singin' in the rain, life's a bloody game!

West Ham: 12 May 2012

MATCH REPORT AND PIRATED PICTURES TO FOLLOW...

How long did it take Everton to prove that there would be no letup after the Big David Moyes Announcement? About as long as it took David Moyes to skip purse-lipped into the arms of Manchester United. Everton played this match like singing children auditioning for Maria to come and nanny them while cruel father Von Moyeses was off skiing in Munich or United, or whatever. The players, fresh off their derby holiday, ran the pitch so aggressively that Big Sam was forced to throw his players back into touch when they ran to the bench to cower. It took David Unsworth 47 seconds to score the opening goal in David Moyes' first match in charge, and Kevin M barely needed 5 minutes to bookend the feet after the BDMA.

No less than three players passed up shots while siphoning the ball down the line towards Mirrales. It looked like a fireman's bucket drill, and when the bucket came to Kevin he one-timed a bucket of ice water into West Ham's face to set off fire alarms all the way to London. So rampant were Everton that at one point, Seamus Colemam, chasing a ball, fell atop a skidding defender and rode him out of touch like he was on a ride at Dolphin World. The defender got up and whinnied for some oats, fish, or whatever the hell a dolphin eats, but Coleman was already headed back upfield. There was more business at hand.

So dominating were Everton, I half expected West Ham's defenders to start heading the ball into their own net just for the relief that a midfield kickoff would provide. Comic relief was certainly provided by Phil Neville, whom the cameras caught delightedly telling knock-knock jokes to some poor bloke behind him while Neville's wife looked away in irritation. In fact, if Phil so craves a job after playing football, he should become a department store Santa. He looks perfectly happy smiling idiotically and waving at strangers.

This match began to resemble a “Dancing With the Stars” episode with West Ham's players being the enthralled judges. Ossman darted down the centre of the pitch with a pilfered ball, and slowed as he expected to be shut down. When no resistance came, the poor befuddled fellow darted the rest of the way up the middle and took a shot, which, however, found the keeper. There was a midfield waltz involving a group of Everton players playing swans, and they danced past West Ham players who were playing trees. That move ended in a lovely sonata of missed opportunity. Moments later, Victor delivered his own “Holding Up the Ball Cha Cha”, turning and firing just wide. The inevitable announcement for the West Ham fans to remain in their seats came over the PA, however, they weren't standing, they were just getting up to leave. The camera managed to find a couple of other curious moments in the stands. One, when the corpse of Nikita Khrushchev was discovered in the West Ham's director's box. The other showed Duncan Ferguson sitting next to David Moyes's father. Dunc pulled a box of mints from his pocket, asked Moyes Senior if he would like one. When David's father reached for one, Dunc laughed and put the packet back in his pocket.

Finally, the commentator was able to announce, “This is better by West Ham” as the two teams trotted off the pitch for halftime.

In “The Sound of Music”, the final scene is the children singing “So Long, Farewell” to the Nazis. Each time one of them would sing, he or she would totter offstage to the waiting car. Soon, there were no Von Moyes—er, Trapp family members left on stage...they had fled! This is how the second half played out. One by one, West Ham's players disappeared from the pitch until only the goalkeeper remained. Unfortunately for him, he didn't have a chance to sing, “...auf weidersein goodbye,” because Everton were raining shots off his head like duck hunters shooting cuckoo clocks. However, he, too, managed to sneak off the pitch once Phil Neville began making a speech.

Guess Who Just Got a Call FRom Manchester United?

Cowering West Ham Player Disguises Self As Ohio Hostage But is Forced Back Into Game

"Here's your bloody mint, Moyes Sr!"

Come on, Davey. Drink the blood, kiss the badge. It gets easier, you'll see. You,

me, Lescott, Arteta, Barmby, we're the same, us mate. It's all shits and giggles

and peoples' clubs, until the devil comes calling mate. Until the devil comes

calling.

Yes, yes, YES!

I wonder if Moyes will manage as crap as Lescott played before he left?

#Mercynary

Talk to the hand, Bill

Okay, Moyes is gone. After the season. Let's digest this:

It is likely he knew he had the United job, and that's why he left his contract unsigned. I wonder if he will spend the time scouting players the way he did with Everton. United do not just spend crazy money anymore; not like Liverpool. They will want excellent return on budgeted signings as well. However, Moyes will still have more money, and the United brand behind him. He will get almost anyone he wants. "Talk to the hand, Phil."

It will be interesting to see how a decidedly clueless and ultra-conservative tactician does at United. It will be interesting to see if my love of Moyes usurps my hate of United. However, enough about them.

