WSAG Summer Special 2012

When Skies are Grey 2011/12 162 -168

What do we have here?

Simply, it’s an electronic fanzine featuring the best of WSAG during last season.

Why though?

Well, the majority of issues sold out so you won’t find them anywhere now. They are gone. So as a teaser for the new season we thought we’d compile bits of them into this fancy thing you see in front of you.

We’ve tried to vary it a bit. We could have easily included all of St Vesp and Greg’s Chairman pieces but, tempting as it was, we decided to spread things around a bit. If this e-zine takes off, we may well produce further specials.

It’s free. If you haven’t seen WSAG for a while, we hope you like what you see and perhaps realise what you’ve been missing. Maybe next time you walk down Goodison Road you’ll stop and buy a copy. If you’ve never seen us before – where have you been? But, you’re welcome all the same.

Onward Evertonians.

We’ll be there on the island. And, no it’s not the programme.

All the very best for 2012/13.

Graham & Phil

WSAG162 August 2011

“Who knows what the truth is. You would have thought, though, that Moyes must understand the position by now and question why he just doesn’t get on with it.”

TALKING BLUES

CURVA NORD What’s been happening in the world of Evertonia OUR SUMMER Sum up the summer months at Everton in one single word.

Frustrating? Ridiculous? Shite?

Scandalous?

Some of it depends on your outlook. What is worrying is the fractious nature of it all.

Evertonians vs Evertonians.

Each claiming the high moral ground. Each claiming to be on the side of truth, holders of the Evertonia flame. Each accusing the other of naiveté, stupidity. It’s not good. Surely we can hold different views and challenge without declaring all out war with each other?

What do you out there in WSAGland think of the events of the summer. See Talking Blues. PAGE16

HE’S GONNA WALK

Often when anyone talks about all that’s wrong at Everton well, when they say ‘all’ what they actually mean is ‘we’ve got no money for transfers’ – someone will add “Moyes will get fed up with this – I can’t see him putting up with it much longer”.

We’ve been hearing this for about the last eight summers now, but oddly enough the Everton manager always seems to find enough that he likes about his job to persuade himself not to ‘walk’. To the point where he is now the third longest serving manager in the Premier League.

Weird.

HE’S NOT TALKING

Then again, Moyes has largely kept his own counsel this summer, often sending Steve Round out to do all the pre and post match pleasantries.

He’s deffo one for the tittylip.

This is possibly the fourth summer in a row when Moyes

WELCOME

to another season of When Skies are Grey.

We’ve had something of a refresh over the summer as you can see. Introduced a few new ideas, spruced some pages up and got rid of some things. Keeps it interesting. Let us know what you think. As ever you have an open invitation to get involved in WSAG. Just send us words on a page and we’ll do the rest. We’re all forever Everton.

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has, according to rumours, had a massive fall out with Bill.

Who knows what the truth is.

You would have thought, though, that Moyes must understand the position by now and question why he just doesn’t get on with it.

EVERYTHING’S GONE GREEN

This is a genuine request: can someone please tell us once and for all how exactly Phillip Green is supposed to be involved with Everton? Is he meant to be our secret owner?

Because if he is, why isn’t he either putting a few quid in for players – he’s certainly not short of cash – or sorting out a sale of the club to get his money back?

For all the whispers and innuendo about the Arcadia boss somehow being the ‘puppet master’ at Goodison, it doesn’t seem to make a lot of sense for him to just have dough tied up in something that he has no interest in either selling or developing.

Is it actually possible then that the reason no news organisation has investigated his role at the club is not because they are frightened of him, as has been suggested this summer, but because he doesn’t really have one?

FOR WHAT’S IT WORTH?

And while we’re on the subject of questions – can someone also outline why Bill Kenwright would be averse to selling Everton if someone made a concrete bid? It’s continually repeated that he doesn’t want to sell – despite his protestations to the contrary – but given that he has never taken any money out of the club, and is in no position whatsoever to put any in, what does he have to gain by remaining in charge while it stagnates?

And ‘because he’s a cunt’ or something about his ‘train set’ doesn’t qualify as a real answer.

It’s questions like those which, it might be suggested, leave some Evertonians lukewarm at best with regards to pressure groups and protests.

The idea that Kenwright can be ‘driven out’ out of the club is farcical without someone willing to buy the fucking thing off him. Marches, protests, sit-ins, lock-ins or love-ins, it doesn’t really matter – fuck it, you could drag the board out to the woods like in Miller’s Crossing and put guns to their heads and demand that they sell Everton – that won’t make a buyer materialise.

If someone genuine comes forward and says that they have made enquiries about a takeover but got told to sling their hook then you can

Seamus Coleman What a piece of bad luck? A shithouse challenge in a meaningless friendly and there’s potentially half your season gone.

We like Seamus at WSAG. We think most of you do too. He represents all that is good about this thing of ours.

Get yourself fit. We wish you all the best.

guarantee that the L4 area will sell out of pitchforks and burning torches in no time at all.

TEN THINGS BILL KENWRIGHT COULD DO IF HE WAS SERIOUS ABOUT SELLING THE CLUB

1. Advertise it in Loot.

2. Put it up on eBay with a BUY IT NOW price.

3. Fly Poster on Stanley Racing next to the La Femme ones.

4. Put a postcard in the window of that newsagent next to the Goodison Supper Bar. 5. Get a stall at the Stanley Heritage Market.

6. Get a sign, put it in a food bag and attach it to a pelican crossing next to ‘This little lad is 30’ and some wilting, mud-covered flowers.

7. Use them screens in Liverpool One. 8. Appoint a Martin Broughton type figure - whatever one of those is.

9. Get a Chinese lad to walk around town with a sign on a stick ‘Everton for sale’ and ‘Golf Sale’ on the back.

10. Do one in the middle of night, taking all the fixtures and leaving loads of obscene graffiti on the walls of the Boardroom.

TJ HUGHES SALE NOW ON

Just because you are not picketing Blood Brothers or threatening to smash the windows of Buca di Beppo doesn’t mean you won’t have felt thoroughly deflated this summer. Everyone loves a new player – they bring with them football’s lifeblood, hope – but it was made crystal clear at the end of last season that David Moyes has no cash available to sign anyone. And we mean not one shiny cent or brass farthing. Nothing. Fuck all. Zip. Zilch. Nada.

As a result, nearly every player we were linked with we could dismiss out of hand WSAG3

the brink of the season starting. If that was actually possible this summer.

straight away. You sort of get used to it. However, that doesn’t stop you from getting irked when a rumour concerning a move for one of Manchester City’s out-offavour players ON LOAN is described in the papers as ‘audacious’, and ‘daring’. It’s really that bad then, that the idea of lending some fucker who was playing for Middlesbrough not so long ago has people absolutely incredulous?

What’s worse, that reaction from the outside world, or the fact that Blues actually knew there was fuck all chance of it ever happening?

I’M SO BORED

These ‘prestige’ preseason friendlies are just shite, especially those played at Goodison.

Apart from the fact that it detracts slightly from the anticipation of seeing the inside of the ground again on the day of the first league match, they are just lifeless affairs, particularly when there are no new signings to pique the punters’ interest.

What’s worse is that David Moyes’s teams need to play at full throttle to be effective – they often struggle to impose themselves in the early rounds of the League Cup, never mind and exhibition match – and so it never comes as any surprise when some slick continental team like Villarreal roll up, make us look like mugs and deflate the atmosphere even further on WSAG4

Oh for a return to the days when these games were in obscure places away from the cameras, and when attending them was a badge of honour for the most hardcore, betterest of better Blues.

After all, it’s those trips under Howard Kendall that always provide the most ‘earthy’ anecdotes in ex-players’ memoirs. In 15 or 20 years what will we be reading about?

Days out to the Epcot Centre and endless karaoke?

SHITEGEIST

I’d forgotten my lovesickness, but I’m pretty sure that the woman I’d pined for was at that very moment being fingered in the Robin Hood Camp by ‘Daz’, a heavy metal fan from Connah’s Quay.

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YOBO NO GO?

We’ve probably seen the last of Joseph Yobo. In the big scheme of things, he’s not really going to be missed after all he’s been either out on loan or persona non grata for ages now.

What did he do that was so wrong for Moyes to fuck him completely? Did it all stem

from the no-show in Portugal when we were forced to play with a defence of reserves?

Moyes has always come across as someone you wouldn’t like to cross. He certainly takes no prisoners when it appears players under his charge are not giving their all.

Yet, the team spirit at Goodison is reckoned to be second to none. All for one and one for all. Fuck anyone who’s not with us. I like that.

IT COULD BE MUCH, MUCH WORSE

Things are a bit shit at Everton but... y You could have your best player on the transfer list for a freebie just for saying something on Twitter y You could have your Chairman getting done for (shall we say...) “financial irregularities”. y Your team could be appearing in a chicken advert. y You could have appointed the manager of your relegated city rivals and have sold your two England wingers. y You could have spent a ton of cash on players from who were either relegated or nearly were and who it appeared no-one else was seriously in for. y You could have been booed off after losing your own

y

tournament in your own stadium to an American team named after a fizzy drink.

Your expensive forwards could hate their adopted city and make no secret of it. (All the money in the world is not enough they still hate you and the City you live in.)

CUSTOMER SERVICE

I know it will be a bit of shock but Le Coq Sportif has produced some nice ‘leisurewear’ this season. The players wore it on the trips abroad this summer. It’s so nice I even thought about buying. Sadly though none of it is available at the shops or online.

I contacted customer services to ask if it would be available soon: “Unfortunately, we currently do not have the item in stock at this moment in time, also we do not have any delivery dates set and can only advise you to keep checking our website for any updates.”

I fuckin’ knew that.

HEY THERE MR BLUE

Greg Murphy finished his epic tale of growing up with Everton in the last issue. From this issue he begins a new series. A timely tale of those who have filled the Boardroom at Goodison. It promises to be essential reading. PAGE34

STICK WITH WHAT WE’VE GOT

This bit could be hopelessly out of date by the time the mag goes on sale at the QPR game, but at the time of going to print Everton have still signed no one. You may have heard it mentioned once or twice. If they have made a purchase in the meantime though, it’s because someone has been sold to raise the funds – Phil Jagielka to Arsenal seems the most likely.

If we have retained the same squad as last season, it’s because that’s what David Moyes sees as the most effective way to deploy his limited resources – he feels that the squad is stronger with Jagielka, for instance, than with the players he could bring in following a sale. And given how the Joleon Lescott sale went, he certainly has a case: Sylvain Distin is an older, less versatile version of Lescott who scores fewer goals, John Heitinga gets mixed reviews and Diniyar Bilyaletdinov has been a massive disappointment, despite the odd wonder-goal.

The squad we have finished seventh last season and most observers reckon they will more than likely end up around the same spot this time out. All things considered, that’s officially ‘respectable’, and there are loads of clubs who would be made up with

that. Fuck it, it’s not so long ago we would have considered that a brilliant season.

However, it’s the predictability of what this side is capable of that so many punters find unappealing. If this group of players performs how we know it should, we can qualify for the Europa League. And that will be probably viewed as a dull season.

On the other hand, if we cashed in on one of our major assets and introduced some new faces, there is then at least the possibility in our minds at least, that they will all hit the ground running, improve us as a team and give us the boost we need to qualify for the Champions League. That would make people sit up, take notice and buy a season ticket. And even if that side ultimately finished eighth or ninth, we could put it down to teething problems and new players taking time to ‘bed in’.

It’s feasible then that we could almost be happier with what proves to be a worse team, because football’s all about hope (or, more realistically, self-deception) and Everton just aren’t giving us much to work with at the moment.

That’s why a lot of people were receptive to the idea of signing prize weirdo Joey Barton on a free. He’d probably cause murder but at least it would be something different, a bit of drama, if even for all the wrong reasons.

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5 Tactical Conundrums for the new campaign 1. Arteta: Deep Lying Playmaker or Ghost Winger?

Whilst I like Arteta playing deep where he can dictate play, the imbalance of the midfield could see him shifted this year. Wide midfield areas are clearly an area we need to strengthen – hence the ultimately fruitless quest to sign N’Zogbia. This, coupled with the abundance of players we have who can play central midfield and the success of 4-2-3-1 where the centre mids play much more defensive, I would expect to see Arteta in the wide areas cutting inside this season. It’s worth noting that his most productive campaign for the Blues was in the 2006/7 season with 9 goals and 13 assists playing as a ’ghost’ winger cutting inside. The following year he was the most fouled player in the division; fouled every 28.8 minutes and averaging 11 crosses per game giving him the second highest cross ratio in the league. He showed signs of stirring at St James before the injury last season….can he recapture the 2006/7 vintage?

2. System: Control or Counter?

The average amount of successful passes we made in the first ten games of last season was 364 with a pass completion of 74% –at this stage of the season our play was very possession based and characterized by short passing movements. The stats showed that last season the Toffees had one of the lowest interceptions per game rating & spending the highest % of time in the opponents half of the pitch in the division – based on patient build up play. We switched to a more direct passing style following the Stoke defeat at the turn of the year. The next 10 games, from the Spurs win at Goodison onwards our pass completion figure dropped by 3% to 71% and we made on average 64 less passes per game; getting the ball into the box much quicker. Our goals per game ratio before the Spurs game was 1.05. For the 2nd part of the campaign this rose to 1.66 per game – along with an upturn in results – so the shift to a more direct style did work.

3. Finding a midfield balance.

Fellaini is a top player but for the last 2 seasons the Blues have a better winning % when he is not in the side. Why is this? His best asset is his ability to press opponents and win the ball back (see below stats)– in the game at the Emirates in particular he was unplayable. At times though his pressing will lead to him chasing the ball down high up field. When he loses a tackle or is bypassed it leaves a significant gap in behind and the defence exposed. – one reason why his central midfield partnership with Arteta is flawed. For this reason if he is to play in a 4-2-3-1 he needs someone alongside him who will hold – Heitinga or Neville. I want Rodwell to succeed, but games can pass him by. He doesn’t impose himself on opponents like Fellaini, and when played further forward (presumably to give us more pace in final third) he lacks incision – a common defect in players who have come through the robotic UK academy system. Osman & Cahill would appear the bigger conundrum – as the stats show we won 50% of the games Osman started – a higher % than any other player – Osman is more effective centrally but in a team which struggles to score can we afford to leave out a talisman like Cahill who gives us a competitive edge?

4. Finding a trump card In 2005 Cahill and Osman were the clubs 2 top scorers in their maiden campaigns for the Blues.

Just like then, the Toffees are in need of something new but with no cash Moyes will be looking to his younger players to see who could emerge and provide an extra 10% to supplement the current pool. Barkley is perhaps the most talked about and looks a real talent although Gueye could be just as likely. The Frenchman is direct, has great physicality with a good turn of pace and will look to beat his man – the Blues figures for taking on opposition players was below the league average last season with only Coleman regularly taking on his marker.

5. Getting back to basics Generally our defending was not great last season; although we conceded fewer goals than 09/10 we kept fewer clean sheets than in any campaign under Moyes and 8 less than 08/09.

Distin had a solid campaign but he is prone to poor judgment. Keeping Jagielka will be key though: since 2007 we have kept a clean sheet in 37% of the games he has played, compared to 26% when he hasn’t played.

Read more: http://theexecutionersbong.wordpress.com

everton firsts This article was inspired by an article I wrote in the last episode about our “attendance Trophy” and it got me thinking about my Everton Firsts and I came up with 4 of my Everton Firsts that always stick in the memories. By way of a footnote if anyone remembers the article they will know the trophy went down to the Chelsea Match and yours truly came out as the inaugural champion. Not that I wish to boast about it at all!

First Home Game Now I am sure many of you will have been going to the match since you could walk but in my case my dad although an enthusiastic Evertonian he was never really a big match goer. In fact my first game nearly put me off ever coming back again.

I think it was probably around the 86-87 season and we played Arsenal at home when my dad surprised me that he was taking me to my first match. I couldn’t believe I was going the game and was made up as his mates picked us up and headed to the “27 Club” in Liscard for a coke and crisps while he and his mates sunk a few beers. After what seemed like an eternity we went to the match and on arriving at Goodison I couldn’t believe how big it was as dad sat me on one of the barriers at the Gwladys Street end and I thought to myself this is the place for me. I think we lost 1 nil that day but it didn’t bother me as the excitement of my first game kept that smile on my face right up until we were walking along Walton Lane and to me it seemed like World War III

erupted. I remember a few Arsenal fans had managed to get out and starting singing songs the next thing I knew my dad and his mates had formed a circle around me as Merseyside Police’s finest mounted cavalry made a charge right past us and it went off big time! We then made a quick right past another almighty kick off before finding the relative calm of County Road. I don’t mind telling you that it was very nearly a brown trouser day! This event well and truly put me off going for a while and I think put my dad off taking me for a while as well.

First Away Match In our first season ticket season we made the decision to try and go to all home and away matches for the FA Cup run and luckily for us this was the 94-95 season and would culminate with a trip to the twin towers.

The 4th round trip to Ashton Gate was to be our first away match for us 16 year olds and the 3 of us and we got the club bus down to Bristol.

As people will remember we got absolutely battered and I seem to remember them hitting the post on several occasions before Matt Jackson somehow managed to nail a 20 yarder with his left foot late on in the game. Cue absolute bedlam and Everton fans falling over and sprained ankles everywhere as for some reason the seats had no backs on them.

The main memory from this match though and it links with my first home match is leaving the ground and the very disgruntled home fans trying to climb the fence separating us outside the ground it was bedlam!

Yet again another pair of trousers ruined!

First European Match Watching Everton abroad was always a dream and luckily for me my first taste of European action was Nuremburg a few years back. A good friend of mine and his mate were planning to drive to Nuremburg and I managed to get a ride with them. Before the match we had bought

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some of the tickets online from Nuremburg but were then told that they had been cancelled but we thought sod it lets go for it!

