Everton v Watford Preview

It’s futile but many of you will still be there. Maybe for the Friday night socialising opportunities. Maybe because you’ve got a run of attending Everton games you don’t want to break. Maybe out of habit. Maybe because you’ve got nothing better to do than eat beans out of the tin in your bedsit and lament the ex snaking you – financially and emotionally – in such a manner.

We all got our reasons. Are you arsed though?



I mean I’m obviously arsed as I’m typing a few hundred try too hard words in the hope that some of you will read it and think my views on Everton and scruffy oppositions are worthwhile in some small way. But the footie itself? Our season ended four games ago, mates.

It’s an easy term to throw away that the players are on holiday but it’s a bit mad how they’re suddenly gone from a bi weekly sexing machine to something resembling “autumn Everton 2016”. Maybe – yes another maybe – the mental edges are so slim in top flight football that anything less than full focus and commitment and the opposition has an edge over you. Or are we just crawling over the finishing line with some key injuries and a tired small squad? Lots of questions really and of which there’s no answers below. Maybe.

Anyway it’s a season where we’ve not won a trophy and those early exits now are very lamentable. There’s some form of offsetting with European football to look forward to next season but it’s time for Everton to win shit, so perhaps we have one reason why Friday’s game still has some relevance in that we need some momentum to carry forward to next season. Unless of course Arsenal need a tricky win in the last game of the season to usurp the mighty red stand building machine.



Football is a cruel game as it encourages selfish ambition and resentment of others. If any of your peers are successful then there’s a tendency to see it as them depriving you of success, those trophies were surely meant for your team. It’s a tunnel vision mindset with some intensity that spawns all sorts of partisanship, yearning and anxiety which in turn triggers massive amounts of cortisol/adrenaline in your brain like an unstable dosing of Ket which could lead to either euphoria or sledging in the corner wishing you could sleep. Or for an erection at least. That unpredictable heady mix of Everton mania is an addiction within itself. So maybe that’s why you’re there on Friday?

And that narrative to the game. Fucking hell. In a game of such partisanship and parochial one upmanship you have such a sterile narrative to the game from a media all saying the same and same shit over and over again. There’s cheap platitudes and rehashed mantras rolled out to condescend anyone watching football as though they are unable to appreciate the game on any sort of level as these GCSE failed ex footballers. Maybe you go the game to escape that narrative, conducting your own analysis in your head – or in the pub – without interference from some right fucking plums with neck tattoos and open necked Hugo Boss shirts chatting shite in HD.



Sorry for chatting utter dogshit. Let’s preview Watford instead. There’s absolutely fuck all I can offer you in terms of tactical insight, I see your tweets and you’re much sharper cookies than I. What I can tell you is that Watford is scruffy as fuck and need to be put to bed with a skelped blue arse on Friday night after St Domingo’s Weekend Club For Boys & Girls slink a handful of goals past them.

Watford suffers from identity issues. In many ways Watford is the gender neutral of large English towns. It’s lost in the big swamp between London and Birmingham, it’s not west enough so that it can put a corn stalk in it’s mouth and drink cider, it’s not far east enough that it can vote Tory and tell everyone it’s Home Counties. It’s dead bang in the middle of nowhere. A visit to Watford reveals a hastily assembled civic centre without charm or culture that’s only missing a Polytechnic. It’s just very England. No one has any reason to visit Watford unless they’re from there or playing Watford at football.



It’s fair to say that the only culture in Watford is brought into the town from the various unfortunate foreigners that adopted it as their home. You’ll find nice cuisine and interaction with first generation immigrants to towns like Watford, Luton, Milton Keynes, Northampton and any of them assorted winnets hanging round the sphincter of England. The problem is that the lack of identity for “native” Watford folk causes them to over compensate by clinging to their English nationality and thus in turn produces ultra EDL foot-soldiers who absolutely detest anything other than themselves.

You’ll see the customary shite tattoos of Templar Knights holding a sword and weeping red white and blue tears at onlooking Princess Diana. Fat headed bulbs wearing Barbour jackets blaming Islam for the bus being late and having cringey debates in pubs and online about white oppression. Imagine going to another country for a better life and finding that? Fucking hell I pity Alicante and wherever the fuck we export our own to. What is the fucking point of Watford? Would anyone even notice if a stray North Korean missile totalled it overnight?



Apologies to any decent folk in Watford as I know some of you exist and absolutely none of you will be reading this so you can all get to fuck really. Of course Watford voted for Brexit, did you even have to ask? And of course the Tories have a big majority there. Wonder if they fox hunt?

Bottom line is these have to be beat and in a cruel fashion, maybe even to the point where big Joe Anderson is lobbying against them with an angry bunched copy of Socialism Monthly in a vain quest for retweets (or burgers) outside the ground. They’re everything that we are not. Rag them Joe lad.


They’re managed by genuinely someone I don’t know so I’m gonna skip past that and note that they’re part of some shite European alliance of franchise of clubs under the same ownership that swaps players around. Fucking hell you may aswell call them Red Bull. I’m not even arsed about Watford but I’m seething by the line as I write this.



A list of some of their players:

Deeney – think we’ve established prior that he should be following a group of kids around looking for the lost treasure of one eyed Willy. There’s barely any symmetry in his face which should discount him from playing for Ronko’s royal blue ballers.

Cleverley – Leon Osman got away with it for a decade but not now muchacho, no fucking way. Off to Watford you go and you’ll give us eight millions sovs for him, suckers.

Success – as suited to his club as anyone called “Win Derbies” would be playing for us.

Niang – hot young striker we were trying to sign before AC Milan gazumped us. He’s playing up front for Watford at 22 so needless to say we got the last laugh. Watch his classy brace sink us now for typing that.

Prodl – looks like he should be necking fat girls wearing stripey tights around the back of Quiggins some weekend in the 1990s.

Gomes – resembles like a hypnotist in your Gran Canaria hotel that you wouldn’t let a female accept a drink from.

They’re on a similar shit run of form which their fans are levelling as complacency since they hit the magical Moyesy 40 point mark.



So onto Everton. Lukaku stuff, and more stuff. He’s ace and scores loads of goals so we should really find a way to keep him. Probably won’t though as he had that big four chinned Italian meff as his agent. Ho hum. The Barkley thing is a little bit mad as you can’t imagine him leaving Everton but then I suppose the same was said with McMahon in 1983. He’s gonna be a popular boy around town for a long long time if he does leave. Mirallas signed a new deal which is bound to have some reason for. Maybe Lookman may get a go, but probably Calvert Lewin instead. Who knows?

At the time of writing this I’m not sure if our boy Schneiderin is gonna be fit but probably not. I miss him so. He’s gonna have Lucas Leiva levels of absent skill if he keeps on sitting out games like this. Gana Gueye, Thomas Davies and someone else will play but not not Ross Barkley as centre midfield isn’t his game yet, if ever.

You know the defence. Some want a five with Holgate there, some want U23 captain Jonjoe Kenny. I wonder who Koeman – with his head like terrible Flump – will want there? Wonder who he will want in goal too? Robles is edging that particular battle by virtue of not resembling the haunting ghost of Tim Howard.



The world is spinning far too fast with all your Macrons and Comeys and Koreans firing scuds into the sea. And utter slugs boring about Brexit negotiations, and manifestos to study. Everywhere you turn there’s scandal and danger. Even in fucking Santa my . Can’t a man enjoy a five dollar shake in peace?

Maybe after all you’ll be at Goodison Park on Friday, where the only right or left wing concerns is which one of them Barkley is playing on, and not which wing is losing elections in France. Maybe Le Pen is shiteier than the jawed?

Over and out.

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