Kenwright did not catch lightning in a bottle with Moyes; Walter Smith stuffed it into a bottle for him. Kenwright just had the sense to agree; plus, Moyes came dirt cheap. Is Moyes going to hand over the next generation's manager to Kenwright so bill doesn't have to humiliate himself by making a foolish choice? Hopefully. If so, can Moyes choose managers as well as he does players? Don't know. Round won't be in demand should he leave, and Irvine flopped as a manager. I still think Everton's physio and goalkeeping coach were woeful under Moyes.

The want-away players: did they love Moyes, or were they sick of him? Will this mean they will stay? Will we get a manager who is tactically brilliant? To be honest, that won't matter. Moyes, while lacking tactically, managed to have talented players playing sparkling and attractive football. Unfortunately, he couldn't afford any players to back up his talented players, so they wore down and got ground into the soil; the same way Moyes managed to kill off every single talented striker that ever fell into his lap.

WHAT WE CAN HOPE FOR

A manager who has a brilliant football mind and brings in fairly talented players. A manager who knows how to allow strikers to flourish. A manager who can build a deep squad of nobodys punching above their weight and fitting into a system that the manager uses just for them.

A squad that can finish mid-table and earn a reputation for turning up week in and week out and give a good performance of themselves is the best we can hope for. However, these kinds of teams usually battle relegation slots each season before either dropping, or drifting back to the heady heights of 11th in the table. Until Bill is gone and some mercenary owner comes in throwing money about, I think we've seen our last hope of Europe for quite some time. Of course, Portsmouth had a sugar daddy come in and start throwing money around as well, and they have become--wait, who?

ANFIELD DERBY: 5 May 2013

If you watched this match, you have wasted enough of your time, so don't waste anymore of it by reading about it. This match may have started with a kickoff, but it never kicked off. It was sex without orgasms. It was a pub crawl without the pub. It was a chess match without any of the pieces from the back row. It was a match report without an end. It was also, from what was on view in the stands, smoke without the fire. The cameras showed Everton fans setting off smoke bombs inside Anfield and then desperately trying to fan away the smoke that the wind blew in their faces. The only problem I had with that was that the cameras went back to the game. Whatever; the only smart people at this derby probably were the ones shown leaving in the 80^th minute, but if they had been really smart, they would have left before the opening kickoff. Here is a bullet list of what they would have missed:

* Everton's players playing tentatively

* Moyes managing tentatively

* Gibson plonking free kicks in scoring territory while Baines looks on in admiration

* Everton getting their first penalty at Anfield since 1935...just kidding, the streak continues

* Gerrard crying to the ref

* Liverpool whinging aggressively and playing tentatively—in fact, the match was five minutes old before I knew what color uniform Howard was wearing

* Brendan Rodgers looking hatefully at his pocked skin

* Moyes looking furious that his timidness wasn't reaping rewards

* Everton goal off a corner disallowed because Victor was being mugged inside the box

* 20,000 television shots of Suarez and his teeth watching the match next to some hired tart and a couple of brats

For those of us who watched, it was as though Everton's skilled players were told not to use their skills so as to make the match fair. Two arch-rivals who desperately needed the three points today played as though they desperately didn't want to be there, but had to be. After the match, the fans desperately wished they hadn't of been there either, and I wished I hadn't paid my satellite bill.

Dunc, Weir, Myhre, Ball, Unsworth, Kilbane make surprise appearance

Children, unable to bear watching the shite on display, leave Anfield.

Ha ha! You paid to watch this!

5 May 2013

Well, it's derby day, and the only pics I could find on the internet were an old movie poster and that old one of Fernando Torres being introduced at Anfield. I would like to thank Robbie Ray and Warren McGiveron for the match preview:

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Robbie Rae
It occurs to me that the home Merseyside Derby was ruined by a train journey from Scotland. And the away Merseyside Derby will be ruined by a train journey from Oakham. Fuck trains. And fuck Liverpool.
Unlike · · Share · 53 minutes ago near London, England ·
You, Gary Welsh and Rik Haslam like this.
Warren McGiveron But mainly fuck Liverpool.
49 minutes ago · Unlike · 2

Goodison Park, 27 April 2013

Everton-Fulham: It's Only Words...Ooh, JO for 9!

The football season is a long one; just ask the players. However, sometimes even us fans could use a break. Especially if your team is chasing a place in the CL and only manage a draw in a “Performance of the Dead” against Sunderland. Sure, Everton were tired. You know what? I'm tired. I spend 8 hours on my feet at work. I don't get a halftime or a break. I would look silly if I suddenly fell to the ground and clutched at my eyes, writhing in agony just to get off my feet for a few minutes. Everton were tired against Sunderland? I'm tired. Tired of working all day, walking 10 miles (maybe blocks) back home in the blistering (75 degrees, Celsius) sun just to watch turds in blue roll around the grass awaiting the pooper scooper.