Left Wallasey about 10.00 on the Wednesday and managed to get a great run down to the Channel Tunnel and managed to get about 2 hours outside Nuremburg where we found a motel for a few beers and some sleep before the big day. As we got on the outskirts of the city the next day we got stopped by the local constabulary who after taking our passports for further inspection took great delight in telling us that the match was a sell out and we had no chance for a ticket.

We drove straight to the ground and by chance met some blues from Wallasey who were gladly clasping tickets and saying that the club shop were selling them to anyone. Christmas had come early and pretty soon we were holding our 40 Euro tickets!

The afternoon and evening will live long in the memory and the sight of thousands of Evertonians outside the team hotel singing and drinking and being merry was brilliant.

Everything about the day went perfectly from the atmosphere to the transport to and from the ground and even the supporters club outside the ground serving massive Steins.

The only downside was entering a strip joint at the end of the night and finding someone who looked like Heather Locklear and then finding out she wanted 50 Euro for a dance!!!

The journey back on the Friday was a bit of a struggle through I can tell you.

Oh and we won 2 nil!

First Time took my son to the match If there is anything that brightens your life up and makes you realise there is more to Everton than winning trophies and that was the first time I took Harry to the match. On his 4th birthday I surprised him at 1 o clock and told him I was taking him to the match and when I told him he gave me a hug and started crying and said “Daddy I am so happy you are taking me” I don’t mind telling you there was a little tear in the eye.

Moments like that make you important this Everton thing is.

COYB

realise

KG Hillis

how

GET YOUR SOCKS OFF! When I was a little one; all cherub face and Wotsit fingers, if I wasn't choosing which Power Ranger I'd most like to be or go out with (White and Pink, respectively) I wasted most of my days designing Everton's new home kit.

Having forced my Dad into creating twenty identical outlines, I'd start my design and using wrapper-less Crayola create the same mainly blue, bit of white and dash of yellow t-shirt. Sometimes including an outlandish sponsor like 'PLEASURE ROOMS' or 'DAVE BENSON PHILLIPS SMILE LTD" and nearly always opting for a number (9, for Duncan) on the paper-white shorts. It was a blessed time to be scribbling, that was until you reached the 2B pencil outline of perfectly formed socks.

It was a daunting decision. Leave them blank, white and therefore pure or fill them in with blue crayon - a crayon already looking like the 12 packs token Vietnam veteran, down to the bone, and buckling under pressure. The blue and white conundrum would of course vary with each minute.

Blue, white, blue, white, blue, white, blue. With every blue sock, a finger closer to sheet, a crayon growing older and with every white one, an empty space; an open place, an interpretative foot warmer.

It's perhaps testament to Everton's dilly-dally, nearly done nature that like me, the club has never quite decided what colour sock is right for us.

It's hardly surprising that we haven't decided on a new stadium, a definite financial plan, a formation or a fucking new signing, when we can't choose between two colours.

This season, Everton will be putting expensive boots over blue socks, a change from last season and a return to the symmetrical blue, white, blue - whether or not it will bring success remains to be seen but there is something magical about a football club that can be as flippant with their socks as they are with their results.

And I for one am glad to be a dedicated sucker to the team that with technicolour tradition, keeps us on our toes, about what we'll have on our toes.

Jack Murray WSAG23

Talking Blues The idea is simple: we ask you out there a question via email and we print a selection of the responses. The question we asked this time follows on from the one we asked at the end of last season. That was: “what’s the one thing EFC must do this summer?” ...

This one was: “what do you think of Everton’s summer?”

Review by Sweet-Tooth Yank Groundhog Day 2 : synopsis - the year is 2011 and miserable twat Phil Connors (Davey Moyes) and that fucking Groundhog (Bill Kenwright) are now married with 11 kids.

While Davey returns stateside with the kids, always on the lookout for a better looking groundhog, our Groundhog stays at home sat on his fat furry arse, and suddenly they find themselves reliving the same summer over and over again while only the kids get older.

Eventually moronic Davey realises what is going to happen and at the very last minute pulls his finger out of his arse letting the hairiest kid hog walk and bringing in a versatile, yet shitty replacement from Critters 2.

There are thrills, spills and laughs along the way, but if you’ve seen the first film there will be no more fucking surprises at the end. Rated 18 Nic Davies: The only thing surprising about the summer was how surprised supporters in general seemed to be about the lack of transfers. Myself included.

As fans we never learn; for the 4th summer on the spin my daily routine involved hourly trawls of newsnow, gossip columns and watching that bad meff Jim White on hype factor ten about Stoke signing Matthew Upson. I wish the Barton episode would have taken place back in May – knowing that we are unable to sign someone on a free would have at least confirmed what we all feared that there would be no incoming players - Not that we actually need football’s rebranded

philosopher anyhow. Whilst I want us to sign players I don’t want any old shite – even if we did have cash to spunk on all sorts I still wouldn’t touch the new Steve Guppy Jordan Henderson for £20m. Let’s hope, though, we can carry on where we left off in May. Up the Toffees!

Rolant Ellis: All Evertonians knew what we needed this summer: ship out the dead wood you all know who they are - and bring in a couple of players who could challenge immediately for a first team spot. Kids like Vellios & Dier are all very well, but we all know the side desperately needs pace, especially up front.

What we got - Vaughan out, nobody in, exactly the same players as last season, with the same problems. Not a word from

the Board, the manager obviously not too happy, and a squad which desperately need some competition unchanged from last season, apart from Pienaar & Vaughan. We've even got a nice new injury crisis just in time for the big kick-off!

Glyn (in Northampton): Exactly as expected. The only event that was going to result in any outlay in the transfer market was significant income being brought in - personally, I'm glad that's not happened, as it's much harder to insert a £10m £20m player into the team than to have them in the ranks already. Let's hope we steer clear of injuries and have some passion amongst the players. Come on you blues.

Nick West: 1. Reality check. No more credit lines to extend, the banks are reigning us in - we're giving them money this summer, not the other way round. Which means we're down to quibbling about wages, never mind spending any money on fees. Yobo and Yak back unexpectedly.

That's £90,000 a week. Over £4 million on the wages. That's got to hurt. No new contract offer for Fellaini confirms it.

2. Wenger offering £10/£12 million for Jagielka.

Cue all sympathy over Barca valuing Fabregas as a slightly better Jordan Henderson disappearing.

3. Barkley - he looks the business.

The player Rodwell was supposed to be by now... at 17.

4. Bring on The Wall.

5. That shithouse's challenge on Coleman.

Let's never have

anything to do with Villareal again, eh?

Neil Roberts: The same as last season; I'd rather be stable, setttled and skint than Sunderland. Whatcha gonna do? wingedeelfingerling...

An interesting summer for the Toffees, speculation on our players leaving is at a minimum with the policy of paying top dollar wages for the likes of Arteta, Rodwell and Jags appears to be working.

We have side stepped the madness of the transfer window by introducing Gueye, Barkley to the first team and getting Rodwell and Felliani fit.

We haven’t sold out to some Chinese/Arab/Thai/Americans with no dough and no understanding of the grand old team... step forward Birmingham and Villa We haven't been fooled into buying average players and paying them crippling wages step forward Sunderland (didn't they do the same last season?) and Wes Brown.

The proof however will be in the start of the season will we average 2 points a game from the off rather than last season from February? and let’s quote Joe Royle on Talksport 'if Saha is fit all season Everton will be top four'

GM: STARTS. What to make of Everton's summer? Woo - where to start? Well it was ace - we got an extra week's holiday (cheers riots!). Victor scored - for the first time since, er, last pre-season, so that's obviously a massive, massive plus. We conducted our business nice and early with the lucrative Vaughan deal, which is really well organised of us. I think someone said the Goodison Road side has been painted. And let's face it the ground is still standing, presumably with a safety cert so you can't argue with that! The new signings Yobo and Yakubu might do a job. And Pip's "tweet-crazy" strategy engagement is just what the fans wanted to feel part of things. Breath. Of. Fresh. Air. Tell yer, that Everton flag at Glasto sure flew proud this year. Dust. All I need is for the foam in the window corner seat of the Spellow to have been replaced and it will have been THE best Everton summer ever. Likes this.

ENDS Ian Buffey: I’ve seen a lot of negative stuff on the sites, some directed at David Moyes and obviously Bill Kenwright. The mantra seems to be the failed stadium, not finding the level of investment needed etc. okay they do have a point but this ignores all of the positive things that have happened. Plenty of cubs have weaker youth set ups, team spirit, community schemes and integrity. Plenty more finish outside of the top 7 as well.

I also feel frustrated about lack of signings but this has sort of happened in the modern era, years ago we’d just be happy with the summer break and Brian Labone staying at centre half.

The best aspect for me this summer is the anticipation of the younger players coming through our system, hopefully we’ll also keep our better players and eventually add one or two of the right level to strengthen the squad.

The worst aspect for me this summer is that BK etc are criticised for not being billionaires and for running the club as a business, surely the real faults lie with the unlevel playing field, allowed by the Premier League hierarchy. How this situation can continue in the current economic climate is an absolute disgrace. They love it as well and want nothing more than the same 4 teams filling the top spots, that’s the only way English teams can succeed in Europe against what are really state clubs (Barcelona/Real Madrid).

Keeping the same 4 allows those clubs to budget for Europe although it’ll be interesting to see how it pans out now there’s maybe 6 challenging.

So, on the whole summers been okay apart from that foul on Seamus.

Tom Moore: It's been a long summer and to be an Evertonian at the moment is to be caught between a rock and a hard place.

I don't know what's more frustrating: the likely stagnation of the club due to a lack of money and the wealth of others or the vocal fans groups formed in the name of "change" claiming to speak on behalf of all Evertonians. This isn't aimed against them per se. They raise some accurate (and depressing) facts regarding the poor

management of the club over several years but at the same time seem to ignore both the difficulties and dangers of securing 'investment' (one of the worst words in football's post-1992 vocabulary) and the fact that more often than not they end in tears. But that in itself sums it up - whichever way fans turn there are potential problems.

There's no right or wrong, black or white and definitely no quick fix: just fans on both sides of the fence concerned for the future whichever way we turn. Rather than people arguing about that through their keyboards, maybe it's time to concentrate on getting behind the 11 blue shirts on the pitch. After all, whether it's Bill Kenwright or a foreign investor after a new toy, those players and the 90 minutes on the pitch are the reason we're here in the first place. Onward Evertonians…

Phil Garner: In all my years of following the blues, I cannot recall a summer when there has been less activity than this ne. Even back in the days before the ludicrous transfer window system came in we'd always sign up a few players in the summertime but this year it has just been stagnant to the point where I didn't even bother going to see us against Villa Real as there were no new players to have a look at. On the plus side, we have not sold anyone (yet), other than Jamie Vaughan whose

career has been blighted by his injuries, so the squad is still potentially as good (or as bad) as it was last season. If we can just get some kind of "second half of the season" consistency for a whole season then who knows what we can achieve. It's not all grim lads, just remember Walter's dark days...

Ian Marshall’s Matters (weblog): Everton summer (Mexico winter?)

Further reinforcement of our place in the football food chain (as Arsenal are finding); Other clubs finances seem shrouded in mystery - ours, transparently skint; Manchester hegemony to replace the Mersey one of the 80s; Yobo situation typical of our luck; 'Kenwright out’ chants in Bremen but for who?; Positives.....er......no-one's gone (yet)? Ross 'the most excited we've been about a youngster since Wayne' Barkley blooded (his team-mates look confident in him) and Moyesy stays for ow. Redknapp to England, Moyes to Spurs could be the big test next summer?

Then, if nothing changes, the real problems start.

Harvey Weewax: Everton's Summer? Haven't bought anyone, haven't sold anyone of note, haven't been linked with anyone, haven't done anything really.

Quiet Summer, did they play any games? No expectations compared

to last year. So we should get off to a flying start...

Ian Jay @ Fat Latch Radio: Everton's summer... are we standing still or going backwards? it's hard to tell right now. Pre-season has been mixed, the emergence of Ross Barkley as a contender, mixed with the injury to Seamus, seem to have cancelled each other out. Quite frankly, if the dire performance at the Villareal game was anything to go by, then the cancellation of the game at Spurs can only be a good thing as, a) it gives us slightly more preparation time and b) one less game that Seamus misses. Signings...is it even worth speculating? Hutton as cover?

Odemwingie is holding out for a deal of £40K a week at WBA... could we nip in at the last minute? can we afford that, even if we sell Yobo to free up some funds? as the days pass and still nothing on the transfer front, my mood darkens and I just pray for a decent start to the season. at the very least I hope DM pops up with a good loan deal or two.

John Wharton: I’m tempted to just type grim x 100, but in fairness there have been some positive moments within the grim summer we have been through, so far we’ve not lost any of the squad and the emergence of Ross Barkley. However what worries me most is the lack of any appearances from Moyes this summer even in his interview with ITV pre Villareal he looked like a man with a massive twat on. We know we are skint, even if it does stick in the craw to see teams like Wolves and Stoke outspending us.

Rob Squires: I don't really understand the negativity surrounding the club, barring Pienaar and Vaughan who we didn't have during the 2nd half of the season anyway, this is the same squad that we had season.

Of course I'd have liked us to sign players, but look at the prices, realistically, who is better than

what we have, at a price we could afford?

I think Moyes expected to get rid of Jonny, Yobo and the Yak and spend some of the money raised, on who though I don't know.

Oh, and I'd still fuck Anichebe off straight away.

MJ: Coleman clattered. Jagielka flattered. Tottenham tattered.

But unbeaten in the League. No summer signings until after departures was what many of us expected. Predicted sales of Yobo and Yak failed to materialise. The two players most likely to fetch firm bids have been Jags and Baines, but they are said to prefer to stay. Will Rodwell be shipped down the '62? I hope they all stay.

Continuity. The summer ain’t over until the transfer window closes and so tension may mount in the last third of August. There ain’t no cure for the summertime blues.

Sam McPartland: The word “lacklustre” pretty much sums up the summer break.

Fans generally seen apathetic with no sense of anything to look forward to, and in addition here is very little talk coming from the club (Has anybody even heard from Moyes lately?) to motivate us.

Everything just seems dull, this comes down to the simple fact that nothing has moved or changed from May, including the

bloody big hole in the wall in the park end! The final straw for me came when some fans getting excited about the Joey Barton situation and suggesting a good signing. Surely we still some morals? The other summer thing for me is the explosion of all these fan groups and fans at each others throats over the same old arguments. I have a feeling its going to be another long season.

Marc England: Everton this summer- Hallam Hope and John Lundstram looking good in the under 17 world cup, 7 year olds in Everton shirts playing cricket on the pitch in the sunshine as Lancashire moved to Aigburth, that buzz growing about Ross Barkley and watching highlights of the under 15s winning at the Milk Cup on BBC Northern Ireland. There might be no money, there might be blue socks but the kids are alright Phil: Understandably frustrating, but I think theres a few people out there who could do with spending a bit of time with their loved ones or perhaps taking up a summer hobby.

Dave Spowart: Depressing.

Despite the usual implausible links with all and sundry, the only additions to the first team squad have been youngsters, with recent weeks being marked by players simultaneously urging caution about what we can expect and telling us how great Ross Barkley is. Although opinion on the various protest groups has reached Kirkby-esque division, anything that forces more dialogue from a board increasingly displaying North Korean levels of openness might at least help to clarify why, having been in charge of affairs for nearly twelve years through a time of unseen wealth being pumped into the league (and among certain directors themselves), True Blue Holdings appears neither able to support the manager nor have any other

ambition other than to survive day to day.

Jon: Like a stagnant pond of beautiful koi carp that desperately needs a clean out the fish all get on very well with each other, they look very smart in their nice new colours, and there's an exciting new prospect just emerged, but all the other ponds have had a lot of work done on them over the summer and were much more conspicuous on the sky garden news scroll bars.

There was not a lot of life over the break and there's not a lot of optimism that anything will be different in the near future, despite the keeper's constant efforts.

Kevin Hollis: The main theme for this summer is summed up in one word “Silence”. Never in my years of supporting Everton have we had a summer with so little information from the Everton hierarchy Moyes included!! For a man like Kenwright who clearly in his business is such an orator I don’t understand why when it comes to the blues he has clearly lost his voice. Even Blue Bobby Elstone’s blog has disappeared.

It’s this lack of information that leads to the rise in dissenting voices. Looking positively though our First 11 still stands up so come on lets see them smiles!

AinPE: A non summer if ever there was one. I look back over 20 years ago, the year we bought Cottee, Mcdonald, McCall and Nevin. Blue Bill is a massive Evertonian, of that no doubt, but frankly his and the boards efforts this summer have fallen desperately short to the point where you think, do I really give a fuck? The answer is yes, but not much.

Disappointing.

Yours, W Smith of Glasgow.

Email us at the usual address if you would to receive emails to contribute to Talking Blues.

This has been the summer of phone hacking and Twitter. We now know that WSAG’s phones were hacked at some point, and that was the source of the News of the World’s infamous ‘Merseyside man told ‘not to forget bread’’ and ‘Where are you, soft shite? We’re waiting for you at the Park End’ stories.

Twitter Twatter

As for Twitter, seeing so many footballers take up the task of expanding their thoughts to 140 characters has been revealing in terms of how it reflects the relationships between clubs, their employees, and the supporters themselves.

Essentially, clubs give the impression that they are shit scared of the players actually speaking their mind directly to public without that buffer of a press who are mindful of protecting their own interests. It’s quite remarkable, and surely unparalleled in any other professional field, that such well paid employees cannot be trusted to do something as basic as communicate with the outside world without fear of them saying something absolutely Radio Rental. All of a sudden, being in charge of a Premier League’s communications department must feel less like the Pravda news desk and more akin to taking the Tourette’s class for a coach trip to Alton Towers.

