Thursday night club resumes in L4 4EL this week as us lucky folk get a third consecutive shot of Everton at home. Another home game too where we can reasonably expect a win – with mandatory waiver about it being Everton etc etc.
It’s better than turning up knowing you’re getting tonked which was the tone for the previous month and a chance to gain some confidence and breathing space for our team to gel some. If they do at all. It’s also a chance to talk about Cyprus and cast loose mean stereotypes at them because, well, that’s what we fucking do isn’t it?
Last game out was another thriller at home v Bournemouth but not with six goals and back slaps all round. In fact we were lucky to win it and thank fuck we did as the league table is unpleasant viewing after the win, so one can only assume what it would be like if Josh King’s slalom & whack was the difference. There’s some that – probably more astutely than me – focus on the performance rather than the result but I wish to confess – dear reader – that for me it’s all about Everton winning at someone else’s expense. That’s the shit that releases endorphins in my brain and the absolute zero pity for who we trample over, snide or shithouse out the way to achieve this. I know y’all dislike him right now but our man Ronko is exactly the same.
Will that be a springboard for more? I doubt it like. But then are you expecting to really advance on seventh place in the league this year all things being well? Nah me neither, we don’t have enough about us to achieve this so while I want us very much to finish there as a minimum, I really want us to make some progress in cups with the goal of an Everton captain lifting one over their head and ending that 22 year ache that festers in the background and makes us all dead ratty when what seems like stagnation sets in. I fuck about online mostly and stoke the polarisation game of opinions that I do enjoy with rabid heat of the moment togger fans, but genuinely there may be moans that we’re negative and pessimistic as a bunch – and we so fucking are – but that 22 year itch is what creates the anxiety. And long may Evertonians never accept such a barren spell of trophies.
Anyway it’s not about me and what I think, it’s about who we’re playing. That happens to be Apollon Limassol this week and thank fuck I know Cyprus quite well. The problem being that I do like the country and people, which makes for dull previewing. So I’ll pick around the edges and see what we can find.
First of all Cyprus is not Greece. They speak Greek (with a weird accent using lots of “s” instead of “ch”) but are definitely not Greek. They’re only Greek when one of their Archbishops gets a snarl on and the Turkish decide to take over thirty odd percent of the island. Then they cry to Athens for back up. For all intents and purposes you could call them jarg Greeks. Or the Scrappy Do to Greece’s Scooby.
The main difference between them and the Greeks is that the Cypriots love money and have more of it than the Greeks. They’re a bit more business savvy than the Greeks who base transactions on if they like you – and no complaints of that as the Greeks are full fucking value and ace people with it. The Cypriots have that kopiaste about them but would sell you for a euro, or an extra mouflon fenced on their land. The mouflon being some weird goat thing that’s only found in Cyprus. They’re also happy to charge extortionate prices for Keo beer despite it being inferior to Mythos, and to odle your wife with lashings of sleaze whilst pouring you the local tsivania fire water stuff, that they’re defo pissing into out the back of “Churchill’s Bar”.
Spiros is also going to convince yer dar to spend your inheritance on a “luxury villa” in the heat of the moment, the utter ratsnake twat. He’s put his number in yer mar’s phone right there, the shameless bastard, so when she comes back to close the villa sale and sort things out he can help in putting her touch with the right people locally. By “right people” he means his “grubby little Cypriot cock” with pubes absolutely all over the show. Get your mother’s phone and set it on fire right away mate.
On their scorched, partitioned island you’ll find Limassol in the middle on the south coast. The city itself is dull as fuck. It’s a gigantic port so there’s all sorts of oil swill creating tankers and haulage ships lurching in and out of there day and night. It’s close to the British bases of Akrotiri and Episkopi so if you make it to the discos there – and there was a cracker with a floor so minty it was adhesive called the Auld Triangle – then rather topically you’ve some idea of the competition a single sperm faces to reach the prized egg, as any single female is being hit on every nine seconds by the drunk and randy forces lads. A kebab and a wank is the usual climax of a night out in Limassol. Or a fight with the gangs of vest wearing Eastern Europeans who have settled there and are good value for a spot of blindside shithousing on lads who don’t take their fancy, and that they outnumber. I’ve done poppers at dawn and mutual masturbation under a stolen quilt on a park bench with a girl I was fond of, while enthusiastically greeting sporadic morning joggers as they passed by the seafront in Limassol. That’s the sort of place it is.