Fulham showed up at Goodison today, but you know who didn't? Me. We were out of the CL, probably Europe altogether, Fulham didn't need a win, so I decided to sit at my desk and play “Words With Friends” on Facebook. The game is much more addicting than watching millionaires sucking time out of my life and money from my wallet. I kept the match on in the background in the other room.

Did you know “Fulcra” is a word? Certainly is. Sounds almost like Fulham, but is worth more points. I took 47 points for its usage. The hum of the crowd and patter of the ball took my attention away, so I wandered into the other room to gaze at the TV. Watching the team in blue, it was obvious that they had all had a rest and some Sun Capris, because they were playing pretty damned good. In fact, while I stood there, mouth agape, they strung together two backheels played forward, and two straight forward passes, and Pienaar wasn't even involved! That is not until the fourth pass placed the ball on a path to Pienaar's boot. A journey of a thousand miles starts with one step, and Pienaar stepped into the ball and sent it rocketing into the Fulham net, with their goalkeeper lightyears out of position.

I lingered a few more minutes and watched Fulham chugging after the Everton players like puffy extras in a zombie movie who are paid not to catch up with the good guy. Then it was halftime and I found that my opponent had played “Peonages” (!?) for a mere 172 points. I watered flowers and mumbled to myself, which was probably what Fulham's manager was doing for his halftime talk.

Did you know “Xis” is a word? Neither did I until I flipped it out there in despair and it brought back 55 points for me! Hearing a distinct lack of excitement from the crowd after halftime, I checked back with the TV to see if the match had been postponed. No, but Everton looked like they were suffering from White Line Fever. No, VDM hadn't returned as the physio, WLF is what truckers experience after watching the white line on the highways for too long; it hypnotizes them until they drift off to sleep. Well, the match obviously had infected both Everton and myself with this fever, because when I awoke, it was the 90^th minute, the score was still 1-0, Barkley was playing, and my “Words With Friends” opponent was leaving “I HATE TO WAIT” messages.

Stupefied, I watched the last of the match. However, it was not one of those 1-0 cliffhangers. The only drama was if Everton could better their goals for tally, because Fulham certainly were not going to impact it in any negative manner. What do you know? Everton couldn't get more than the one goal, but do you know what? It was good enough for a W-I-N and that spells out three points! You saw that coming, huh? Whatever. We are 3 points out of the CL—minus the goals against differential. I hope to be a bit more interested by next week's match. I wonder who it is against?

And God looked down and saw one thing: FAIL

SUNDERLAND V EVERON 20 APRIL 2013

I knew without a doubt when I sat down to watch this match, that not one goal would be scored after the first fifteen minutes. That is because my dickhead friend came by work this morning, a guy who ONLY watches baseball, and gave me a shit eating grin. “Well,” he said, “I came across the game while Chanel surfing, and after fifteen minutes, they're still kicking the ball around and there're no goals.”

I glared at him. “Are you talking about the Everton match?”

“Yeah!” Still grinning. As though he had brought me some dire news I craved. Like a shit-eating dog bringing you a dead rat for you to eat.

“I was taping that. Thanks a lot.”

“Yeah, no problem. Hey, I just saved you fifteen minutes of your life.”

Suffice it to say, the first 15 minutes of this match passed as though I had been watching it on Fast Forward. I saw a blur of corners before slowing it to “Play.” How ironic, because Everton were just beginning to play it to “Slow.” In fact, watching this match made me think of only one thing: “SUNDERLAND were able to get a new stadium?”

Both teams seemed to be just jogging conditioning sprints, and I was shocked each time I saw the ball pop up somewhere. In the 28 minute, Danny Graham was shocked when he didn't get a penalty call when someone fell on him away from play. He decided to do an “Occupy Penalty Area” style demonstration. He showed no desire to move from his seated spot near Tim Howard until Jonny was finally sent in to dislodge the freeloading toad. That was the last thing Everton did all afternoon with any authority.

Everton were so slow and soft that a moth floated down and took a gentle kiss from the boot of Baines, which turned it into a cocoon. The cocoon fluttered to Sessegnon, who, being a footballer and not a pansy, kicked the thing, sending it toward Tim Howard. The poor, startled thing fluttered and bumbled along the grass—I'm talking about Tim Howard, but the cocoon landed behind him and turned into a butterfly in the back of the Everton net. Baines had a chance at the death of the half to atone for his mistake when Everton were afforded a free kick in good position. He took a rain check and tucked the ball safely away from Everton players and the half came to a close.