Alan Pardew was calling on the FA to issue guidelines on handling social media in the aftermath of Joey Barton’s massive internet flounce – prompting some to question why the Newcastle manager didn’t just impose some rules himself, the big tart. Anyway, while Barton’s rather Chris Eubank-style enigmatic proclamations resulted in the loss of a fortnight’s wages, in the long term he could more than recoup that by being released on a free transfer despite a season remaining on his contract. Would it surprise you in future then if more players who fancy a lucrative move make their position at their present club untenable by labelling everyone there a #showerofcunts?

Which sort of begs the question – do supporters want to hear players moaning about things behind the scenes? Was Barton right to highlight what’s wrong at Newcastle United, or should he concentrate on doing his absolute best to help make the best of the situation?

On the one hand as a Geordie you could hold him up – as he himself does – as an illuminator of the truth, but ultimately he gets the opportunity to fuck off for more money, leaving the club a key player down with no compensation forthcoming. Does that really benefit the supporters?

The flip side to Barton is Everton’s own Phil Neville whose thumbs appear far more nimble than his feet. He gets criticised by some Blues’ supporters for his upbeat nature in the face of poor showings in preseason, for instance, and talking up the present squad and the young players instead of speaking out about the lack of any new signings.

Do we then, as fans, want the players ‘badmouthing’ the club, or the board, or whoever? Or do we prefer the Everton captain to always try and accentuate the positives and commit to doing better next time whenever things are going awry?

In fairness to Neville, a lifetime of having Kopites spit at him and other assorted brain donors making ‘Joey faces’ at him every time he takes a throw in means that he deals with all that comes his way online with nothing but good grace.

Going back to the supporters themselves, what does come across crystal clear on Twitter is exactly why players often do appear guarded around fans in the real world. They get absolutely fucking pestered online with inane requests and anonymous abuse from weirdos who talk to them as if they know them.

Seriously, it’s no wonder so many are so wary around supporters and put on their massive headphones and run like fuck from the team bus to the safety of the ground whenever they see anyone wearing a replica shirt and waving a programme and a felt-tip pin.

‘GIV US A RT BILY AM A MASSIV BLU!!!’

WSAG9

get down to goodison One of the great things about being an Evertonian is not being a Kopite. This means no flag days, no mosaics, no banners in Latin and no softarse statements from the Pricks of Paisley or the Fuckwits of Fagin.

Until now. Now we've got Everton for Changing Nappies, SOS 1463, the Blue Onion and God knows who else, all talking like shite shop stewards from 1978. All full of poolhall rumours about Kenwright valuing the club at 180 million and storming out of meetings with Oligarchs as they were about to build us a gold plated stadium on the roof of the Catholic Cathedral.

Do me a fucking large one. I know it's shite that we can't afford any players but do these self appointed spokesmen for nobody in particular really crave a Chinese money launderer or a couple of subcontinental chicken farmers getting their hands on the club?

I know it's shite we haven't got a pot to piss in and Moyes must be tearing what's left of his ginger barnet out, but some people have got very short memories. Little more than a decade ago the club was surviving relegation by the skin of it's teeth year in year out, with a lying Kopite for a chairman and the standard of football was fucking execrable. Now we finish every season up the top end of a league drenched in cash that we don't have. Moyes has worked absolute miracles to get the squad to where it's at but the condescending tone of the 'manifestos' of some of these organisations is a disgrace. 'We'll give the manager a chance'?

Will you really, that's kind of you oh great guardians of all things Evertonian. Nearly thirty years ago someone painted 'Kendall Out' on the wall at Goodison Park. If we lose a couple of games and the atmosphere turns to shite Moyes might just spue it and then we'll be royally fucked.

I am no apologist for Bill Kenwright but at least he lets our manager run the club how he sees fit, which is a damn sight more than your Russians and your Arabs. And do you simply WSAG8

want him to sell the club to the first shyster who knocks on the door? Or do us out of millions by stating the exact asking price before he's even had an offer in?

When the Kopites had their marches and made their utterly embarrassing, anti-Yank, 'you raped our club' videos, they were protesting against two lying cunts who were hellbent on running the place into the ground for their personal profit. We've got someone in charge who's done his bollocks keeping the club afloat.

He may well be a busted flush but what exactly d'you want him to do? And before you start on about communication and the rest of it, let's just remember that the club has better links to the community than almost any other team in the country and has won awards left right and centre for all kinds of charitable initiatives. All since the current regime took charge. Now that mightn't matter to you as you bang your drum for a billionaire but it matters to me because the other thing I love about Everton is that we're the complete antithesis of what Sky telly and the revisionist Premier League has done to our beloved game.

We're the team where Seamus Coleman, bought for less than a week of Joe Cole's wages, gets nominated for Young Player of the Year in his first full season. The team that broke into the top four with Marcus frigging Bent up front. The team with the shitty ground that anyone who knows anything about football loves coming to. The team that's always in the right place at the wrong time.

We're Evertonians and we don't need anyone to tell us how to think or what to say. If it's life on a committee you're after I know a bunch of slavering beauts who'd welcome you with open arms. If you want to support a team that represents the last few good things left in our pox-ridden old whore of a game, then I'll see you Goodison Park....

Joe Ainsworth

Litegeist (Know Your Enemy; Bruce Forsyth)

1 Fish in a Barrel Time 44 Years with the Same Bird – a Liverpudlian Love Affair by Brian Reade I recently reminded someone that complaining about Mickey Quinn and the rest of Talksport’s output is similar to going out of your way to a pub toilet that you know is blocked with faecal matter and then complaining to the owner about the smell. You’ll know that it’s blocked; you know that it stinks of shit and yet you’ve taken a bus to go there.

There’s no point. I felt a bit of a hypocrite because I’d just finished reading an Oxfamsupplied (preManchester riots, of course) book by the loveable Daily Mirror/Jack the Lad footballing columnist Brian Reade. ’44 Years with the same Bird’ WSAG24

outlines Mr Reade’s life and career using his fondness for the Liverpool football club as a backdrop and series of handy metaphors for his trials and tribulations - from the days of ‘Shanks’ right up to golden renaissance of the Rafalution.

Reade’s column in the Mirror gives the impression that he’s one of us; an iconoclastic working man made good, who loves his ‘footie’ and sees his LFC support as a further symbol of his everyman status. There’s the odd kind word for Everton and its fans, but much like the rest of these ‘reasonable reds’, it allows for patronising on a grand scale, and also gives him licence to fling his favourite phrase ‘bitter Blues’ into his writing on any given occasion. It’s bad enough when one of their usual ‘it’s their success, so it must be my success’ idiot fans use this lazy, boring stereotype and cliché, but for a professional writer to embrace its use, it’s just an embarrassment.

The book has some good passages, and he’s obviously very good on Hillsborough and pretty honest when it comes to his summation of Heysel. If you weren’t too bothered about its LFC angle, parts of the book could be describing

the experiences of fans of any number of clubs; but ‘Fever Pitch’ it ain’t.

The book’s title is an ok pun. Unfortunately, you soon realise that the ‘bird’ double meaning is purloined from one of the kop’s crazy banners and is in fact, somebody else’s joke. Reade acknowledges this in his ‘thanks’ page near the front of the book, but you wouldn’t know this from looking at the cover of the book.

It reminded me of Bruce Forsyth’s producer saying that if one of The Generation Game’s contestants got an unscripted laugh at the start of the programme, Bruce had instructed his director to get a close up of Bruce himself looking exasperated.

Someone else makes the joke: Bruce gets the laugh.

2 The Incalculable Effect Bruce Forsyth Has Had On My Life (Vol 4) August 15th 1979 My mother and father had gone on holiday for two weeks and stupidly left me in charge. A party was organised and some crap charts singles were borrowed so that ‘the kids’ could dance.

Some were not as successful as I’d hoped. ‘If I Had You’ by The Korgis: shit, ‘dancefloor’ emptier, not a slowie by any stretch. ‘Reunited’

by Peaches and Herb: excellent, top-flight slowie, an arse-grabber. Anything decent (The Jam/The Clash/The Pistols) – “Get that shite off!” Anything hideous: The Nolans, Patrick Hernandez, Anita Ward – received with rapture.

Some shit people turned up at that party, I can tell you.

Because the girl I had been pining for was not there, I had to find other sources of entertainment. The girl in question had gone to stay in her mate’s mother’s caravan in North Wales and was probably being pleasured by the local punks and skins and rastas while I was sitting there being faithful and spinning the latest discs by Randy Vanwarmer and Kandidate.

Being bored and craving attention, I invented a game called ‘Bruce Forsyth’. There was a street light at the back of our house that used to get on my tits something rotten and is the reason why I

sleep in what is effectively a light-free tomb to this day. Sometimes the local feral youth would break it and give me some respite, but on this fine summer night it was illuminated and provided an excellent backdrop for my newly-invented game.

‘Bruce Forsyth’ consisted of drinking heavily and then climbing the high wall at the top of our house, before pulling Bruce’s ‘The Thinker’ pose so that you created a silhouette against the light and threw a giant Brucie shadow on to the wall of our house.

Once the relatively minor comedy value was removed, the only interesting aspect of ‘Bruce Forsyth’ was whether you had the courage to climb up the wall, and pull what is a fairly complex pose without falling into the back entry and breaking your neck.

I thought that once I’d got the required attention that would be it, but no: all of the lads started to form a queue to do their own impression of Bruce. I left them to it, went back to the party and copped off with a young lady who’d been impressed by being so near to the fabulous world of showbiz. I’d forgotten my lovesickness, but I’m pretty sure that the woman I’d pined for was at that very moment being fingered in the Robin Hood Camp by ‘Daz’, a heavy metal fan from Connah’s Quay.

Outside ‘Bruce Forsyth’ was going strong and (apparently) other classic 70s impressions (Jimmy Savile / Denis Healey / Frank Spencer / Jimmy Frizzell) were being added to the cabaret.

I think it stopped about four o’clock – no police were involved but Flo, the hideous creature who lived in one of the houses opposite had come out in her underwear and had frightened the lads into stopping.

When the folks came home, I was browbeaten to death for the antics of ‘the lads'. Flo had been round and had told me ma about how the cabaret had taken a more adult turn with some of the lads deciding to drop their kecks and undies to WSAG25

expose their genitalia and buttocks as both silhouettes and giant shadows.

It was only the thought of not being a grass that had stopped Flo informing the police when one young gentleman (Mick, an Evertonian) had dropped his kecks and tried to use his ‘private parts’ to imitate General de Gaulle saluting the masses before falling into the back entry. He told me later that he’d gone straight home after his fall, because he had fallen into some dog shit and (in his words) “had nearly ripped my cock off on one of the bins”.

Although he landed in dog shit and almost emasculated himself, Mick had to admit that ‘Bruce Forsyth’ was a good game. Good game!

but, no, it was printed by Pan, the company who had given me so much pleasure with their many-volumed ‘Pan Book of Horror Stories’ in the seventies. Pan’s Horror books were eventually banned from school libraries because of their garish, horrible covers. The irony wasn’t lost on me.

Reade’s Mirror column goes out to the whole country, but the people of Garstang (all of them, (presumably) are portrayed as subhumans who “gave interbreeding a bad name”, and hilariously: “They didn’t hold a Miss Garstang contest; they just gave a cup to any girl who had less than two heads.”

And with that a humour bar is set to Olympian standards.

The nun in charge of his junior school was “a hatchet-faced Grim Reaperette” (whatever that may be). Sister Immaculata’s vow of chastity was made “slightly redundant by the fact that God had yet to create a male desperate enough to give her one.”

3 Anyway…

Reade’s first match is Bolton away in the mid-sixties. He gets called a ‘dick’ for not understanding its importance. Nobody used this word in this manner at that time. Obviously nobody can remember conversations verbatim, but anachronistic slang use suggests embellishment and therefore it’s difficult to believe any reported speech from the rest of the book.

The Centenary Stand (Row 6) recently: “Kenny’s brought pride and haaaaaaaaaaaart back to this club, ‘a’ swear down.”

WSAG26

The writer lives in Garstang at the start of the book. The locals are both ‘hillbillies’ and ‘woollybacks’ as Mr Reade tries to prove his Scouse credentials to his mates who would be reading this book. I looked at the cover again, thinking that ’44 Years’ had been published by the Scottie Road Press or some such parochial publisher,

Later on, he tells us that Graeme Souness shook his hand so firmly it felt as “withered as Jeremy Beadle’s”.

It’s such crude, unfunny misogyny, meanness of spirit and stereotyping that makes some of his heartfelt pleas later on in the book difficult to stomach.

Like I say, some parts of the book are quite interesting if you are prepared to remove your blinkers, but Reade spews out the party line at every opportunity, along with the embarrassing sentimental, quasi-religious bullshit that makes any sane human being feel repulsed at the way these idiots would have you believe that the trophies their team has won is in some way their achievement.

After Rome in ’84, Liverpool are “an unstoppable spiritual force” and “more than just another football club”. In ’85 “We’re not

England. We’re not hooligans. We’ve got history and respect, knowledge and class.”

I think it’s the ‘we’ that does it. Reade isn’t one of the fatties you’ll see in one of their horrible replica kits with his hands in his shorts fiddling with brains outside of Lidl. If so, I could understand the need to claim an appearance in the 1914 FA Cup final as one of his achievements, but he’s one of the country’s highest-paid columnists and thus his ‘you and me against the werrrrlllld’ philosophy is almost as pathetic as him reminding us of the ‘ignorant hordes who support mediocre clubs’ who try to remind him that “Barnes only turns it on for Liverpool.”

It’s a brilliant concept, isn’t it? You support a less successful club, so you’re as ignorant as your club is mediocre. At these times, I’m always reminded of every phony glory-hunting football fan who is such a waste of space that he’s started supporting a team to bolster his lack of self-worth, self-esteem and lack of moral fibre.

I’m also reminded of WSAG regular, ‘The Dog Catcher’ - one of the cleverest minds you’ll ever meet, a proud Brentford fan, and a keen witchfinder general of the sort of sporting bollocks that Reade espouses.

I’m also reminded of ‘TC’ from my old school. I won’t reveal his name, but he was an Everton fan who went to lots of away games with us (despite being a pretty horrible person – and that’s not just said in retrospect), who became a Liverpool fan in his mid-thirties because (I presume) they were more successful.

What an arsehole.

According to Reade, watching Liverpool “can almost be like a masonic experience” because “you’re part of an exclusive sect” – you know, you wear similar insignia to each other and chant some fairly individual chants and that. I mean no other team could claim that sort of exclusivity, could they?

was trying to find a chemist for whatever ailed her. Being versed in such things, I asked the extremely-limited-English taxi driver to take us to a ‘drug store’.

“Drugs? No drugs!” he said, using about 20% of his vocabulary.

“No! Drug STORE! My friend is sick, ‘malade’, errr….” I made a vomiting mime.

“Ah! Sick! I take you drug store!”

The fucker drove us all over the show, carefully avoiding anywhere where a drug store might be located.

“Where you from?” he asked.

“England.”

“Where, England?”

I broke the habit of a lifetime and told him ‘Liverpool’. At worst, I expected some sort of Beatles-type “Do you know Ringo?” shenanigans.

“Ahh! Lee-va-pull! He stopped the cab, fished out his wallet and showed me some manky picture of the Unstoppable Spiritual Force.

“Kenny Da-gleesh!” he shouted with glee.

I wanted to cry. My girlfriend groaned with whatever ailed her. I reminded the man from the masonic brotherhood of the pressing need for a drug store. He laughed, put his picture back in his wallet, switched his radio back on and Billy Ray Cyrus figuratively filled the cab. It could have been worse. If he’d have put THAT song on a cassette, it would have been Leslie Grantham time.

In 1986 Reade tells us that “We’d won the double” and “we hailed Kenny for his astonishing achievement”, and the book becomes a sort of Al Qaeda anti—LFC handbook for all football fans and anyone else who’s sat in their company and

I remember almost being inculcated into the fabulous LFC masonic cult. I was in Boston with an old girlfriend of mine; by ‘older’ I mean ’former’ – it wasn’t some Harold and Maude scenario, if you’re wondering. And it was Boston, Massachusetts and not Boston, Lincolnshire, which is the UK’s capital obesity, fat fact fans.

Anyway, girlfriend was sick, and I WSAG27

watched out how a curious ideolect takes over, where strange million- aires they’ve never met are discussed on first-name terms and where Evertonians are “the bitterest of blues”.

When his son decides that he wants to be an Evertonian, Freddie Mercury at Liverpool 1 Brian has to recently: an Evertonian because he go along with was gay. it to show what a great guy he is. It also allows him to make churlish remarks about Everton and to give himself lots of material for his weekly column, of course – a column which is so good that it’s quoted on several occasions throughout the book.

A strange brand of homophobia takes over when Brian states that his son telling him that he was an Evertonian “was on par with him telling me he was gay”.

And (Bri quotes from his column) “As long as it stopped him dressing up in frocks, well there are worse teams to support than Everton.”

Very fucking enlightened in this day and age.

Brian tells us (via another reprinted section of his excellent, forthright column) that following LFC has “brought me more joy than sex”. Again, strange, and more than a little disconcerting.

If you like football more than sex, you’re either doing it wrong or with the wrong person. Or a kopite. Brazil ’70 at their ‘pomp’ were nowhere near as good as my most lackadaisical ‘rumpo’.

Sorry, Bri – and Kenny, and Nando and Barnesy and Aldo and Stevie G and Garry Gillespie-o.

Son Phil eventually does a ‘TC’ and moves over to the dark side. He starts doing all the things that beget a red* to make his dad proud. They finally bond at Istanbul, and if the tears are not running down your legs when you read Brian’s WSAG28

description of his ‘Big Paternal Speech’ (as he calls it), you must have a heart of stone: I grabbed Phil harder than I’d ever grabbed him and pulled him so close his face touched mine, in order for him to hear every single word I was about to yell to him above the ear-splitting bedlam.