A couple of name and place changes and I could be talking about Ellesmere Port there come to think of it. How fucking exotic and cultured is this Euro footie eh the lads?
There’s a huge amount of ex pats living in Cyprus – that’s a lot of commission and mar foof for Spiros – who will post all manner of social media photos on your timeline to make you sick as fuck. That’s why they do it. You’re sat outside Tesco with the sleet bouncing on your windscreen waiting for her to empty your paltry credit card and there’s some chestnut tanned dickhead who lives away and can’t fucking wait to let everyone know about. Fear not as it’s a farce.
Whatever anyone has bought in Cyprus be it property or timeshare has not made a profit in 20 years on it. Also that deep tan they’re showing off is gonna skin cancer the fuck out of them. There’s absolutely no UV getting in your car and through that sleet mate. Nor is Spiros sending whatsapps to your missus when you’re having a night bonding with other ex pats down the local bouzoukia, despite 75% of ex pats being the most loathsome sneering shitcunts around. A veritable fucking jackpot win for you there mate, so shut up and turn that Magic FM volume one notch higher.
What about their fans? As I said at the start I like Cypriots a lot, and mainly for their self depreciating dark sense of humour. So I’ll call them a bunch of passive aggressive George Michaels and a smattering of them annoying ex pats trying to integrate. Usually fat middle aged cockneys who tragically want to be ultras. What about Apollon Limassol themselves and who they’re gonna play? Do you really give a fuck if I rolled some names off at you? And pretended to tell you who their danger man is (I don’t know and never want to), what formation they’re likely to play (I don’t give a fuck) and how they’re faring of late with their performances (I hope North Korea target practice their stadium so I don’t have to preview them again).
So that all fourteen readers agree, let’s move quickly onto Everton.
Oumar Niasse, the beautiful stallion, is not registered for this competition so will be our main hope of goals in the Premier League. Point of order there, about 18 months ago when Moshiri came in and was told by plenty that we’d fucking made it and would promptly “Man City” the fuck out of the league. And here I am a year and a half later relying on Oumar Niasse to score goals and propel us to glory. Seriously Everton how do you do this to me? Not a slant on Niasse who is testament to all that we love at Everton – the wrote off underdog with a great attitude, amicable nature and infectious work rate. I just aspired for a little more sex up front in our team by now, but we go with what we’ve got.
That said it means opportunity knocks for Dominic Calvert-Lewin who is showcasing – in a unassuming way – a plethora of attributes to his game that we hope will continue to develop into a decent striker at Everton. We need to forget about fees and reputations for the moment and select the 11 most able to win games. That at the moment would include DCL and have Thomas Davies of West Derby ahead of some big money signings. What a through ball on the Ketwig Kaiser too. Whoever else plays is down the whim of our six million pound a year manager. Hopefully he’ll find a way like he did last season when he was scrambling about in autumn before hitting on a tested formula around Christmas.
We’ve a lot of new players, we’ve lost the best goalscorer of a generation or so, we’re balancing more games than anyone else in the league and we drew the fixture list of all twat to begin. I was hoping for more wins, panache about us and hope but so far it’s been a big meh. Context man, or girl. Or myself.
There’ll be some squad rotation for this so hard to second guess the team. I do hope that we find that formation which manages to turn one of the most unbalanced Everton teams I’ve seen into a slick game winning bunch.
So there’s your midweek bundle of joy preview. Bottom line is that shitshow in Italy hasn’t left us any room for anything less than goals and goal difference against the shittest team in the group. That’s what needs to happen. How Everton go about that is up to them but that needs to be the key. If Everton have to take a fucking knee for it every time a UEFA flag is flown then so be it.
Just beat these plucky biff leaguers without making us sweat. Afta einai skata.