After halftime, the Sunderland players pressed Everton, and what do ya know? A good defence is a good offence. Everton players reacted to the ball the way a bunch of debutantes would react to a used, gooey condom getting tossed at them. I would mention the Everton substitutions, but since they were as woeful as what they came on for, I won't bother. In fact, you shouldn't waste anymore time reading this than I spent writing this. The irony of this match was that the player who supposedly wanted to leave Everton so he could play Champion’s League football was the only player who performed as though he wanted to stay. The rest of the players played as though they were the ones who wanted to be somewhere else; like the beach.

The clock wound down nine ways to a hundred, and Everton played as though trying to lower their heart-rate. Even in the 78 minute when they were afforded a back-pass call, the subsequent free kick was performed as though from the bottom of an underwater dream. I watched the clock tick down on this match, and I hoped my dickhead friend would call me and blurt out the result. He could have saved me ten more minutes of my life.

"C'mon, Jewboy, you want some of THIS?"

"Listen, dammit! Black is better than Jew. Now, go get a goal!"

THERE HE IS, KILL! ATTACK!

No, not Jew! Just want to play Champion's League

Arsenal Cougars - Everton: Tuesday 16 April 2013

Often, by looking at an old woman you can still see traces of the beauty that she used to be. She, too, can hear the echoes of the whistles that no longer follow her as she sashayed about town. Arsene Wenger and his footballing club remind me of such a forgotten beauty. Arsene's players stop the minute they feel a hot breath upon their neck and wait for a whistle that doesn't sound. Arsene struts along the touchline outraged that he does not warrant one single whistle. In fact, Wenger acts as though the referee just snapped his ass with a wet towel. “Oh, I'm so outraged!” (Strut, strut, strut) Interesting was the commentator calling Arsenal one of the “Original 'Big Four' clubs.”

Well, if any justice was going to be dealt here, Everton would have dispatched it in the first fifteen minutes when they controlled the match. Unfortunately, while Arsenal players fell down, waiting for the whistle that would have come back in their younger “Big Four” days, Everton were not able to produce the goods. The fans, so frustrated by Arsenal's lack of enemy pitch time, began shouting and pointing, “This way, Arsenal, This way, Arsenal.” Tim Howard made several marvelous saves in this match, and new captain Jagielka played in a manner befitting his captaincy. Everton, for their part, showed hesitancy in unleashing shots. They would often pass and retard the attack when a wicked shot was at their boot. Everton finally forced some saves upon the Arsenal keeper, but at the end of the evening his name still had more consonants than Everton had shots and the game had less goals than a slacker sleeping on his sister's couch.

QPR: SATURDAY 12 APRIL

Today, as I was watching my DVR'd Everton pre-match show, the geniuses at FOX had the final score scroll across the bottom of the screen. There is my match report. Here are some pictures.

Gibbo wants goal.

Gibbo gets goal.

'Arry wants 'Do-Over'

Let's all form the GOAL Samba Line!

LOL, 'Arry no samba!

One man's relegation is another man's championship...

And 'Arry can get jiggy wit dat!

Uh, UH!

Can you feel me, Leeds?

SPURS, 7 April 2013

My dog, in an attempt to tempt me into playing with him when I come home from work, will bring a variety of prized items in through the open back door. He wags his tail with the item in his mouth, daring me to chase him. He will show up with a toy squirrel. If I ignore him, he will drop that, and show up with an old shoe. Still no response from me? No problem! He will come back and woof at me around a mouthful of a gigantic dead rat. If I still take no notice, he'll show up old school with a tennis ball.

Surely, one of these to-die for items, literally, in the case of Mr. Rat, are going to cause me to give chase and play with the dog. However, after a long day of saying “Paper or plastic?” the couch is the only place I want to be, facing the TV screen. I do not want to be lurching after my dog and clomping around a grapefruit tree just to prize a stuffed leprechaun away from his jaws.

So today I flick on the much anticipated Spurs match. I put on my glasses, open a bag of sunflower seeds and a light beer, sit on the couch by the back door, and get into my “coaching Everton” leaning forward position. The match kicks off, I kick off my shoes and crack open the first seed from a large pile.

My dog shows up at the door with a shoe. I see the reflection in the TV. I don't turn around. Everton don't look interested, but the match just started. The dog leaves the shoe and returns with a rubber starfish. The dead rat. A sock. The squeaky ball. The stuffed monkey. He shakes the toys furiously back and forth, growling, daring, waiting, anticipating, Spurs score.