“Look at that scoreboard. Look at the score; 3-3. Look at the words: Liverpool, Champions. And remember how it looked at half-time. And how you were dead inside. And whenever you feel life’s beaten you, think of that scoreboard, and realise that anything, anything is possible. Will you do that for me?”

He nodded.

I gulped.

I farted.

Just deconstruct that speech in your own mind.

Were they the exact words? If so, how come he can repeat them verbatim? Did he add the extra ‘anything’ in spoken italics? Are the actions of some millionaire footballers really indicative of ‘anything is possible’ in life? Would you want them to be?

Could you imagine saying/writing/repeating in a book anything that was so TV movie-style awful in its dreadful sentimentality and plain wrongness to elicit anything but embarrassment and hiding behind the sofa for all concerned?

Well, that’s the world of the delusional reds and their mock religion. According to Brian, ‘The Miracle of Istanbul’ is “the greatest moment of my life”. Like most men and women, I’d put the birth of my child as the greatest moment of my life, and although everything is relative and personal to the individual, I’d put my own modest achievements and moments of personal happiness before the achievements of some footballers.

“But you can’t be a proper football/Everton fan,” you might be saying.

I fucking well am. I’ve paid my dues, experienced the despair and the joy, and I’m still there, week after week. But there’s no delusion; there’s no false sentimentality and there was never any propensity for believing in this sort of self-mythologising, quasi-religious bullshit even when Everton were clearly the best team in the country.

I could go on forever about why this is a bad book. Howard Gayle was one of the few black players who had represented LFC until ‘Barnsey’

broke the mould. “And none had played for Everton.” Apart from Cliff Marshall, that is. It’s not an obscure fact for those like Reade who grew up in the seventies.

When the dreadful clichéd (“I was dancing like a loon on acid”) or just plain horrible figurative language doesn’t appal, there’s always the descriptions of his great mates/Heysel travelling companions such as ‘Roy’ – “a no-nonsense centre-half from Bootle who’d nutted many a student in his role as the lynchpin of the Warwick Scousers’ defence”.

Such Paul Calfisms are probably not the best things to have written when you are about to come to terms with the after-effects of football-related violence.

And learn to spell – ‘chauffer’ is just plain wrong; ‘puss’ does not come out of a boil (however big that boil may be), and what the fuck a ‘jaxey’ might be is anybody’s business.

Reade tells us that “We’re football fans after all. Shallow beasts who gorge on success.”

Yup – all of us.

My favourite bit of assumed and highly debatable truth occurs when Reade meets the man who sold out to ‘Dem Yanks’ - none other than ‘hippy’ multi-millionaire David Moores. Moores berates Reade for driving him out of the club: “Well you got what you wanted, anyway. Me gone.”

And I couldn’t resist it: “You got what you wanted too, David. Eighty-eight million quid’s-worth.”

Now, though obvious, this is a tremendous comeback on Reade’s behalf. Unfortunately, the next part spoils it, and provides the second best unintentional laugh of the book: His features hardened. “It was never about money with me. You know that.”

Which was true.

I looked at the imaginary camera and was glad that there were only a few pages to go. I couldn’t take much more of this, brilliant as it was.

It was true. Brian believed it. Moores-o believed it. I believed it. There must have been a page missing where Moores-o either burned the 88

David Moores: remembers the back streets of Naples – and Tommo, Smigger, Macca, Nando and Barnsey

million or gave it away, because it was never about the money.

The book ends by comparing Bill Shankly AND Rafa Benitez with “the risen Christ”; it is a piece of writin is so crass and offensive in its stupidity and lack of irony that I’m still refusing to believe that I actually read it.

There’s only one quote about the book on the back cover: ’44 Years’ is “Brilliantly incisive and profoundly entertaining.”

Hmmm, I’d have to disagree with that, but who am I to argue?

It WAS from the Daily Mirror, after all.

Saint Vespaluus *This is the new interactive WSAG, so fill in your own Top 10 Things that Beget a Kopite at this point. Marks are deducted for clichés (pissing in pockets; blaming Chelsea), but you can score marks for golden oldies (the fella fighting with fatty while he has a ciggy in his mouth) and you get double marks for outing phony kopites like Jason Isaacs and Snoop Dogg/Scooby Doggy Dog. Best/worst of all is the discovery that Bolsover MP Dennis Skinner also considers himself a red. Skinner tells Brian Reade that he has supported LFC since the sixties, because “Shankly made them a good socialist side.” ‘kinell – I’ve alwas had a bit of respect for ‘The Beast’, you only need to scratch the surface with these people and something horrible always pops out.

Next issue: Tony Benn tells WSAG why (Jamie) Carra (gher – La’) was better than Hugh Gaitskell.

WSAG29

over the summer.

“We have a bit of banter, that’s what the atmosphere of the club is all about” said Coleman, whilst Neville had apparently actively encouraged his team mates to join up “to increase interaction with supporters” but warned young players of the dangers of social networking.

Follow, Follow, Follow This article should only really be a couple of lines long.

In fact, once I get to 140 characters that should be it, and unless you can use that tmi website then we are done.

However, thankfully, we are using the somewhat old-fashioned communicative method of actually writing more than the box will allow and therefore, according to the editor's discretion, I hopefully have a bit more space than the Twitter 'tweet' function will allow.

The birds outside my flat certainly do not tweet in such short messages - but they also don't seem to live in the world we do where civil unrest, war and every other problem we have, is blamed on social media messaging. Earlier in the summer, the rumours of a superstar's dalliances were spread via no marks' musings on whims online, and the furore that ensues makes headlines much bigger than those a fanzine not too far away caused when discussing in passing no more than a local DJ's personality and faced legal action.

Anyway Twitter was been on my mind for a while now, not because of celebrity scandals but because I am concerned that it has overtaken Facebook as the most dangerous aspect of our media-rich society. Its role in the events of early August seemed to go some way to confirming this, when masked youths apparently swapped information on their intentions via their mobiles and scared residents of South Liverpool shared their concerns as events unfolded outside.

Of course, I didn't think it evil during the Everton pre-season tours when I was fascinated by and felt quite privileged to observe the various photos sent by our squad members and the conversations between them.

The trips to Austria and USA were notable for the tweets that Messrs Neville, Cahill, Coleman, Distin and even Duffy, Wallace and Heitinga shared with their followers over the weeks abroad, so much so that we felt we were there with them throughout the tour, and the ECHO saw fit to devote a double page spread of its Everton season preview to what the players were saying to each other WSAG30

These conversations highlight that the team spirit seems as strong as ever, despite some of the worrying stories emanating from Goodison and circulating the city over the summer, and a lack of signings whilst others splashed the cash... but I am sure that many other writers in this issue will have discussed this. Although I am yet to read Mick Rathbone’s excellent sounding book, I believe that in it he touches on the brilliant team spirit at Everton. This has seemed to be the case for a few years now, presumably Mr Moyes has helped garner it and it has resulted in several last minute victories, wild celebrations, and a lack of training ground bust-up rumours.

I find this interesting when compared to other teams, for whom the spirit does not seem as strong, and then a little closer to home and my relationships with my own colleagues. In a department of nine, I am the only Blue, six are Kopites and generally are gobshites, and the other two are oddballs and do not seem interested in football. We all get on ok, and a very difficult year when at one point we would be going up against each other for the same jobs but thankfully avoided the situation (for now) seems to have brought us closer together in terms of working team spirit, but generally I find them irritating and arrogant and certainly don’t want to converse with most of them online or anywhere else when we are out of the workplace.

All the stereotype Red behaviours are there in abundance: the loudmouth who only goes to the big games, the one who celebrates victories

but probably couldn’t name a player, the one who thinks they know it all and loves to make controversial statements, the one who pretends to be a supporter when it suits, and the worst of the lot, he who spends all day on you guessed it, Twitter.

It was worst at the start of the summer, pretty much every day I would come in to some inane conversation involving the old guy from the department upstairs (another Red) who came down every fucking day to ask what rumours the BBC Sport gossip page was sharing every morning and then who was tweeting what, before divulging his own Boot Room secrets from a source within Melwood.

Surely, some footballers must dislike their team mates deeply, and grow tiresome of their annoying habits? There are said to be many examples of this happening, even at Everton – famously, Tony Adams expressed his surprise at Duncan allegedly telling him to kick Mickael Madar in his autobiography – but when they are on the pitch, just like when our working day begins, we can put on a united front.

Going back to Twitter, we do of course have to be careful what we put on it, because, just as with those young criminals committing different acts on unsuspecting shopkeepers and car owners, others are always following, reading and watching. Joey Barton has recreated himself in my eyes due to his online honesty and regular Morrissey quoting but with Jose Enrique has, at the time of writing, alienated himself from his own workplace with critical

5 grim areas of Warrington 1. Dallam 2. Greenwood estate 3. Orford 4. Longford 5. Westy 5 flamboyant Liverpool characters 1. Pete Price 2. Herbert 3. Rex Makin 4. Sir Des Pitcher 5. Actor Dean Sullivan 5 magazines that don’t exist anymore 1. The Face 2. Select 3. The Hit 4. Jamming

comments, meaning that the club decided to warn every member of staff they would be breaching their contract should they speak out against what the club was doing. Others have done this in the past of course, from Darren Bent to that lower league player who said he wanted his club’s fans to die, whilst the likes of Glen Johnson, Ryan Babel, Konchesky’s mum and Mr Rooney have all made well known mistakes (the latter saying he would put a follower to sleep in ten seconds) which shows footballers still have a lot to learn in terms of internet etiquette.

Even managers are now in on the act, with one understandably banning his players from the site and another – when discussing someone on Twitter pretending to be him, asked “what’s the point? Go outside and have an ice cream, get a life mate...” Four Four Two last month did a piece on these imitators, who take on players’ personalities, which although sometimes humorous, are the ultimate postmodern bad idea given the threat of legal action and identity fraud charges.

No, I say stick to fanzines – much more space, probably more readers, you can be clever and offend people who will never read it... It really is the best way of airing your views especially if you use a different pseudonym every month.

5. Sounds

Eric Arthur Blair

some random fives

5 old football fanzines 1. Intifada 2. Gwladys Sings The Blues 3. Off The Ball 4. The Square Ball 5. Hit The Bar 5 Carry-ons 1. Carry On Screaming 2. Carry On Abroad 3. Carry On Matron 4. Carry On Doctor 5. Carry On Camping 5 Riots 2011 things 1. Theres nothing more depressing than seeing young

kids wrecking their own impoverished areas.

2. Its interesting to see how many peoples prejudices come leaping out of the closet.

3. Why does anybody who looks for solutions to social ills immediately get branded a bleeding heart liberal.

4. Who did the EDL think they were kidding when offering their services to the big clean up?

5. There seems to be a lot of people around our age who seem to be conveniently forgetting their own youthful escapades.

WSAG31

angles containing only houses means its unlikely many Evertonians ever - with a little help from my friends (at google map) ventured any further round the ground. Doing so My earliest recollection of a treat on a shopping trip to town was Hobbies for dinky toys, lego on google you'd say 'quite right' as it all looks and the like, then Jack Sharps to look at fairly rough but maybe its this ghost ground football boots when I was a bit older. Also that makes the place look so eerie.

There are places I remember

Walton Vale had Walvale Cycles for subbuteo teams and Ali Baba records for the latest T Rex and Slade offerings. However by my teens the highlight for me was always nipping into a newsagents for a quick five minute browse.

Now you may be thinking ah teenager the top shelf which may have been more normal, however I confess that my fetish was for the London A to Z . I probably got to know the page numbers where to find the likes of Highbury and Upton Park and on each occasion I would have a quick look at the London grounds, trying to work out the nearest tube station and routes back etc for future years.

And so on to 2011 and now I've visited those grounds countless times I've well grown out of the habit of my teens. Except that I realised on the evening of May Day Bank Holiday that I hadn't when I found myself on the internet finding out exactly where Swansea's new ground was. Times have certainly moved on from the A to Z and now you can google in using street view to take a walk down the road, spinning round to check all directions in case there's a hidden pub down a side road or a dodgey housing estate lurking in the distance.

The walk from the town centre north to the Liberty Stadium looks pretty daunting by the way!

Whilst visiting the city on line, I thought back to the old ground visited twice in the 1980s that was over the west side of the city. But you'd have to drive round for ages trying to follow any road signs, it was near the front and a gaol so that might help. But this is 2011 on line so we just pick up google man and plonk him down close to where the old ground may have been. And spot on as I spin round from my landing there is the Duke of Glamorgan, possibly the first pub I ever went in at an away match, across the road from a big grey brick wall like a castle stretching off down two roads from this corner junction, the prison. Edging up the road past the pub, sure this was where the away end was proves correct when to the right is a small street leading to the old ground and the bricked up turnstiles of the visitors terracing. That this is Richardson Street is ironic given that our last ever scorer at this ground was Kevin. With the ground seemingly dropped into a mass of small terraced streets at all WSAG32

So that was the Vetch Field first visited in 81/82, thiry years ago, however I now had the appetite for more and decided on a mission to try and find the other grounds we played at that year that are no longer with us.

Morecambe was on the main road in from the motorway heading in to town, we found the ground by chance as we din't have a clue where it was when we played there pre season 81.

Let’s try Lancaster Road and head into town.

Result. Five seconds later I can see the stand in the distance, its still there as they've only just moved. Christie Avenue to the left reminds me that the ground was called Christie Park, Lathom Avenue to the right that looks like where we parked. In 1981 a flag disappeared from the roof of the Main Stand on our visit but now the Main Stand has disappeared itself.

Whilst Evertonians accepted the blame for the former I don't think we can the latter! The other three stands are visible from the main road but these weren't there in 81 when it was very much a small northern premier ground and unable to cope with a pitch invasion minutes from the end when returning manager Howard Kendall scored our third goal prompting the

referee to signal for full time. I don't continue into town unlike my only previous visit, on that day when returning to the ground the team bus passed prompting us to run after it to catch it at the ground. Some blues in front were startled and thought they were getting chased by locals - anyone own up to that?

One of our first away league matches of 81 was at Southampton so I type this in hit search and the old area of The Dell comes into sight.

Fire. We land outside the Winston pub on the corner, which still has the low walls and plenty of garden space outside, many benches and unlike what you'd expect from most pubs deserted by a football club appears to be doing quite well. As for where the ground was well that too has changed unlike others in that rather than tall stands being replaced by lower houses, the small stands have been replaced by larger apartment buildings. This ground always was strange, terracing either on top of other terracing or behind bench seats in many areas.

The other away pub nearer the old stand entrances for our latter visits has either gone or can't be found, its possibly just a garden of large trees now, but the alleyway that led down to their main entrances and the car park is still there as part of this new development, so time for a quick look down at what was the home end. The school is still on the corner and its more fancy apartments down here too with an archway to drive under that would lead you onto where the pitch would be. Google isn't allowed to walk through here though so our journey around The Dell ends at this point.

Forgetting we can go anywhere just as fast it seems logical to travel to Brighton next. This promises to be tough to find. From the map view Hove Park can be spotted and there is a memory that the entrance to the away end was right opposite. Zooming in so as to face the park there is anticipation, wondering what remains of the Goldstone Ground when completing a 180 degree turn. A retail park full of the usual suspects who won't get any free advertising space in this article! There was a pub walking away from town that I have probably been in less time than any other I have been in (if I think of another I will let you know), it was about five seconds that three of us stayed in there prior to our April 83 match, the fact that everyone in the pub turned and stared at us in the doorway led to a quick decision that maybe we weren't welcome. And even though its on-line I am still reluctant to cross the road any further or to zoom in any closer just in case their hard cases are still drinking in there. It was our last ever match there in 83, a week before they had an FA Cup Semi, and was as always with Clive Thomas referee a lively affair. Winning 1-0 they got a penalty in the last minute which saw bookings

for Sharp, Johnson and Bailey. Jim Arnold saved which had us dancing around until realisng that it had to be retaken as he had moved. They equalised. Think one of us had a goal disallowed too not sure it was chaos in the final minute, especially when Kevin Sheedy scored a very late winner. Google confirmed that it was a road of nice houses probably Victorian or something, typical of a resort, to walk back to the station, what wasn't nice was when we were attacked from behind by the angry mob of home fans, it's true that Everton had to run to get away, as google reveals avoiding the trees and straight through at the crossroads.

Sunderland and we home in on the Roker area of town. We see the park next to where the coaches parked close to the sea front and remember there was a low pub with big glass windows on the way to the ground. Let’s try Roker Bath Roads, I land exactly outside the New Derby which still has the big windows meaning you can see right inside it reminds me a bit of the Elm Tree near Goodison or further afield the Windmill in Kirkby. Think I only ever went in the once, it was the last ever game played there in May 97 when we didn’t want to spoil their party so let them win 3-0. Not only has the ground gone but the surrounding terraced houses too, its all modern houses at the Roker End, so its not possible to locate exactly where the ground was but it was only a minute or so along from the pub. I do take a right into Grantham Street and as I reach the top there are older houses and buildings so I realise that the corner I had turned earlier was in fact where our away support was penned in for a number of years. I have a quick look over the other side of the ground and its still very much like the streets around L4 4EL, I also now realise that Ashdale Grove is where the ground was and this is all detached houses with driveways and garages, wonder who Ashdale was I'd have thought Stokoe Grove more suitable. Before leaving though I have to pop up the short distance to the sea front as I'm sure when the coaches went out that way there was a beach and even illuminations but that can't be right. Guest Houses just on from where the coaches parked suggests I am right and not only is there a beach but I spot a jetty stretching out some distance into the sea and remember remarking that some more souls must have been chased up there sometime.

There are still over half of the grounds to do, Covenrtry, Arsenal, Stoke, Man City, Middlesbrough and a final return to South Wales as we did visit Newport twice in 1982.

Can cover them in the next issue, no cheating and having a look for yourself though.

The Overseas Correspondent (at home) WSAG33

“Hey there Mister Blue...”

Some Moores or less of modern Evertonia: No.1 (of a few) - PASS THE DUTCHY It’s the fault of at least four of you twisted Olivers. I’d finished my rambling.

