With the smashing adequacy of our recent encounter with The Blackpool Offside fresh in the memory, we decided to sit down for a chat with our Evertonian counterpart over a fitting full English of suasage, bacon, hash brows, beans, black pudding--the works. Ed and Everton Offside Chris stuck to Earl Grey and whole wheat, Ed with a bit of tomato rubbed on as is the way in Spain. I looked at what was coming and figured that even if I could never aspire to Elvis' fame and fortune, well, at least I could aspire to his late-period physique, and asked for extra butter on my crumpet and a pint to start the day off right. Gastronomy out of the way, we'd best be getting on with the recap
|Never trust an Aussie who denies dropbears exist.|
So, about that Tim Cahill. I heard he did quite well in preseason friendlies, even picking up a hat-trick in a famous victory over the mighty whatever-they-ares of Norwich City. But I haven't paid much attention to him since on account of Everton playing absolutely atrocious football. And also because Australians frighten me since I read an article on the internet about their plans to unleash the dropbear on the world as a doomsday weapon to make up for not having the atomic bomb or a modern army or an imposing navy or a noteworthy airforce. But has he really been playing as poorly as the rest of your squad? And is there anybody showing signs of a pulse we should be wary of?
Cahill certainly looked good in the latter part of the Birmingham match, with undeniable results... and I would beg to differ with regard to the Everton squad as a whole, I think they have shown a good deal of pulse, especially in the second halves of their games, they just have been pathetic at finishing (Yak). Cahill had a bit of a knock, but appears to have recovered. Of course, now Felliani injured his hamstring in Belgium's international with Austria.
Seeing as the red half of Mersey gave its Champions League winning manager all of five months to make things right once they'd gone from bad to worse to worse than Hitler and Mao's love child raised by Stalin, just how much longer do you think you can give Moyes to right the blue boat? With all the joy that has been taken by Everton loyalists this term in the failings of the reds, it's difficult to escape the fact that Moyes has his charges in a quite similar position and playing similarly uninspired football. Are you really planning to try and make yourselves look morally superior by holding on to your man until the bitter end, or have supporters begun to cast their eye elsewhere in search of salvation? Oh, and I do hear Phil Brown is still available, and it's not as though he could make things any worse. Moreover, Brown is a gloriously tanned god of the sun who would make it difficult to really dislike your club, perhaps even leading to Liverpool's followers following him down the Mersey Tunnel as he danced a jig in his crisp suit and fetching headset, flute in hand. Either to their doom or full religious conversion to the blue half. Whichever you'd prefer. So, yeah?
|Ra, Mithras, Helios... Brown.|
I'd say the bigger worry is that Moyes will bolt from Everton. I think few are blaming him for the slow start, it's more the meager finances he has to deal with. I would figure he has been getting increasingly good offers from elsewhere, and as other heads start falling this season they will get even better. Perhaps even the Reds will be looking? As far as Brown, I like him too, a true character with some intriguing ideas. I must admit I was sad to see Hull depart, hopefully it won't be as long before they return. I would consider him if Moyes was to go, but I'd prefer to hold on to the manager we've got. Perhaps another Reds possibility?
Thanks, but I think we'll pass. Anyhow, once while visiting the United States I spent some time hitchhiking in rural Washington state and stayed a spell with a meth addict, listening to engrossing tales of how he was the first man to appear on the Cops television show from that state and that it was a violation of "All men are created equal" that he could marry and subsequently sleep with a thirteen-year old in Alabama but would end up incarcerated for doing the same in Washington. Between bouts of juggling axes on top of his dilapidated trailers and cutting the heads out of pornographic magazines, moments of the mind that existed before his descent into addiction would surface, and recalling him makes me wonder if Everton has any plans that you might be aware of to get back to its roots by offering at-risk rural English teenagers academy contracts as a way to keep them from falling into the vices of these modern times?
Well, from what I am reading about the proposed "joint" Stanley Park stadium, this is supposed to be a path for both Merseyside teams. Yet, as is being shown, new stadiums are often a bill of goods, at least for the locals. I certainly seem to hear more about the Toffees' academy than the Reds'.
Wait, what do Washington state meth addicts have to do with Stanley Park? Never mind, let's move on. Perhaps in an earlier age Fellaini would have been showered with praise for his ability to trundle around the pitch trying to break noses and ankles while mysteriously escaping the referee's wrath more often than not. Seeing as the days of giving a player two goats and a golden chalice for breaking an opponent's tibia are long past, it makes sense that all those who praise him are amongst the ranks of blinkered Evertonians--after all, anybody else supporting a man whose on pitch manner most closely resembles Joey Barton's off-pitch antics would likely be shunned from polite society. With his sterling reputation, then, it becomes an even greater mystery that he can so often escape punishment, and so I must ask: is it his hair that gives him this cloak of invisibility from the prying eyes of curious officials? Moreover, if his hair is a Samson-like gift providing such unnatural powers, does he restrict their use to on-pitch activities or is he in fact the culprit in the many footballer home burglaries in Liverpool in recent years? And more to the point, which creature or shady government agency has he made a deal with for these powers?
