Good to get a little time (to think it ov-er), and it’s some indication of what type of season we are having that a weekend without Everton was widely celebrated.
It’s not as if Everton hold your weekends hostage but habits formed over periods of time are hard to break. Like winning football games with a degree of vigour, a habit that this current Everton team seem to have wiped completely from their collective memory.
We need 12 points and sharpish so we can get to summer and place this invertebrate of an Everton into the waves, and hope the currents take it long away from here.
The West Brom game was a shitter in which Everton were lucky to take a point out of. I sat in an American bar watching the enthusiasm of a bunch of hearty blues dwindle slowly until everyone found distractions from the screen at roughly the 80 minute mark. Are we really that bad? Some saving context perhaps was provided one week later when the same WBA team went to Big Stand Central and played the fab 4-1+8 straight off the park.
Which leads not so nicely onto a resurgent Leicester team who are our lucky next visitors to Goodison Park. Another club that changed manager roughly around the same time as us, but don’t want him sacked yet. Claude Puel – and his contoured, windproof face – doing numbers for the Foxes as they rediscover some of what made them so exciting to watch a few seasons ago.
Leicester themselves are a modern testament to the dreams and challenges for those wanting to make an impression in the Premier League. Their league title win was sensational and fully warranted, the unsustainability of it a reminder to lots of ambitious chairman of how much the cards are stacked against you getting there and then remaining in the privileged pack of the few. A true microcosm of hyper capitalism right here in our beloved English togger.
Everton were the bridesmaid on the day Leicester lifted the league title and duly rolled over as we do in such instances. Come throw confetti in our hair. That day and associated behaviour from Leicester fans however did leave an unpleasant taste in our mouth, and once we have tasted such things we are not one to forget.
Put simply there was a bit too much Bombardier drank that day, too many flannel shirts and ruddy faced behaviour. A bit of sneering at Everton with their fans buying tickets in the away end and not being particularly respectful. Brogues and jeans at the footie ground. Shite antagonistic “banter”. You know the type. Patronising yer dars with a passing interest in football a few years ago trying to discuss “mentality of winners” in pubs, with no awareness of being a firm representative of an anti-cultural outpost, and scruffy bastards not worthy of even mentioning the great name of Everton unless in a respectful hushed tone. The dirty irrelevant Brexit fucks. Crush them and everything they’ve ever loved, which is the Daily Express, TK Maxx and glorified stories of themselves in their 20s that are complete and utter horseshit. Incidentally the aroma they most give off after working in agricultural sales type positions for the week.
You see Americans couldn’t even pronounce the name of their town/city whatever it is, and now they’ve forgot. Leicester back to being irrelevant and wrote off as an anomaly, confined to 6 pints of Brewdog and a cry wank on the sofa at midnight for a few fat, leering locals in years to come from now. ZAP! It happened, it really did, you banged Kylie Minogue but no one says they seen you leave with her and she has forgot you even existed. Get back to digging up car parks for monarchy skeletons and doing antique car boot sales you Dambusters adoring lizards.
Blackburn won the league title too but just merely 20 years later no one can remember and Blackburn Rovers are back to being a footnote in obscure pub quizzes, with the town itself barely noted on maps for anyone wanting to explore this green rainy island of ours. If you were at any point affected by a semi farmer Leicester fuck during their one moment of notability then I hope you too can take solace in this.
Them scruffy bastards must be beaten and like fuck Everton are the team to do it right now so let’s instead look at some of their players who will probably dance round our team this cold, cold midweek:
Vardy – every year that passes the human mask gets worn and the inner ferret protrudes out, still scores loads of goals and works his arse off so I’d have him up front for us no sweat.
Mahrez – massive stain against his character after deciding his bollocks were grander than his team mates and strolling around a pitch half arsed while his managers got fired for it. May move to FC BanHolgate before this window is through so worth pointing out he’s shite.
Okazaki – really good player who doesn’t get the credit he should. Hurt him.
Ndidi – you’ll have to ask him lad. Really hope he adopts Ken Dodd’s dog when Knotty Ash’s finest succumbs.
Chilwell – over there on the left looking like a wee-fat-Fisher-Price Leighton Baines figurine.
Dragovic – cool as fuck name bro. Hurt him.
Onto St Domingo’s shittest and it will be interesting to see how largest Samuel lines up for this. Does he persist with the Turk trying to edge his way into Premier League football, with the most hideous supporting cast of players, or does he reward Niasse’s goal threat and lash him in from the start? Walcott seems a shoe in but does the skip headed Dudley defence driller keep Bolasie on the other side and Sigurdsson in his preferred middle?
Centrocampista is wide open for someone, anyone to walk in and do something with or without the ball – which would elevate him above the rest of his shitbastard colleagues. The death of Schneiderlin in my heart this season has been every inch as tragic as Jelavic before. Gueye doesn’t seem to be flavour of the month, Davies getting nowhere near the midfield but hopefully back to rescue us soon. Shite on McCarthy that, especially as it’s his bravery that got punished.
I was hoping for more of Williams and Holgate as a central defensive 2 but let’s face it they got ragged all over the place by some average West Brom players, and Jay Rodriguez who’s very decent indeed. So that position is wide open same as central midfield really for whoever can defend some. There’s no left backs in world football at the moment so with this shortage Curacao’s favourite son will persist and probably Kenny at right back until Coleman gets up to speed, fucking great to see him and his steely Donegal testicles back around the team. Much needed too. Pickford in goal.
Nothing more left to do but try and accumulate 12 points really, that’s the sum of the rest of this season. I genuinely worry if we can achieve this.
It’s a long way since “we will spread the goals around easy” from the summer (we’ve had just 7 players score a league goal so far this season) and “our number 10s will boss it” (only 3 players have assisted more than 1 goal). We’ve used 27 players in the league this season and there’s few I want to see gurning back at me in royal blue next season. All that fucking money. All that brashness and statements of intent.
Lips that promise fear the worst. Tongue so sharp the bubble burst.
Just into unjust.