You wanted more. Eat gruel, kids. * Memo to occasional/first time WSAGer: I spent the last two seasons writing a 14-parter about the hyzenlowze of my first 20 years as an Evertonian twixt 67 and 87. It ended jarringly at the May 87 title win. For a reason. Because, to my then 20-year-old eyes, Everton (regardless of the Euro ban) were set to dominate.

Within weeks Kendall MK1 left, the rot began and, apart from a beautiful late spring in 1995, it’s fair to say it’s eaten away now for a quarter century. I’m used to it but it still numbs me, especially as I couldn’t see it coming back then.

So, to justify (if needed) more ramblings, I’ll re-invoke again the great name of F.P.McConville (RIP), whose fine WSAG pen once told me about how things had been for Blues before my time. I’d now like to think I can do similar for Blues much younger than me via these reflections.

Unlike that last series, though, this is the flip-side of an Evertonian experience. The A-side was “on the pitch” (which, achingly, is all Evertonians ever yearn to chew). But this B-side is “off the pitch”, chiefly the boardroom.

So, dear Younger Blue; or even dear Older “I’d forgotten that bit” Blue; or dear Just Battered Beyond Submission Blue, this is hopefully some semblance of a joined-up answer (among many probably) to what has, sadly, become the ultimate Evertonian question: “How did this happen?”

It can’t be definitive. But if I help your head, or provide leads to follow, be my guest. With respect to every history of Everton FC ever written - and I love my bookshelves dearly they’re short on the murky side of our Dixieland heritage. Understandable. But, given the mess of current Evertonia, perhaps it’s time to keep pressing the calculator square root button to see what answers emerge about who is/was to blame.

Some say “Kenwrong”. Others “it was Johnson”.

But - and as much as I loathed the latter of those and would like just to pin it all on him – my mind can’t help but draw Boschian bigger WSAG34

pictures. It’s the mental hod-weight of nerdism.

For I can only view my Evertonianism as one unfolding whole since 1967.

Which is why, through the prism of the characters (a word used loosely) of our modern era chairmen, I’m harking back to when I was born. Because maybe the answers, or parts of, lay much further back than “Blue Bill’s Panto” or the “PJ’s ‘DJ Spuddles’ Show”. Perhaps that sub-headline (up top) indicates where my mind’s headed. Rizlas by the door - could be a long one. * Everton chairman: Mr E. Holland-Hughes (1965-67). The players called him “Dutchy” (btw, I won’t mither these pieces with attributable Harvard referencing; but if you’ve got any “where does that bit come from?” questions, then send the WSAG lads a mail and they can forward-it and I’ll do my level to help).

That catchy moniker wasn’t just a measure of the standard of humour in Everton’s 1966 dressing room, when I was still safe in my Ma’s womb (said I was going back!) but also reflected the double-barreled, Bluechip-old-Tory custodianship of Everton’s bigchair then.

An Everton pub quiz standard: “Who was chairman when we won the Cup in 66?”. Most, understandably, say “John Moores”. But some smart-bottom in the corner pipes-up with “Holland-Hughes” (cue beermat frisbeed into grid). “Ey? Oo?” Indeed it was “Dutchy” and you could claim that, along with (teeth-grittingly) Peter Johnson, this pinstripe solicitor, stalwart of Liverpool’s Law Society since pre-WWII days, was, percentage-wise, trophy-wise, Everton’s most successful chairman.

For he wasn’t long in the bigchair Dutchy; but he oversaw one of the most magical days in Everton history. No doubt he was a true Evertonian. Fact. And deserved his sunny Wembley day (well timed because he was six feet under by 1967). He’d been a director at Everton through the 50s and earlier. And perhaps was one of the most pivotal figures -

up with the likes of George Mahon - in Everton’s entire history? Yet few Blues have heard of him.

Moreover, you could argue - I just might - that the very reason he became Everton chairman in 1965 (under sad circumstances) was an early indicator of the roots of the inertia that has now crippled us for near 50 years and, however circuitously, has contributed to this brown legacy mess. * I’d love to trawl even further into Everton’s mists (don’t tempt me) but there’s really no need. Because there’s a convenient “year zero” slap in the middle(ish) of our history.

Enter John Moores. Let’s face it, you can divide Everton into four phases over 133 years: the first half century pre-WWII; the post-war chaos and our most ignominious period; the Moores (and family) era from 1960 to 1994; and this post-Moores meltdown.

But have we ever truly been in a “post-Moores era” these last 17 nonsensical years?

Good luck dissecting that.

However, seeing as Moores assumed control just seven years before I was born, I may as well wind my answers-seeking clock just a bit further back to mid-1960.

Especially given that the fella who first proposed Moores to join, bankroll and control us was also the man who’d be, technically, my first Everton chairman - ole Dutch himself. He’d been Moores’ and Littlewoods’ solicitor since 1932. But it wasn’t only through Dutchy that Everton had links to the brewstered Littlewoods empire prior to Moores’ eventual conquest of us in 1960.

Another long-time Moores mate (from his Manchester youth), one Colin Henry Littlewood Askham (after whom the company was named; who had invited Moores to the 1933 FA Cup Final versus Manchester City) had been an Everton shareholder for 30 years by the time he dutifully resigned from our board in 1960 (on account of Moores’ arrival), which he’d served from 1955. Pretty clear, then, that Littlewoods heads influenced Everton matters well before Moores finally poured cash in.

And most probably the likes of Dutchy and Askham touted Everton to Moores in the hope that we’d finally able to benefit large from his millions. That we did so is indisputably thanks (partly or wholly) to Dutchy’s influence on Moores, who really could have plumped for either Everton or Liverpool at any point in the 13 years since post-war footy resumed in 1946/47. Moores had still been empire-building in the years between founding Littlewoods in 1923 and the war’s kick-off in 1939. He was then undoubtedly occupied on national business during hostilities. But come the mid-to-late 50s, he was not only cemented as a multi-millionaire in his prime but was ripe for an expensive toy.

Given his footy fondness, it was natural he’d fund a Merseyside club. * My hunch is that if Liverpool hadn’t been relegated in 1954 and then spent eight years emerging from their pit (oh the shame), then Moores may just as easily have bought them instead. He was a major shareholder on both sides of the park and was clearly hedging bets.

There’s also evidence to suggest he tried to wangle onto Liverpool’s board but was blocked by their chairman, T.V. Williams (actually a mate of Moores). For instance, Moores had earlier been directly responsible, in 1955, for easing one Bob Paisley into his fateful (for Evertonians) employment with Liverpool.

He also proposed that a Littlewoods accountant, Eric Sawyer, joined their board (this bloke sadly became the key go-between figure to smooth Shankly’s notorious Clough-style daily battles with Liverpool’s directors). Fair to say, then, that Moores’ paws were as much over Liverpool as Everton from at least the mid-50s.

It’s claimed that Moores, since first moving to Liverpool from Manchester, had always been an Evertonian. I think that’s dodgy. I reckon he first supported local football and swung both ways. Maybe I’m miles off, though, and perhaps it was Moores’ Bluer leanings that prompted his red mate, T.V. Williams, to block him from getting an Anfield board seat. Then again, he WSAG35

did appear to be coincidentally patient in seemingly waiting for Liverpool to get back up.

But eight years was a stretch. By 1960, with an itchy wallet, he finally had to decide. With Liverpool looking like 2nd division furniture, Everton were the prestige bet. No doubt about it, we suddenly became an early 60s “Chelsea” (the Man City comparison is way too short) and, however you see it, it’s fact that just two full seasons later we ended our 23-year (war-interrupted) longest ever (so far) trophy drought.

Some say we bought the League. Others say Johnny ‘Ranieri’ Carey was already on the right lines and Moores just put cherries on the cake.

Whatever. Moores made sure we won that title.

And made sure he pumped cash into the stadium to ensure Everton remained at English footy’s top table.

That Goodison was earmarked, from 1964, for World Cup 1966 host stadium status was exactly the vicarious kudos Moores craved. Undoubtedly, Everton

was Moores’ club and, at the time, and through most of the 60s, we were all the better for it.

To suggest otherwise is Everton revisionism of the most pointless order; and probably not many Blues would argue that Moores’ initial Everton years were anything other than good.

He held Everton in an iron grip, though. It showed when he had to relinquish the chairmanship in 1965. It also showed right up to his death in 1993. And it’s arguable we’re still suffering that fallout 18 years later. * The biography of Moores, written in 1993, was so obsequious that you really note the few parts that dare to benignly criticise him. In relating how Moores nearly died in 1947 meningitis - the author bluntly says: “He delegated for the first time”. The ambiguous WSAG36

reference is clearly to Littlewoods Retail (for he’d given Pools control to his brother Cecil in 1932, once he’d founded the shopping business). But if it’s true that he then took another 15 years to delegate, then it reveals his managerial style (but hey, it obviously worked at least for him!).

Even so, while he recovered from a serious brush with death, he indicated, not for the last time, how little faith he had in anyone other than himself (long story, but I’ve got copies of business lunch speeches he gave in the 50s, 60s and 70s and there’s a truly toe-curling one in which he lampoons the ability - and effectively kills the spirit - of one of his sons, Peter, before an audience of hundreds of execs [little wonder none of his other immediate loin fruits ever successfully emulated his business prowess]). But in 1947 he was finally forced to delegate and, among the very small coterie he trusted-ish, was his long-time solicitor Dutchy.

Only natural, then, that when Moores later felt he had to resign the Everton chair in 1965 - to be with his wife, Ruby, as she unsuccessfully battled cancer - that the bloke to again step into the breach for him would be that same long-term solicitor-friend, undoubted good blue and the chap most likely responsible for him even being at the club. So that was how Dutchy was on Everton’s throne (an apt metaphor given today’s Goodison mess) when we lifted the cup in 66 and when I started bothering the world in early 67. * Maybe there’s no real story there.

Someone on Everton’s board had to assume the reins, so why not Dutch?

True. But this was history repeating (Moores again delegating only to Dutchy, like in 47) and, perhaps more then anything, it reflected the fact that he was again only appointing his own man - which he’d done before and would do time and again at both Littlewoods and Everton (ever heard of George Watts’ farcical reign at Everton? wait a few WSAGs) to the point where he effectively stifled both institutions into complacency borne of inertia, induced by terror.

That word, “terror”, was used by Moores’ biographer to describe his style. An anecdote about a senior Littlewoods exec who arrived from the US in the mid-60s (Archie Hutchinson) reveals much. “Terror could be created around the place by dropping ‘Mr John said this’ and ‘Mr John said that’. Fifty per cent of the things that were then threatened, the Old Man knew nothing about but it created this fear.” If such fear prevailed at Littlewoods, then it surely did

at Everton, for good or bad (though Johnny Carey probably had a view). So maybe it’s still ambiguous, given Dutchy’s Evertonian credentials, but a case can be made that his unopposed elevation to the chair (especially given he was getting on a bit and would soon be dead) represented little more than a puppet appointment.

Maybe it either reflected Moores’ lack of faith in the other directors; or indicated other board members’ reluctance to move onto his warm pew whilst he remained Everton’s major shareholder and bank-roller (in any case, Moores left it swinging as to whether he would return to Everton’s chair, even after his wife died; and the reality was that he didn’t until 1972 [some records say he re-assumed it in 1968 - not so according to my materials]). So perhaps there was only Dutchy who either could or would step-up as chairman whilst Moores remained the club’s wallet and, probably more pertinently, whilst he was still, even notionally, on the board.

Put it this way, although he wasn’t chairman of Everton for either the 1966 cup win or the 1970 title win (Jack Sharp took over from Dutchy in 67 and remained until June 70), he was always at the centre of the photo-action. Fair dos, he provided the coin. But there’s (at least) two ways of assessing Moores’ board-role between 1965 and 72 when he regained the chair. Either he really was the effective chairman but was letting someone else’s name take the rap in case things went wrong - but he’d be right in front of the cameras if things went well (66 and 70). Or that he was “just” a director, that the chairmen who followed him (Dutchy and Sharp) were indeed doing more exec legwork than him but still Moores hogged the camera limelight.

Not sure which option I prefer, if indeed it’s fair that I’ve framed it that way. Either way, it’s arguable that Everton’s executive already had a dysfunctional whiff from at least 1965. But when two titles roll-up between 63 and 70, plus an FA Cup, and the ground is a World Cup stadium - semi final, no less! - then really how many extra executive duties needed doing at Everton? It had only taken Moores five years to get Everton ticking nicely. Pass the Cubans round, lads. * It’s as well, though, that Dutch did come along when he did because Evertonian relations with Moores were stretched, to say the least, by the end of the 64-65 season, as evidenced by some pretty pooey programme notes for the home game v. Chelsea in March. “Do you realise that the construction of the new boys’ pen and the erection of the safe-crush barriers set the club back £1,200? The Directors regard

it as money well spent for it means greater comfort and safety. The old ‘form seats’ in the Goodison Road stand were regarded as uncomfortable. So the seats were renewed and MADE (EFC’s weird capital emphasis) comfortable with the ‘tip up’ principle. That swallowed up a cool £9,604 but you are feeling much happier in mind and body, eh?” And on it went bizarrely. In cuckoo Rafa-speak. It only needed a sign-off saying “so consider yerselves patronised and be grateful yer cheeky scrotes, no?”.

As it was, sad personal events then forced Moores to relinquish the chairmanship but he was clearly not happy with Evertonians as he did so and if there ever had been a love affair with him (his first 18 months were pretty acrimonious, particularly due to the sacking of Johnny Carey - but of course the fans loved him by the time the title was clinched in 63!) then it was all a bit stinky again by 65. Fickle Evertonia! So Dutch, by default, picked-up the baton and ironically became point-man for the 66 glory. But I’m trying to find a photo of Everton’s chairman with the FA Cup. * So, that’s Dutchy, chronologically my first Everton chairman, done. He brought Everton an FA Cup and travelled with Harry Catterick to Blackpool to have a word with Mr Ball Sr about his son in the summer of 1966. Not bad. And was dead within a year. But can any portion of the decades-long aggregated malaise and inertia, that’s really come home to roost of late at Everton, be attributed, even indirectly, back to Dutchy, especially seeing that he only had a brief spell in charge? Bit harsh I suppose. Mind you, he did propose that Moores joined the board in the first place. So, depending on how you retrospectively view Moores, then - hero, villain or both? - indicates how much percentage blame Dutchy should carry, if any.

Next time: Coz every Blue’s crazy bout a Sharp dressed man.

GREG MURPHY WSAG37

My Trip To Viña del Mar, Chile A dream of mine has always been to watch Everton in Chile. That and "Hit The Bar" at half time which I did against West Ham. So it set the wheels in motion for this once in a lifetime trip. I was all set to go. Flights and accommodation was booked and I gathered some much needed information and advice from The Ruleteros Society. I kept a diary throughout my time in Viña del Mar but I had to resist not just writing that out as I would have been here all summer typing it out. Not forgetting the bad language I used in writing a few things down after a few drinking sessions. So where do I start?

On June 1st, I flied out from Manchester to Santiago via Atlanta USA. It was a 26 hour journey so when I hit Chile I was tired from the travelling. Not forgetting the endless poor Hollywood movies offered up by the airline.

When I first saw Chile, it hit me how different the landscape and architecture is to Europe. That sounds a bit soft but I have never been this far away from home before. As the journey from the airport to the hotel unfolds, the mountains finally gave way to the coast as I arrived in Viña del Mar. I checked into my hotel room which was not too far away from the centre of town.

I then got in touch with Juan Pablo Salgado, who is the General Manager of Everton in Chile and the Latin American representative for The Ruleteros Society. He kindly picked me up from my hotel and shown me around Viña del Mar. We then headed up to the Sausalito Stadium were I was spoilt with a fantastic stadium tour.

Juan Pablo informed me that I was the first Brit to step foot in the manager’s office. I also stepped foot on the pitch and even got the chance to see the home dressing room. Juan Pablo then kindly presented me with a match ticket for the next game and a special centenary WSAG38

book as a gift. I can't thank Juan Pablo enough for all the kindness he shown me throughout the trip.

The upcoming game was in a few days time, so it gave me time to explore Viña del Mar in more detail. I also visited Valparaiso and Renaca. The people here are so friendly and the areas around are so beautiful. The food is great and no doubt the celebrity chef Rick Stein has missed a trick in not doing a series out here as the seafood is the best I have ever tasted.

The day of the game came and Juan Pablo picked me up from my hotel and took me to the stadium. I took my place in the ‘Barra’ end of the ground where the die-hard of the Los Del Cerro or LDC stand to bang the huge drums and sing.

The game kicks off with the LDC in fine tune and I find myself more and more drawn to watching them rather than the game. I try to keep an eye on both. Meanwhile the action on the pitch heats up with the sending off of one of Coquimbo’s players. The away fans play there part by setting fire to a small part of the away terrace. Half time quickly arrives with the score 0-0 but the break gives the LDC time to recharge as in the second half they start once again with renewed vigour. A penalty appeal is turned down for Everton just as smoke bombs are set off in the team’s colour which is an awesome display. The game itself finishes up as a 0-0 draw and a few beers after the game go down nicely.

The following day I met up with Juan Pablo at the club offices and we went for lunch while we discussed yesterday’s action. Again, I have some great food. I was also able to grab myself an Everton replica shirt. Juan Pablo then arranged

chorus of a famous Everton song. I decided to give “Forever Everton” a blast, with everyone joining in once they got the tune which resulted in a whole load of beer come spraying my way. We got back to Viña safely and it was time to say goodbye to everyone that I had met that day.

Kaco and Jose persuaded me to come out for some more post-match beers after though which rounded off a great day.