If you look at my facebook profile you might see I have a tonsorial affinity with bad MF. Unfortunately the Reds will be spared from his wrath, as he went down against the Eidelweissers. And I guess we will be now spared dealing with the armored Argentinian cherry.
I heard you might have three buyers interested in purchasing your club. Is there any truth to this?
I've been trying to find something about this on the web, but for anything past 2009 I can't get past all the Red Noise. By the way, paradoxically rooting for the Hickster's other team, the Texas Rangers as they are beating the Yankees, the one team I can't ever bring myself to root for. The sight of our ex-prez clapping dimly in the stands is hard to take, though...
After removing the rights of priests to marry over a period of centuries, the Catholic Church's slowly building war against married priests saw its final stages between 1022AD when Benedict VIII explicitly banned marriages and 1139AD when Innocent II decreed that a man who became a priest must have any existing marriage voided. Coincidentally, one is supposed to believe, it was only those of noble birth who at the time could hope to achieve any great power within the church, and with such exclusivity it became a draw for many second-born sons who had little hope of inheriting their father's position and power to instead seek positions of power within the church. Though often not as wealthy as their older brothers, these were nonetheless quite well off individuals possessing gold and land in abundance. Without the ability to marry and have children, then, Rome stood to gain this great wealth on their passing from this mortal realm and into God's embrace. As such, if one were of a cynical bent, this slow move away from priests being allowed to marry as was originally the case and towards a point where they could not might be seen as little more than a bald-faced grab for wealth and land by the Catholic Church. Given that organised religious institutions when taken as collective bodies may at times look out for the best interests of said institution rather than the best interests of both their flock and those individuals wihin the institution who are genuinely well meaning, does the religious roll in the founding of your club ever give pause as to its purity of origin?
St. Domingo FC definitely showed a rapid willingness to set aside it's "pure" motivations in order to field a championship side, but it soon also spawned your club. One of the things I enjoy about the Toffees is actually at least the appearance of a purity of approach (MFelliani aside, uh, I suppose Heitinga as well, but he may be a Bayern pretty soon).
Enough of the serious stuff. I keep hearing that the Everton academy is kind of a big deal, but since I can't be arsed to look into it myself, I'm curious which player you're going to send up the road to Manchester next? Will it be Rodwell, or somebody else I haven't heard of, who will go on to find fortune and glory after trading in his Everton blue? And will Everton still have those hideous pink monstrosities when he does get sold?
|Wore pink underwear. Manly pink underwear.|
You know that movie Apocalypse Now, where Robert Duvall states "there's nothing like the smell of napalm in the morning. It smells like...victory." Well, neon pink LOOKS like victory to us these days. Doubt we'll be wearing it sunday, though. Rodwell was looking ok before his injury, but more has been made of Seamus Coleman, the impish Irish lad. Gosling looked good last season but he's suddenly a Magpie now, I believe.
If Gosling's been turned into a bird by some sorcery then he's probably not next in line to join United. Unless they're really strapped for cash now. But on a final note, Everton has always taken great pride in doing things not quite as thoroughly and successfully as their baby brothers who eventually went on to become successful lawyers while they hung around the pub drinking lager and not doing much with their lives. Even if Liverpool hasn't quite hit the heights in the past twenty-odd years as its supporters might have hoped, years of the reds finishing in the top four and even winning a trophy or two has seen Everton scramble for "decent" and "average" top ten finishes with a European spot or a chance to lose in the FA Cup final sprinkled in. So it does seem only right that when Liverpool implodes it should do so spectacularly and with every flaw and foible pasted to front pages across the country while Everton implodes just that hair less impressively and nobody really cares--not even their own fans, it seems, since they're still too busy worrying about the reds to worry about their own predicament. So, with all that in mind, I find myself slightly curious as to what it is an Evertonian thinks will--and wants to see--happen on Sunday? Do you really think you'll win, pushing us to even greater notoriety? Or will some part of your psyche, driven by an inferiority complex, force you to lose in an attempt to fail more completely than us?
|Balls. I'm coo coo kachooing them.|
I'd hate to think it was that messed up, but I am merely a babe in the woods when it comes to English football derby mind games. I think Moyes will keep his men focused on the task at hand. It will be a circus Sunday, especially if the new owners show up (do they already have tickets, or would Hicks give them his?), but they'll get at least a draw out of it. Maybe a Reina howler will tip the scales. As I finish this, Hick's Rangers are imploding against the Yankees, good riddance, I'd rather have my Giants beat New York in the World Series anyway.
And with that--and with a sneaking suspicion that somebody dropped something in my drink and it's really starting to hit me now as my already tenuous hold on reality flickers. And with that. And with that, it's time to wrap this up and find a hospital. I fear I am not well. Please send help before it is too late, my darling Abigail, but see my answers at the Everton Offside first. Until next time I'll be under the shade of a Coolibah tree. Well I sang as he sat and waited by the billabong, my darling Matilda you swagman get out of the waterhole you'll waltz to your drowning jumbuck. Right, goodnight. Right.