result especially galling. Two weeks to sit and brood while the circus of international football takes up everybody’s time and interests only those from places like Milton Keynes, Portsmouth, Bradford and Shrewsbury. Fuck it off.
19.11.16 Swansea (h)
Right, point to prove now after the mauling at Stamford Bridge. Home game against a struggling side, yet to win under their new manager, never a more winnable game on the cards. So of course, because it’s Everton, another dollop of absolute fucking apathy, followed by fury, followed by resignation, followed by a late scrappy equaliser that merely glossed over the cracks of another shithouse mid season home draw that we’ve all become used to.
We actually started quite well. Barkley looked bright. Carried the ball well and should have opened the scoring after starting the move from deep, then turning neatly in the box before flashing wide. As half time approached though, the ageing, tiring, slowing and regressing Jagielka gave away yet another penalty, and their Icelandic fella whose name I can’t spell promptly tucked it home. He’s done well for us in the past but he badly needs fucking off now, club captain or not.
Second half, and the expected onslaught never really materialised. It was almost as though a 1-0 defeat was seen as improvement after getting fucked worse than Katie Price at a Brit Awards backstage party. Then with 10 minutes to go, the players seemed to realise that they were playing against absolute fucking garbage and decided to have a go. A wee bit of goalmouth battering later and Coleman squeezed in an 89th minute equaliser that spared a few blushes but not many. Full time was met with a chorus of derision.
“Are they saying Boo or Boo-man?”
27.11.16 Southampton (a)
A trip to the south coast, and home of the most LAD Bible loving, Jacamo shopping, EDL marching, bulldog in a Union Jack coat tattooed home of wacky, wacky banter in the Premier League. The fucking epitome of lower league fans cast into a realm that they don’t deserve because they still chant “WHO ARE YA” the bad fucking dickheads. Oh, and Koeman used to manage them.
This one wasn’t a contest. How they only won one nil, I’ll never know. Stekelenburg helped with a few boss saves, but he was helpless when they opened the scoring on 43 seconds. Coleman never bothered his arse blocking a cross, Jagielka jumped under a header, some 12 year old that Martin Tyler yewtree’d over all game volleyed it up and Charlie Austin, the player most resembling a token bad guy in Hollyoaks, headed home from all of two yards yet wasn’t offside because some dickhead was stood on the post. Think it was Williams, but I’m not arsed enough to go back and check.
Again, absolutely no fight back or effort, despite Koeman saying before that we would be playing a pressing game. Pressing fucking flowers into a hardback book for posterity would be more accurate. Lazy twats. We never even mustered a shot on target and looked knackered all game, despite Southampton having played in a late kick off in the former Eastern Bloc only 60 hours or so previously.
An absolute shitcunt of a month with nothing positive to say, other than it’ll soon be Christmas and all those nice pictures of freshly decorated trees standing proudly in living rooms will surely give us cause for hope and optimism, right? Apologies for the short piece this month but it’s hard to enthuse over watching (or ignoring) the football equivalent of a dog vomiting on your new white carpet. Up the Toffees or something x