After I nursed the hangover, I did a bit of surfing which was a great experience. The waves over there were pretty big because of the weird weather patterns that the region experiences. I met up with Kaco and Jose again and exchanged a few gifts and said my goodbyes. I then met up with Juan Pablo to thank him and to say my goodbyes. On the last night, I watched the Apertura final between Universidad de Chile and Universidad Catolica in a packed bar with a few beers which finished 4-3 on aggregate. for me to attend a training session. We arrived at the session as the first team were doing one-touch passing and after about half an hour, a full game breaks out with tackles flying in left, right and centre. The squad were preparing for an anticipated cup game which was the next day.

After the training finished I then had the amazing opportunity of meeting the players and the manager.

I received a call from some of the LDC members, who kindly took me out for a few beers that night.

A great evening unfolded with Kaco, Dani and Jose from the LDC group. They invited me to travel with them on their coach to the cup game which was the next day. We set off in a small bus filled to the gills with everyone singing and laughing. It’s definitely a great way to travel to an away game. We arrived at the ground and we took our place in the middle of the stand with the band. Half way through the first half, I was handed the drum by Kaco and I started the beat to one of the chants. Just as I was getting the hang of it, Everton scored and the place went absolutely nuts. The Evertonians in Viña del Mar certainly know how to celebrate a goal. We virtually took over the stadium as it was only a small ground. The LDC was belting out songs that just resonate down my spine. The game itself ends 1-0 and its back on the bus to party.

I loved Chile, the culture, the food and the drinks.

The general kindness of people in Vina and the many amigos I made on the trip make me want to go back again to experience it all again. We as Evertonians and Evertonianos are very lucky as there is no other such link between two clubs that exists anywhere in the world. So as the saying goes ‘Once a Blue, Twice a Blue’.

I would like to thank John Shearon and Tom Owen of the Ruleteros Society for their help and Juan Pablo Salgado from CD Everton for a truly fantastic trip and the generosity and kindness shown to me. Finally Kaco, Jose and everyone I met from the LDC all you guys were great. If any Evertonian is considering making the trip to Chile, make sure you do it!

Jimmy Milner

The drive back to Viña was such a laugh with lots of beer and pisco sours being handed out. I was then asked to lead a WSAG39

home game, followed by a trip to Birmingham on Boxing Day which would then be followed the return game against Birmingham on the following day (yes overpaid oh-we’re-tired-because-we-play-toomany-games modern players, that would be three games in four days) the bus driver asked her to move to make room for some white people who had just embarked. Now if that was bad enough, the bus driver also had a striking resemblance to Cliff Britton. The same Cliff Britton who had dropped Rosa’s beloved Dave Hickson, which led to a transfer request and the Cannonball Kid moving to Aston Villa. So she refused to move and was arrested. This action created an icon and inspiration, not least to local minister Andy Luther King Jr. And the shockwaves would reach her beloved Everton where it was no coincidence when The Cannonball Kid returned to Goodison less than 2 years later.

Revolution Rock So the Revolution is upon us and it will be televised. On Sky Sports News. With frequent updates on that yellow bar thingy on the bottom.

“Sky Sports understands that some people are doing some stuff that may or may not be happening. If it turns out to by some strange coincidence to have actually occurred then we’ll claim we broke the news first, if not we’ll keep randomly making things up and move onto the next load of old bollocks” And the Revolution will be lead by the People’s Group. And they will ask some searching questions. And go on the Radio. And get stuff in the papers. And do some other things too.

“Bill, Bill, what we want to know, really, is how much is the club for sale?”

“Why? Are you interested in buying?”

“Well, no, but if you, maybe, like, told people that you wanted, like, £30 million or something then there might be somebody with, like, £30 million, you know, like some dodgy South East Asian Dictator or some Americans who own Ice Hockey teams or some blokes who own chicken farms in India or whatever, who might read it in the papers and think ‘WOW, Everton’s for sale at £30 million and I quite fancy a bit of that” “Blimey, I never thought of doing THAT, thanks...”

But the People’s Group are not the first. Their campaign is only the latest in a long line of dissent and insurrection carried out in the name of supporting Everton. And the story goes back years: Rosa Parks split her time between her work as secretary for the Montgomery division of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (or The Colored People’s Group as it was sometimes known) and as coach organiser and treasurer for the Everton Supporter’s Club (Alabama Division). On December 1 1955, Rosa (sometimes known as “Goodison” by some of her mates on the coach) caught a bus in her home town. While deep in thought about how she would organise the Christmas Eve trip to the Burnley WSAG42

In the years before Frank Skinner managed to turn his so-called hero, Jeff Astle, into a laughing stock, by making him sing Karaoke to the nation for £10 bags, Astle broke Evertonian hearts. In May 1968 his FA Cup winning goal was broadcasted across the world. The newly formed Le Group Populaire had gathered at Sorbonne University in Paris to watch the final.

Distraught and angered, they refused to leave and began an occupation of the University buildings. This resulted in a police invasion to expel the Evertonians, which resulted in riots and baton charges and tear gas (a bit like Anderlecht 2002). Riots then started to spread across the city. As the riots and disturbances continued, Situationist graffiti started to appear around the city, most notably Quel Est Notre Nom? EVERTON! and QUI EST LE PLUS

GRAND D’EUX TOUS? PETIT FRISE ALAN BALL! The fallout of their actions nearly resulted in the overthrow of that Kopite Charles De Gaulle, although, typically, he pulled victory from the jaws of defeat and won the subsequent election. Everton, inspired by the passion and fervour, would win the league less than 2 years later.

The later part of the 1980/81 season managed to career from bad to worse for Gordon Lee’s Everton. Dumped out of the cup by Bobby McDonald at Maine Road, they then managed to go on a run of one win in the next twelve games. And if you think that there is cause to complain about not signing the likes of Charles N’Zogbia or John O’Shea, you obviously weren’t one of the 16,254 who spent 90 minutes watching Everton barely register a shot against a soon-to-be relegated Norwich City. A Norwich City whose defence included Greg Downs, Mick McGuire, John McDowell and a 12 year old Dave Watson, whilst at the other end a 47 year old Joe Royle scored his last goal at Goodison, soon followed by another from Justin Fashanu. Quite justifiably insurrection was in the air. The quickly assembled Group of the People initially began a series of peaceful protests which would see the last taxi journey out of Goodison for Gordon Lee on 6 May 1981. On 31st May Howard Kendall arrived. The following day the GOTP presented Kendall with a list of the type of players they expected to see arrive at Goodison; West Brom’s promising midfielder Bryan Robson, Marco Tardelli of Juventus, Frans Thijssen of Ipswich, and possibly Zico of Flamengo or Diego Maradona of Argentinos Juniors. Instead the first player to arrive was Alan Biley, quickly followed by Mickey Thomas, Jim Arnold and Mick (not Mickey) Walsh. The GOTP grew restless and when the next arrivals were Alan Ainscow and Mick Ferguson, a meeting was called in Granby Street, Toxteth on the evening of July 3rd 1981. Plans were

drawn up for further action and the group left the meeting with adrenaline pumping. On the next street one of the main GOTP protagonists, Leroy Alphonse Cooper, was arrested for suggesting to a Police Officer that he ought to stop hassling some of the local youths and go and “Fuck off and speak to that fuckin Philip Carter about crimes against Evertonians.”

The tension boiled over. 9 days of rioting then followed, only stopping when Neville Southall was signed and paraded through the streets whilst hanging on to the back of his Bin Lorry. Kendall stopped signing a load of shite, started playing some of the kids, bought Heath, Sheedy, Steven, Reid and Gray and less than 3 years later Everton won the cup.

If 1980/81 was terrible, 1989/90 had some pretty bad moments too. A promising start had gone completely off the rails on Bonfire Night at Villa Park when the Big Match Sunday afternoon crowd were treated to Aston Villa 6 Everton 2.

Then there was the Ronald McDonald horror show at the world’s coldest place, Boundary Park, and dissent towards Colin Harvey started to creep in. A Group of People which was some people in a group was formed and a demonstration was planned for the away game on 31st March at Highbury and watched Everton dip 1-0 to an Alan Smith goal. 3000 Evertonians left Highbury in a right old grump and started marching towards central London. By the time the group reached Trafalgar Square the number had swelled to about 200,000. On reaching the square they were met by a load of riot police and in parlance in keeping with this sort of thing the OB were well on top. Anyway the Everton mob charged and it all went off. News had spread and soon the media descended. In one of the great misunderstandings of all time the media believed the source of the Evertonians ire as being directed towards Thatcher’s government and would should have been known as the Stop-Signing –Shit-Like-Stefan-Rehn-and-Ray-Atteveld Riot will forever be known as the Poll Tax Riot.

Harvey would be replaced by a returning Howard Kendall in November, the same month that Thatcher would resign. The Poll Tax was abolished and less than 12 months later Everton were beating Leeds United in the Zenith Data Systems Cup Final (Northern Section).

We Shall Not Be Moved.....

Slim Sheedy

WSAG43

The new Everton home kit

River Plate getting relegated Universal Works Suit Pants

half price Shiny DMs on girls Ryan Giggs getting found out Posh people getting left with 13 grands worth of Olympic Water Polo, Modern pentathlon, archery and four bore shooting tickets Geordie Shore (Come on you all watched it and you all well would) Kopites getting giddy at spending 20 million on Gary Flitcroft Beans on toast for tea Writing letters of complaint to the Museum Grapes Ross Barkley Wayne Rooney’s new syrup Those 2 vermin getting charged over the Stephen Lawrence murder Having a long skinhead Andy Coulson lookalikes Close Lobsters Cameron squirming Man versus food Window butting dwarves causing mayhem in Kensington Murdoch looking ruffled for once Private Eye Smelling nice Salt and vinegar squares Cameron and Johnson getting their holidays interrupted

(Can’t believe I’m writing that) Watching Sky News for hours on end ‐ they loved it, didn’t they Wayne Rooney’s kid in an Everton kit Folk Light shows on the Liver Buildings Getting a new bike Annabella Lwin Reruns of ‘Spaced’ Cancelling Sky Sports and connecting the laptop to the telly Rehashing old fanzine ideas

All Right

Anyone called Pippa Firestarting bridegrooms One legged cage fighting drug dealers

Preferring fights in the park than using guns

That new phoney Chelsea

Shite Cheryl cryin arse Cole Suspected grasses getting

pigs heads put on their gate posts Fishing tournament disputes getting out of hand Alexis Sanchez That one piece of footage Sky have of Alexis Sanchez where he does about 43 stepovers.

Dish washer adverts on the kids channels Tommy Zoom Adidas Bounce Whinging cunts who think they and they alone pay tax

manager People who use the word “Banter” Murray mount Southern Cross. What happens when you apply market forces to social care Luka Modric’s cut off jeans That Hearts nonce Adele (A 21st century Alison Moyet) The 27 club Norwegian weirdos (bet he was a kopite) Using the word “lid” ironically…..lid Evertonians arguing among themselves all summer Racists using inner city riots as justification to their warped views Endless Charlie Brooker wannabes Seamus Coleman’s ankle The general public finally getting revenge and terrorising football fans ‘Tweeps’ Cesc Fabregas – just go, for fuck’s sake Emptying the dishwasher Booing Charles N’Zogbia – we will, just you watch Annoying hungry polar bears

WSAG15

Hewears for Halcyon No Fashion Victims Fashion victims are people who peruse trends that usually have a shelf life of around 3-4 seasons.

These are usually the people who don’t think too much about a particular piece of clothing’s quality or functionality. We dislike these people. We are Matthew and John, writers of HEwears attire blog.

We are two ordinary blokes looking for classic attire that adopts a timeless style policy rather than a fashion led one. We are anti-fashion. We like examples of clothing that have been round for years, items that we probably saw our old fellas adorn as kids, and that we will probably be wearing when bringing our own up. Most of the clothing we believe in adopts an equal balance of form and functionality. Clothing doesn’t have to be over designed and elaborate to look good. The classically styled articles will look just as good in comparison due to one key reason: the fit. If clothes fit well, then they will look good. End of.

A tip to assess the quality of a particular brand’s clothing: The Adidas deodorant theory. This theory is to test a particular brand’s product credibility…

Is Adidas deodorant likely to be any good? No. They make trainers. You’re likely to smell either of BO or of a cheap scent half masking the smell of BO, so buy some Right Guard instead, as they are famous for making deodorant, aren’t they?

The same theory applies to clothing and accessories. You can get an Armani branded watch for around £200, which will be a load of crap banged together in the Far East or alternatively you can have a quality Swiss watch made by Tissot for around the same price. Conclusion: Armani aren’t famous for making watches and they will generally be shoddy. Tissot have been making watches in the home of timekeeping that is Switzerland since the year dot so they will have had years of practice at making good examples. Put simply, one’s a fashion brand; the other is a watch maker.

The person who opts to buy the blinging example made by Armani and the likes will be the fashion victim. If you apply this rule when buying branded clothes then you can’t much go wrong.

From what we’ve written however, you may surmise that you have to be loaded to buy the best quality clothes. This is not the case. If you learn the basics of savvy shopping then you can put together a wardrobe made up of good quality branded clothing at a reduced cost. You really shouldn’t feel the need to look like something Top Man spat out.

There really is no need to visit the high street and fill your wardrobes full of nondescript sweatshop-produced tat. It’s time to ditch those Top Man tin openers for good. #don’tbeafashionvictim An extract from HEwears attire blog at HALCYONMAG read the full piece at www.halcyonmag.com

WSAG163 September 2011

“It’s about you and me sticking together, standing up for the Royal Blue.”

Transfer deadline day things 1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

The last Thursday in March.

21.Barry Horne nursing a pint

John Connolly (the winger to watch) for 100 grand.

Not being able to play new signings in games that would affect title, relegation or European issues.

5000 extra at end of season none events against the likes of Norwich.

David Smallman.

in the Winslow.

22.Coming home to find we had signed none of the above and Joe Royle had jumped ship (and we thought 31.8.2011 was bad).

23.Peter Beagrie still weighing the same as when he left Goodison.

24.Mark and Stephen Hughes (ace).

25.The Stephen Hughes tree at Bellefield.

Young teenage Luton star Andy King.

7. Swapping Micky Walsh for Peter Eastoe (decent move eventually).

8. Brian Kidd in a big woolly cardigan.

9. Signing players to try and mask a shit season….

10. ….and keep the end of season gates over 20,000.

11.A young rookie Scot called Graeme Sharp.

12.Making half the squad available on a free because we were skint... And this was back in 1983.

13.Paul Wilkinson in his top man blouson and white socks.

14.Fred Barber and Pat Jennings as goalkeeping cover.

15.Wild rumours of bids for Paul Gascoigne, Peter Beardsley and Ian Rush.

16.Swapping Peter Beagrie for Anders Limpar.

17.Joe Parkinson in “fashion shirt” (alright Swaff) and going out in Warrington kecks.

18.Going to work knowing that Joe Royle was “hoping to bring in one or two new faces”.

19.Claus Efftevaag and his dodgy hip.

20.Tor Andre Flo. WSAG10

26.Brian McBride’s catalogue modelling shots.

27.Franny Jeffers back on loan (can’t believe how excited I was).

28.Nigel Martyn finally signing, 7 years after he should’ve done.

29.James McFadden’s purple Hoxton fin and rat tail combo.

30.Kevin Kilbane.

31.Rooney being kidnapped by Kenwright (Remember that bollocks when you hear fans groups saying they’ve “got nothing against Bill personally”.

32.Ian McDonalds heartfelt pleas on Sky sports news.

33.Rumoured last minute bids for Robbie Savage.

34.Rooney graffiti everywhere.

35.Including the inspired “scruffs with dough”on that weird bridge on the M62 just before the Rocket.

36.Andy Van der Meyde (worth a list of his own).

37.Matteo Ferrari.

38.The Yak eventually turning up looking about 17 stone.

39.The Riquelme official website error.

40.Vinny OConnor standing outside the Park end discussing a potentially “huge story that may be breaking inside that building”.

41.Young skinheads making rude signs behind his head.

42.Internet fury as new signings end up everywhere bar Goodison (every year since the transfer window was created).

43.Going to bed fuming that the Blues hadn’t signed anyone (31.8.2008).

44.Choking into my Rice Krispies as I noticed we’d spunked 15 million on a fella I’d never heard of.

45.Johnny Heitinga posing in the car park in the rain.

46.Arteta to Arsenal rumours at 5pm.

47.Fury when it finally came true.

48.Denis scary eyes and his hooded leather.

49.Drenthe and his bad ball cap.

50.The Everton website reporting none of the above until well into the early hours.

Don’t Start Being A Divvy Now So the season’s back, and to the same bang as the shit Catherine wheel my old man nailed almost through the fence, which still has burns on from many Novembers ago.

So much optimism, so much scrawling the internet, newspapers and magazines, and still not so much as even an old Everton badge in sight (why do some papers still have our 95 badge, but have Villa’s, Arsenal’s, to name a few, brand new spankers. Some shit papers knocking about.) Anyway, same old bollocks.

What a shit summer, and what a shit game against Q.P.R. What was he playing at? Rodwell wide right, Osman holding, Hetinga for me can’t do it in midfield either, and has only merely been adequate at best at the back, apart from his Dutch master class goal, and hard man behavior against Ashley Cole. Then I could not tell you what else Johnny ‘concrete’ has done?

So there is 3 out of position, after 10 mins, you could tell, I could tell. Moyes could tell. Rodwell was shite wide and Osman never got a touch, swap them round gobshite. But then to be 1-0 down and take off your only striker, and if not for Barkley, maybe our hardest working player, and I know you’re reading thinking, Beckford’s shite, if I got a shirt I could work hard, he could have been played threw 3 times, Cahill twice and Osman, never gave him it, if he doesn’t get the ball, he is not going to score, Saha comes so deep that he has to get the ball, Beckford plays on the shoulder, but so far no one can read him, or maybe no one has the quality to give him it. Or they don’t trust him or like him.

Does Moyes? Don’t look like.