“Okay, boy. Bring the dead rat.”

Oh, it is so GAME ON for him! He shows back up with the rat, smelly, festering, he (my dog) is kicking his back feet in the air, bucking like a bronco. Woofing, brash, wild, growling, Everton score. A corner that appeared to pass by everybody but the Google Earth cameras. Jagielka rose up and headed down. The ball bounced through goalkeeper legs and spun up dust in back of the net as Spurs' defenders fell over in slow motion in an attempt to mimic the final moments of Elvis Presley.

“Hold on, boy,” I tell him. (my dog) I had almost left my seat. Now I settle back in. My dog wanders in and plops down beside me. His chin is on the floor. Spurs' chins are on the floor. The ball is on the floor and at Everton feet. Moyes is strutting along the touchline and then the half ends with an Everton free kick popped at the goalkeeper.

I could fast forward the DVR to get to the second half, but I'm taping it for a fellow Evertonian, and I know he likes the halftime shows, so I leave the TV going and come into my room and log onto facebook to see what's going on. Do you know what was going on? Evertonians talking about the 2-2 draw. I recoil, but only halfway. 2-2 at Spurs? Hmm, I'll take that. But how to fill the last 45 minutes that would have comprised the second half? My dog has an idea or two...

Department Store Dummy; Or Ross Barkley?

**** weird! ****

Spurs' Manager Does Possum Impersonation

*** CREEPY! ***

WTF?

Craig Wilson

9 hours ago

2-2 at WHL.

THANKS, CRAIG!

STOKE @ GOODISON PARK Saturday 29 Feb 2013

Even more amazing than Everton's third win on the trot was that this was their first match in seven seasons without their having a nailed-on penalty appeal waved away by the referee. After a touching of the gloves and a brief feeling out period, it didn't take long for Everton to spike a nail into Stoke's coffin. Tim Howard punched a free kick out of his area, and it landed at the feet of Kevin Mirallas.

Mirallas raced up the pitch, dusted off a defender, regained his balance, and continued his sprint. Nineteen players were left in his wake leaving a lone defender to intercept Kevin's run. Kevin turned him around and raced in alone on the keeper, dooping a left-footer under the keeper's flapping hand to put Everton in front.

For the rest of the match, Everton resembled birthday boys riding little red and white-striped ponies around their yard. For their part, Stoke played like a drunk at a barbeque trying to stab meat off a wildly flaming grill before it was fully cooked. Jelavic was aggressive in missing numerous headers and Howard was sharp in his return. The match ended on a horrendous call against Everton which awarded Stoke the ball at the edge of the area with extra time running into extra time. The kick was wicked and true, but batted away by the gods of fair play. The only troubling parts of this match was Shawcross not taking another header to his head, and the fact that Baines was letting everybody short of the toffee lady take free kicks. The schedule has laid out a series of road matches against tough opponents, and the points-picking will be sparse. The lads should have thought about that when they were coughing up points against possums and rodeo clowns.

Tim Howard Goes For the Mucha Spare

Imploring Former Teammate Suarez to "Hook me up with some spare teeth, bro."

The "Stupid Wagon" has pulled over and oh, look! They have a fare...

COMING TO GOODISON PARK THIS WEEKEND

I HATE auto-correct...

Crap. I liked it better the other way.

Well, the Mad Potters come to Goodison seeking the top spot as oldest football club in the world. However, to achieve that milestone, they are going to need Notts County to help them out by falling into a fantastically large suck hole. Okay, job already done, but Notts still exist, and the suck hole is League Championship, or one, or whatever.

Stoke, meanwhile, are like the neighbors everybody tolerates while waiting for them to get kicked out of their house. However, these gopher-eaters somehow manage to make the house payments each month so they can grill shrunken heads on the bbq and hold family head-butting contests on the front lawn each Tuesday.

The footballing team has a slew of players with palindrome like names, which is to say the first name could be the last name and vice-versa:

Carlo Nash

Cameron Jerome

Charlie Adam

Michael Owen

Geoff Cameron

Asmir Begovic

Look for sightings of Shawcross, Huth, and Crouch.

Face it. Any one of this handful of failed syllables will probably find a way to screw up your Saturday, and Everton have just given us all a reason to believe. Of course, what this means is that Everton are going to pull the carpet back from under your feet and send you back to work feeling mean, hungover, and snakey-eyed.

Stoke will score first, Everton will chase the game, and then Stoke will score again in the last quarter of the match. All of Goodison Park will then be celebrating, because by then, all of Goodison Park will be Stoke City fans.

Hang on, everybody, we on the M 6 Motorway!