But Fellaini nearly shut us all up when he was almost involved in an almost goal. Almost. Oh well. But what disheartened me the most, and always does is 1-0 down at home, against a newly promoted team who got pasted against Bolton the week before, is everyone back for the corner. You leave 2 up they have to leave at least 3, when was our last counter attack, never mind a goal from a counter attack? This sums up the ambition of Moyes sometimes.

Sometimes he makes it hard work, almost everyone jeered that substitution, we all seen it. We all disagreed. I wouldn’t go starting to make an anti Moyes, Kenwright out, protest march about it though. I thought that shit was their game across Stanley park, we don’t do that sort of thing. We stick together threw thick and thin. We have a moan. There has been

copious amounts of negative articles about Everton lately, every forum, every fanzine website, there is Kenwright related, board related hearsay, we know we have got no fucking money, its sad that we can’t even get a loan in. its fucking proper sad. But its embarrassing seeing Newcastle and them gobshites, marching on sky sports news, looking like bad divvys.

Please don’t do that, lets do it properly. Not sure how much the board is going to trust us now, unless they search us for wires, Soprano style, but I suppose it was for the greater good.

Out of all the articles that opened my eyes was ‘Margin call on the Everton gamble’ on toffeeweb by Lyndon Lloyd. If its true, its some heavy shit. In brief, for those who haven’t read it, the City fella and the Villa Yank both had us on their ‘new stuff to throw loads of money at’ lists.

If you would of liked to have basically purchased the FA cup and your way into the champions league or not, is a different matter, the point is the club says no investors have been arsed with us, this suggests we have turned down at least two viable ones, that have gone on to have success in purchasing premiership teams, around, or previously, around our level. False or not? Give it a read. If the club was a person, we would be a old tramp living in a falling apart 1 bed flat, with no money for soup, but with good memories of past achievements. How we change that I have no idea, its up to the suits, but I think if we go marching on the streets setting up groups, other than if Hibbert scores we riot, then its not going to be any good for the 11 on the field.

And fuck the boardroom, its football that matters. And if we start giving them added distractions, then its not going to be any good.

So pack it in, and lets support our team. After the Blackburn game it was all forgotten about, it’s the results on the pitch that matter, not the results in the bank, it’s a shame that football is now a business and not a sport, but fuck it.

Let’s all love Everton properly again. As my mates dad says lets try and hope for some more “sunny days.”

Thomas W – Upper Gwladys

WSAG15

UNION CITY BLUES The man hears what he wants to hear and disregards the rest - Simon and Garfunkel You can’t check the internet for Everton news now without being confronted with another statement or press release from the supporters’ group, The Blue Union.

I’m all for supporters, or just ordinary folk in general, getting together and doing stuff for themselves, and there’s surely no one who thinks that greater fan involvement in football clubs would be a negative thing. However, when I read the output from the Blue Union I can’t help being disappointed that the effort that they’ve put in to getting their shit together seems so misdirected.

I think I can understand it though.

Early on, when Everton were stonewalling them, one of their biggest complaints was about the club’s lack of communication. That was the main thrust when they were lobbying journalists for coverage, and the angle that Brian Reade took when he wrote a much-praised article in the Daily Mirror.

Robert Elstone originally countered that Everton have plenty of avenues of communication with the supporters, including a newly established fans forum, and that it was basically a bit rich of a group that are so aggressively opposed to

the present regime to think that they were automatically entitled to ‘face time’ with them.

That said, the club eventually backtracked and there was apparently a meeting between Blue Union members and Elstone before the now infamous sit-down with Bill Kenwright himself.

For me, this was the fork in the road for the Blue Union, and they chose the easier, less productive path.

Now, no one came out of the meeting in Kenwright’s offices with any credit. For a start, it’s clear that he never wanted them to come. Scheduling it on a weekday in London made it as awkward as possible for fellas working in Merseyside to attend. So from the outside it looks as if the Everton chairman wanted to say in future, “I offered them a chance to talk and they weren’t interested.”

However, turn up they certainly did.

They then had a conversation, Kenwright’s contribution to which was outlined in minute detail on the Blue Union websites the next week. Whether it was tape recorded or not isn’t the real issue – regardless of how they produced that transcript, what is obvious is that the Blue Union wanted to stitch Kenwright up.

If you report anyone’s speech verbatim – and especially someone as verbose and emotional as Kenwright – they will come across as rambling and possibly a bit mental. It was not by accident that they left in every time he rambled up a blind alley, swore or repeated himself.

And why would they do this? The answer is in the short piece highlighting their conclusions that was added to the end of the interview, particularly the line: Bill’s diary is indeed full with day after day of Everton related appointments but what exactly are the other members of the board doing? Bill’s efforts are commendable but effort does not necessarily equate to productivity. We’re all still wondering

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how the club benefits from Robert Earl and Jon Woods being on the board, are they working as hard as the chairman or are they just along for the ride?

consider the ramifications of that simple question, who would be responsible for selecting this new board? And then who would have ultimate approval of their decisions?

Bearing in mind that the accepted wisdom amongst an awful of Evertonians before this was that Kenwright simply didn’t want to sell the club, all of a sudden the Blue Union accept that he is in fact working hard to do just that, albeit they disagree with his methods, such as an over-reliance on Keith Harris. That’s a massive shift in perception but it was more or less overlooked in all the fuss over secret tapes and the fact that Kenwright came across so badly in the reporting of the meeting.

It’s nonsense, and I suspect that Blue Union ‘hierarchy’ know it is. It sounds reasonable at first but it’s something the club won’t, and indeed can’t, ever agree to. And so as a result, the campaign, and indeed the Blue Union itself, can continue pretty much indefinitely. And I suspect that’s really the point.

And here’s the rub. If the Blue Union had come out of that meeting and simply reported that Kenwright is trying to sell the club, and that he is desperate to find new owners because we are under so much pressure from the banks, they would have got fucking slaughtered by their core supporters who simply despise the Everton chairman.

There was potential there to have an open line of communication with the club’s hierarchy following what all sides declared a positive meeting, but the lads who went down to London knew that by going down that route they would get branded all the sell-outs in the world by the sorts of people who wanted them flaying alive simply for delaying the release of their statement.

So - again from the outside looking in - it appears they made a conscious effort instead to burn their bridges with the club and go down the marches and banners route.

It’s understandable, after all it’s far easier to campaign against something, and it’s much sexier too, it gets your face on the news and you get to give impassioned speeches at meetings, and the alternative, actually improving communications and trying to work with the club, looks a thankless task. That would have been more constructive though, in a small way, but that horse has bolted and we can forget about any supporter involvement in the foreseeable future. What we’re left with is the grand, ultimately futile gesture, where we are apparently trying to put pressure on the club to structure the boardroom in a specific manner.

Essentially, a campaign organisational chart.

about

There seem to be some really intelligent, organised people involved with Blue Union, and they clearly care deeply about the club – as indeed do all those supporters who disagree with their methods. I fear though that for all the studied statements they make, they have been drawn into pandering to the more blinkered elements of their support, and it’s that which continues to be a turn off for an awful lot of Blues.

There are only so many marches and letter campaigns you can have before they begin to lose momentum too. I hope that they take a step back now, re-evaluate what they can realistically achieve – and I mean in genuine terms, not just ‘numbers at meetings and Facebook members’ - and perhaps even try to hold out an olive branch to the club, apologise for what happened at the meeting with Kenwright and look for an opportunity to reconnect with the board, no matter how distasteful that might be to some individuals on both sides.

That would be much braver and far more impressive than simply getting people to march down the street.

A lot of people don’t have much food on their table. But they got a lot of forks ’n knives. And they gotta cut somethin’ - Bob Dylan

an

That’s what it boils down to. Think about it for just a moment, how would an interim board work? First and foremost, who would appoint them? Go on, just WSAG13

Drenthe and the other fella

Vic Godard HP Brown Sauce with Guinness

On everything The EFC match jackets in

royal blue and amber And silver X Factor back on a Saturday night (You all watch it) Ross Barkley (again) Gazelle Indoor Jerk Chicken The Museum of Liverpool Big Bowl Noodle on Berry St Kelly and Tulisa (Oh aye) Comedy last minute away victories Will Young’s new single Biting fingernails KFC Professor Yaffle Universal Works new jumpers In fact, most of the stuff in Weavers Door Mathew St Festival Tony Bellew getting a world title fight. Good luck Blue (You’ll probably need it) Gil Scot Heron Tim Howard Your Heart Out Following young Everton Reserves on Twitter (... Erm, officer...)

The Killing (yes even the American one) The La’s playing again Sushi

(hopefully) Salt and pepper frogs legs Bridesmaids The Ladykillers Leon Osman The Great British Bake Off Cottonopolis The League Cup The trailer for Martin Scorsese’s George Harrison film Stella Artois Black Jez Kerr Grenson Riddled with it!!!!!

Singing at the match Getting a skip for the house Royston’s Paleys Haircut

All Right

Warrington fire starters Plod football hooligans Walton MP Steve Rotheram

Shite Opening day defeats Bellends abusing players on Twitter

Going to town and never

leaving Liverpool One The endless media war against public sector workers Getting offers from prossies and shitting yourself Joey Barton’s cod philosophy Manchester City People getting on Phil Neville’s back for daring to be positive Biting toenails Ingrown toenails and other such ailments

who appears to represent Liverpool FC in the house of parliament Getting your face ripped off outside the Funky box Neck tattoos Fans who seem to be enjoying the negativity currently surrounding Everton Arsenal fans whinging The La’s still playing the same songs The Blue Union taping scandal – its just boring now Arteta to Arsenal Voi Scruffs who turn up outside football grounds on transfer deadline day. Particularly that blert with a clearly terrified baby at Melwood.

Jim White and Brian Swanson getting giddy over how much dough football clubs are spunking at a time of austerity.

Eyebrow rings Cleaning the house from top to bottom Getting junior tickets when you are 42 Messy poos Red or Black Jeremy Clarkson (again) Rehashing old fanzine ideas

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You’re Shite You We’ve got no forwards. Yabuku and Beckford have been bizzed off. Vic’s split his kipper and Louis is probably injured - I haven’t checked today. That leaves the Greek kid and the new fella. Or Jose Baxter if he’s still a forward. Or Tim Cahill pushed up again.

Everton have a great tradition of centre forwards. But we’ve also had plenty of shite.

Here’s a quick run through of the best of the worst: Rod Belfitt Signed as part of a swap for Dave Johnson in a hastily arranged deal stop sniggering at the back. (Are we allowed to go into detail about scandals from the 1970s yet?). Ipswich certainly got the best of the arrangement as Belfitt never fails to make any vintage Everton Worse XI. Put it this way, Johnson went on to play for England, Belfitt became a draughtsman.

(Although in a weird form of karma Johnson was as bad when he came back years later). Rod was only here less than a year, never looked comfortable.

Joe Harper A little sweaty-sock fat fuck.

Missed a penalty on his debut.

Didn’t get much better. Chased

back up to Scotland just over a year later.

Scored at Anfield though.

Shame we were 0-3 down.

Dave Irving Signed from Workington Town and was once preferred to Bob Latchford by Billy Bingham.

Utter gash. Way out of his depth. Played 6 games, scored once. File under forgotten other than for articles like this.

Mike Newell Another one who started well, really well. Scored in his first four Goodison games. He looked pacy and brave then he took a knock and for some reason his head was never right again. Famous for being abused by the fans in the warm-up.

Mick Ferguson Scored loads of goals for Coventry and looks a decent purchase by the newly arrived Howard Kendall - he was part of the Magnificent Seven (!).

He started like a house on fire then his ankle snapped. No wonder he had tiny feet! He continued to struggle with injuries and from then on he was never better than shite.

Danny Cadamateri Yet another one who got off to a flier... Danny scored a memorable goal in a memorable win over Liverpool.

For a time (a short time) he was being touted as our answer to Michael Owen. He wasn’t. Nowhere near. Last seen playing the teacher in the American remake of The Killing.

John Spencer I always liked John Spencer.

Before he came here, that is.

Brett Angell Alas poor Brett. He was so far out of his depth it was embarrassing.

So bad, travelling Evertonians pleaded with the ref to send him off once at QPR. Arl arsed really.

But funny.

“I never signed him, Mr Chairman. Honest.”

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Talking Blues The idea is simple: we ask you out there a question via email and ask you to respond in 100 words or less. (This time, though, the 100 word rule was largely ignored.) The question was:

31st August 2011; discuss?

Dave Spowart: Firstly the positive. Given our finances, both loan signings are an imaginative gamble with Drenthe in particular a potential coup.

Reaction to the Arteta sale however give an indication of the board’s success in reducing basic level supporter expectation in a fashion only previously achieved

by Walter Smith. While Smith’s reign ground down most fans to the extent that 15th position almost became accepted as reasonable, so years of stagnation at the very top have gradually produced such indifference that the departure of one of the most graceful players of recent years to stave off the bank for 12 months is greeted in many quarters with little more than a shrug, or pleasure at the money saved. We appear not to be even standing still at the moment.

Neil Roberts: Good sense from all concerned. He still loves us and I suspect the vast majority still love the handsome rascal.

However, we (the bank) needed the cash and he needed a change.

Adios, amigo y buena suerte.

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John Wharton: Where to start?

Last time I could have answered grim x100 I think that seems more appropriate now. The loss of Arteta to me is massive despite him not being as good as he was three years ago he was still our main creative force. Looking at the current midfield I just can’t see where the chances are going to be created. It’s too early to judge the new boys yet and whilst the Argentinean lad is an unknown quantity Drenthe looks like he may well provide us with some memorable moments.

Phil Garner: The last time I wrote I said that we'd be okay not buying anyone as long as we didn't sell any major layers.

Watching Sky Sports News on and off on deadline day from around 7:00 onwards, this theory looked okay until suddenly the Arteta story broke at about 9:30 and went ballistic from thereon with bus loads of 'Gooners' all shouting and screaming like they had signed Messi for a fiver. I like Arteta and always have done, but I think I am of the same mind as many Blues when I say that he is not the player he once as. The two players we brought in on loan make a lot of sense i.e. a striker and a fast winger (a poor-man's Donovan if you like) and although time will tell how good they are

you can't really fault Moyes for getting a league's top scorer and a one-time Madrid regular. Not as if we've gone out and bought over-priced lanky Geordie alcoholics or anything. The one thing that gets my goat about 8/31 (as the Americans would say) was the timing and the price we sold one of our best players for. If you look at the price paid for some of the crap mercenaries by other clubs, only getting £10m for Arteta is scandalous and the 2300 hours confirmation of the deal left no time for any purchases. My overall feeling was that if the deal had been done days or even hours earlier then we would have bought a player or two and the fact that we did not and the manner in which we did not may cause Moyes to think again as to why he stays which is very, very bad news.

LJJ: August 31st made me realise once again that intense relationships rarely end easily and that it doesn't pay to get too close. It also made me realise that I will never truly learn these lessons. But, as Tennyson said, "'Tis better to have loved and lost/Than never to have loved at all".

Paul McNamara: 31st August has fuelled the fires of doom that large sections of the media, and indeed many Evertonian's, seem determined to spread around the club.

The necessity to sell Arteta leaves a sour taste but the fact remains the deal was in the best interests of Everton. Yakubu was clearly never going to play any sort of part again under Moyes.

I sympathise with those who believe Beckford offered one of our few genuine goalscoring threats but to me he was simply never an Everton player.

We've seen the arrival of two players who potentially have bona fide claims to fill spots in the team where we've been desperately lacking.

In summary, I certainly don't subscribe to the backwards theory being so widely espoused that because Everton haven't lashed out millions on numerous mediocre nomarks we're somehow falling behind the likes of Q.P.R., Wolves and Sunderland. Keep the faith.

Harvey Weewax: Emotional roller coaster.

Anticipation - of a last minute big name signing.

Excited - by our two loan signings.

Disappointed - Arteta wanted to leave, for only 10m and no time to spend it.

Acceptance - who can blame him chasing Champions league football.

Beckford - good business, was he ever a Premier League player?

Yak - surplus to requirements.

Depression - the only club not to spend any money.

Realisation - get use to it unless you want to do a Leeds, Bradford, Portsmouth......

Mikel summed it up nicely "That is the way football is, there is always a start and an end".

Smile, it's not that bad!

Bownder The Wool: August the 31st. (in 1000-1500 words) Effort 1 written with my head.

Well, I didn't see that coming.

Arteta? going, staying, gone!

Did Stoke bid for Cahill!?, Yobo stays, Beckford and the Yak leave. What can you say that’s not already been said a thousand times. The clubs for sale but nobody wants to buy it.

Somebody wanted to buy QPR though. As custodians of our great club Messrs Kenwright and Moyes are responsible for the not only the the current situation but also the future. If this involves selling our best player then so be it. Arteta is getting on now and 10m for a very injury prone player I think is very good business. (he also took a pay cut to go to Arsenal after EFC pulled out all of the stops to pay him what he wanted, now that's left a bitter taste in my mouth I wont forget), Beckford 4.5m, our top scorer last season, one wonder goal, a catalogue of missed sitters and a general “its not my fault” attitude means I'm not that fussed about him. Yakubu sold for a song, what ever he did to the bog eyed ginger must have been pretty bad. We still managed to keep some of our most prized assets, Jagielka and Baines staying is massive to us. We now have till January to push on and reward them for a their loyalty. January worries me more than Aug 31st ever did, imagine - no money, out of the Carling cup, Lower half of the table, I can see the vultures circling already. We need to do well early on or this could just be the start.

The one thing that worries me though is the Cahill thing. If Arsenal bid for your better players I can see the logic when they leave, London's bright lights, champions league etc. But Stoke! the day Everton are having their

favourite sons picked of by the likes of Stoke we have a problem.

The two lads we have brought in look decent enough, Ross Barkley’s first few games have shown flashes. Only Seamus injured (at the time of writing). I would like to have seen a little more in the line of signings but if were spending more than we should be and our bank want us to rail it in a bit what more can Moysie do? It would be nice to have a bit of info from the Ivory Tower though. Silence is not an option, this club supporters deserve more. But we do ourselves no favours by taping conversations and then playing all “he said you said”. Not a good move that for anybody.

Bownder The Wool: August the 31st (in less words) Effort 2 written with my heart.

The cheeky little Spanish fucker! and Stoke can right royally fuck off too.

Lee Weightman: Not the doom and gloom that everyone else seems to be portraying. Arteta hadn't been playing well since the injury and we proved last season that we can still play well and beat teams without him. We also don't have to suffer his woeful setpieces anymore .We now have a lot more pace on the left (Drenthe) but admittedly we're

short upfront. Getting 3m for Beckford was decent business as he patently wasn't good enough for the prem (something that executioner bong has illustrated much better than I ever could) Alternatively it's the day that it's all turned to ratshit and showed Felliani and Barkley to a lesser extent that we've no ambition or cash and they'll further their careers elsewhere.

Sorry for rambling, had a few beers tonight and well ,you know what it's like....

Thomas W, Upper Gwladys: It promised and was promised to be a very quite afternoon, filled with wheelings and late dealings from every club bar ourselves, an afternoon where are feet could be up and we could watch Jim White near explode for the 5th consecutive window. How wrong were we? … Mikel, supposedly one of the boys, leaving, was maybe the shock of the window.

He hasn’t been his exiting self of late. But still, another man down.

Was he forced out or not? Who knows? But doing the deal inside Goodison, and then interviewed about it after by our reporter?

Very Fishy.

Greg M: I found it all perversely reassuring. I assume everyone thinks as negatively (realistically?) as me. So from the final whistle against Chelsea in May, I knew that I wouldn't be

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seeing at least one of "Fellainibainesjagielkaartetablahblahblah" from September 1st, at the latest. So I was surprised that so many seemed so confident as the season started on the "well at least we haven't sold anyone big" front. "Yeah but it's not 31 August yet is it?". Must admit, as National Jim White Day dawned I was starting to doubt my own sanity and it really did look like the squad was gonna stay intact into September. I thought I'd have to re-adjust all my reality settings.

Phew! What a relief when the Arteta finally news came in. I wasn't mad after all. Cheers Everton. Cheers for letting me know that I know you so well. *whistles Barbara Dickson and Elaine Paige* (is that a WSAG first?). Oh by the way: absolutely MASSIVE PEE-ESS and EFF-AY-OH to Heitinga, John: no-one came in for you mate, not a single bid - so can you quit your three times a season Dutch press schtick telling us how Bayern or Barca are tracking you and it's obviously humbling to know but you're committed to Everton? *Basically, from Pienaar through Vaughan, Arteta, Beckford, Yak and saved wages plus whatever the score is with Yobo [way past caring] - we've recouped all of the Lescott cash in just eight months. Work, that.

Really, we only needed to buy Distin on 31/8/09. Y'know, sign a centre half to replace a centre half! We could have stiffed the

other £15m into Barclays and saved two years' compound interest and wages. Instead we're now stuck with Johnny and Bily the Great Unsellables. Instead we had to sell players that people really want. Now, who's to blame on that score... (*gah! exceeds strict word limit*) wingedeelfingerling: well after blowing the positivity trumpet in the last WSAG the wingedeel was rather deflated by the transfer deadline and the anaemic displays against QPR and Blackburn... we could have had the Argentinian ( SVEN rejected him at Leicester) and the new Psycho Dutch fella at anytime in the window (nobody wants them we don't care) and I don't so much mind losing a crocked Arteta and the Yak/Beckford bollocks... but no positive signings whatsoever? I can’t get my head round the Finance position and I used be on the board of a FTSE 100 company and the complete lack of investment in a business like Everton makes no sense to me at all? Sure Moysey will put it together (and thank christ we didn't spend 30 million on shit like STOKE)but the loss Rooney, Lescott, Pinaar, Arteta over the last 7 years with nothing coming in actually makes me want to cry.

Ian Buffey: An excuse to point out my disgust at the Premier League set up, it is beyond revolting, incidentally what is its strategy? …To marginalise clubs without wealthy benefactors?

I keep going to Everton because I love the club, it’s values, the place and the people I meet (Joe Ainsworth’s piece in the last edition...brilliantly written). If the competition had any sort of sensible financial rules - Everton, who have to try to balance their books, wouldn’t have to contend with this phoney situation. We’re better run than most and far better than Everton was at the outset of the PL.… I don’t like Arteta leaving, I kept waking up that night so I could sulk for longer but to be honest I

was kind of hoping he’d return to form. Keeping the rest was a major result and I’m optimistic about the new signings...younger for older and money to keep the wolves at bay?…1878 Andy Lloyd: A bit like a shit birthday, spend all day waiting for a good present, get two interesting surprises that aren’t really what you want, but that you’ll use over the next year or so, but that do nothing to lift the general atmosphere of disappointment.

Stewart MacLaren: The Mikel Arteta transfer to Arsenal reminds me of the whole Wayne Rooney affair. Everton involved in an 11th hour deal with no way of spending the money. Surely 10 millions pounds for a player of Arteta´s calibre was way too cheap. The Spaniard is worth at least twice as much as that! Not really suprised to see Yakubu & Jermaine Beckford to go Blackburn Rovers & Leicester City respectively. Whether all of the money gained from these three players will be given to David Moyes in order to strengthen the squad or goes to pay off the Bank remains to be seen!

Jon: Personally? It's a shame all round but might actually be best for all parties. Especially the club, in some way it was their ideal scenario and certainly could have been a lot worse. Most bothered about Beckford... But in

terms of Arteta, we probably can't offer C L for a while, and he has to be fair declined other offers.

Meanwhile I can't help but think that those who complain the most are either those who haven't been through it before, or women who were more bothered about his looks and Iberian charm and their 'Mrs Arteta' shirts being wasted.

Phil: Initial reaction is anger and frustration at the state of the club. Do I think we need a new owner? Absolutely. Do I think the way to go about it is to hound the bumbling but well meaning current owner for a none existent alternative? Absolutely not.

Tommy Boy: For a couple of seasons Arteta was by far and away our best player. But let's be honest, he has never recaptured that form since coming back from injury. In a number of games he has really struggled or been completely anonymous. I think that given the timing it was a good deal for him (I'm sure the boos ringing around the ground recently didn't do much to persuade him to stay) and a good deal for us. I don't think it was a particularly good deal for Arsenal. But time will tell. I bear him no ill will and hope it works out for him. Beckford?

Yak? Apart from the fact it leaves us a bit short up front I'm not arsed about them really. I know diddly squat about the two we've brought in. But then I didn't know that much about

Fellaini or Coleman.

Time marches on. I retain trust in Moyes. I don't think it's his fault that we are, undeniably, a selling club. Fingers crossed.

Kieron: I’m on record as saying I had tears in my eyes when Arteta came back from injury (ahem..) but when he was sold I felt a numb feeling of sickness, not shock, anger or tears. It was like the death of a terminally ill relative, i.e. you know they’re going to go but it is still horrific anyway. What made it so much worse however was the ‘deal on, deal now off, oh no you don’t, deal back on,’ dramatic finale to the evening.

So fuckin’ typical Everton to lull you into a false sense of security and then ‘bang’ as James Bolam said once upon a time.

Sam McPartland: I completely shocked by Arteta being sold to Arsenal and was not expecting it at all I know a lot of people are saying it is good business and he is past his best, but hearing he was in the squad brought some positivity. I think it’s sad he’s gone and I felt sick seeing all the images on sky sports of him going into the Park End to leave us.

The fact that he was sold so late probably also means the money will go to pay off debts rather than re-invest –those expecting a big money signing in January are in my opinion probably very naïve.

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and his young daughter who seemed nice enough.

He knew we were Blues but he seemed OK and we carried on drinking til about a quarter to three when we took our seats in the stand. It was then that it dawned on me that we were surrounded by Mancs but I’d been in away stands before with no problems, so the two of us resolved to keep our mouths shut and witness the inevitable caning courtesy of Beckham, Cole, Keane et al.

KISS AND MAKE UP As I write it is the day before the tenth anniversary of 9/11. Everyone has their own recollections of where they were that particular day when the world changed forever. Most will consist of the disbelief they felt at the sight of the attacks on the USA and the awful loss of life for so many. I have those too but I have to confess that when I think of ten years ago and 9/11, in addition a more personal memory comes to mind, consisting of Everton, ale, transport, anger, fear, disbelief and how such a tragedy got me out of the doghouse…..

It all started out so promisingly. My mate had got tickets for the Man Utd match on the 8th September at Old Trafford via work and they included a meal in something called the Red Devil Café. I was made up, even though I hated going to Old Trafford in that era where we were subjected to annual humiliations, as I thought that despite the result, the scran and ale on someone else’s expenses would be just the antidote to our inevitable shoeing. The trouble began when my wife told me that some of her relatives were coming from the North East that week-end and she was going to do a special dinner. I was now faced with a dilemma in terms of what I did. Looking back now I should have just decided to sack the match off but it was free ale! So being an optimistic 30 year old, I kidded myself that it was possible to do both and that I would see how I could go to the match and get back to the East Midlands in time for the family gathering despite my long suffering wife’s clear warning of what would happen if I didn’t.

Looking at the trains back from Piccadilly, it seemed like I would have to leave way before the end of the match but then my Dad came up with the idea of getting a lift back with ESCNA, the Northants Everton supporters club, who had a mini-bus to every home and away game.

Phone calls to the Secretary Ruaraidh confirmed that they would be heading back straight after the match and I calculated that even allowing for the slow pace of a bus I’d be back by at least half eight.

Although something was nagging at me as I arranged it, my reckless optimism won out and I booked an early train to Manchester in plenty of time for our free hospitality.

And that started out well. It was just my mate and I and we enjoyed a nice meal in the café, inevitably accompanied by plentiful beer and wine. We were on a table next to a United fan WSAG20

We hadn’t reckoned on the Manc Twat factor however. From the first whistle every chant more or less was vehemently anti-scouse and the fella from the café was sat next to me chanting louder than most. As United went 2-0 up with relative ease he then started vocally offering his own pearls of wisdom like ‘fuckin’ scouse bastards,’ ‘Everton – fuckin’ alehouse team’ (he wasn’t wrong there mind!) and ‘fuckin scouse bindippers.’ I was stunned. He knew where I was from yet he was inches away from me spouting obnoxious bile about my city and my team and in front of his young daughter.

My natural reaction was to say something but amazingly I kept my cool, bit my lip and tried to concentrate on the abject sight on the pitch.

At half-time however I’d had enough. I told my mate I was going to do one and get an early train back as I knew I was going to snap. My mate pleaded with me however and said he would swap seats so I was further away from the knobhead but as we went back for the second half, United scored again to make it 3-1 and I sensed what a mistake I’d just made. Mr Charisma kept up his remarks but I kept my cool until Kevin Campbell scrambled a goal back. My mate involuntarily leapt up to cheer and my pent up anger snapped as I turned to the fella and screamed, ‘See, we’re not such a fuckin’ alehouse team!’ He reacted angrily, I reacted back and suddenly things got a bit naughty as Danny Dyer would say.

Within seconds however a steward was called by a midnight mass and I was summoned to the end of the row.

I was full of self-righteous indignation about the other fella to the steward who sympathised but who said that I had been identified as an away supporter in a home stand and that we would have to be moved. As we were walked down the stairs I feared that a Manc busies meat wagon would be my next destination but to our shock and delight we were put in a function room with a big screen of the match and a bar serving ale!

After witnessing the end of the 4-1 defeat from the plush lounge with one or two for the road, I met up with the Northants lads at the mini bus with my hopes on a quick dart but it seemed like forever before we left Old Trafford amidst nightmare traffic. I was handed a can and told to chill but as the clock ticked on, I suddenly realised that we hadn’t joined the M6 southwards but seemed to be heading westwards down the M62! I asked Ruaraidh who explained we were just going to drop a lad off in Rainhill but we’d then be on our way! I immediately knew I was in trouble as the mini bus only went about 50 miles an hour but worse was to come as we finally stopped at an alehouse to drop the lad off only for everyone to get out and make for the bar…

Now I love pubs, especially beer gardens on nice autumnal evenings but the hour we stayed there was pure misery as I sat nursing my Stella and contemplating the carnage that awaited at home. Half eight it wouldn’t be.

The phone call home to explain my predicament was short but not very sweet and as we finally boarded the bus again all I could think was how I should have left at half-time.

Like the hour in the pub, the journey back was like a slow torture and not even the cans of lager in plentiful supply ameliorated my mood.

The next blow was that we were going to drop off in Kettering first before my stop but by this point I was beyond anger or despair so I sat back and succumbed to my fate, just as Ruaraidh was sick out of the window, an apt metaphor for my day…..

Sunday and Monday were agony, I was in Siberia with the short term prospects for a thaw not promising.

Then on Tuesday 11th September at work, rumours started going round of a plane going into the World Trade Centre in New York and the television in our reception confirmed it. The rest of the day was surreal as news reports confirmed the unprecedented terror of what had happened. I would be lying however (and I’m not proud of myself!) if I didn’t spot the opportunity that this tragedy brought for a restoration of marital harmony. I am a man after all! As we sat watching the horrific events on the news, I made my first attempt at reconciliation, pointing out how us not talking seemed wrong in the face of such a tragedy. The Family Fortunes noise that comes up with a wrong answer was in my head as the door to the doghouse remained tightly shut.

Gentle persistence on my part paid off however and later that night, I was relieved as the ice slowly melted.

The lesson was learnt, sort of and ten years on, I haven’t been back to Old Trafford. After what happened that day, I’m not sure I ever will.

Kieron

It was nearly ten by the time we got to Northamptonshire on the A14 when the coup de grace of my day was delivered.

We seemed to slow down on the motorway and then the mini bus grounded to a halt. We had broken down, miles away from home.

It eventually transpired that Alan the driver had forgotten to fill the petrol tank and the inevitable happened.

So, not only was I nearly two hours late for the family dinner, I now needed to send an SOS to home to see if I could be picked up which finally I was, in ominous silence. The Geordie relatives had luckily been on the vino so when finally home, I got sympathy from them as I told my (slightly edited) tale of woe but from the one that mattered, nish.

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oath Robert Elstone admitted that Harris hadn’t been employed by the club at all. This to me was a rather sinister turn of events and one that seems to epitomise the way the club is now being run; which is completely at odds with the way Kenwright ran the club in the past, and it may be mischievous of me to suggest that maybe this is the influence of a certain businessman.

Another worrying aspect of this meeting was that Kenwright was unable to account for about £20m - even now we haven’t been told where that £20m has gone.

Where next?

So the transfer window is closed, but what can we Evertonians make of it? It’s safe to say that 2011 won’t be regarded as a great year for us since the beginning of the year we have lost Pienaar, Vaughan, Yakubu, Beckford and Arteta. Yakubu and Vaughan didn’t feature much at all last season, so their loss to the squad was negligible. However, the loss of our two most creative players of the last five years will hit the team harder, coupled with the loss of last season’s top scorer, Beckford, this really has me worrying for us this season. For the life of me I can’t really see where the chances are going to be created this season. A midfield of Coleman, Cahill, Osman/Rodwell, Fellaini and Drenthe doesn’t really give me any cause to be optimistic, and if we do create chances who will be the man to finish them? Saha spends far too much time on the physios table, Anichebe makes Cameron Jerome look prolific and it’s far too unrealistic to expect Stracqualursi to bear the burden. The worrying sign about him is that on his YouTube montage video it’s more than two minutes in before you see him stick one in the net. The signing of Drenthe is potentially slightly more exciting, even if he does smack of Andy Van Der Meyde minus the injuries. He seems a bit of a character (cunt?) and may provide us with some memorable moments on and off the pitch.

The worst part of the summer was the Kenwright and Blue Union meeting; neither party came out of this with any credit whatsoever.

Kenwright came across as bumbling idiot and I certainly don’t think he’s the right man to be in charge of the club any longer.

The most embarrassing thing was that we let a man in a Manchester bedsit undertake due diligence. It also seems the club have been less than honest with the fans with regards to the sale of the club - Kenwright stated during the meeting and at several times in the years prior to this that Keith Harris was actively employed by the club to find a new owner. However, at the Kirkby enquiry under WSAG30

I understand that at the moment there isn’t a buyer for the club, and that there is unlikely to be one, but what exactly are the club doing? I remember Rick Parry flying everywhere to try and sell Liverpool but I don’t recall Elstone doing anything similar to be honest. Other than looking like our former midfield maestro John Collins, I’m not quite sure what he does to justify his role as Chief Executive - in my opinion, his appointment is a perfect example of the new relaxed attitude to mediocrity at the club.

His tenure as Chief Executive certainly hasn’t been a success; by all accounts the Park End development was his idea and it even went as far as getting rid of the marquee and beginning to knock down the wall at the far end of the car park before someone realised that there was a problem with insurance because we don’t own the land. As Chief Executive Elstone should be held responsible for this and, in my opinion, he should be the one who pays for these monumental fuck ups with his job.

Might sound a bit harsh but look the Kitbag deal, the only places that you can now buy an Everton shirt are either at the club shop, the club website or on Kitbag’s website (more of that in a minute). This means that when you go

that, despite their aims and objectives, what they have managed to do is divide the support rather than unite them, and we now you are either pro Kenwright or anti Kenwright. At a time when the club needs the fans to be united, we are divided and it will inevitably end up having a detrimental effect on the team.

in sport shops across the country we have no shirts on sale and options are therefore limited to those who have no access to the club shop, or who don’t want to spend an extra ten percent of the shirt cost on delivery. As Kitbag are the club’s main commercial partner you would expect that on the main Premier League page of their website we would have a reasonable presence (obviously the likes of Liverpool, City, United, Arsenal, Chelsea and maybe Spurs will and should have a bigger presence) but no we don’t, and the likes of Villa, Newcastle and Sunderland have an advert on the front page. It may sound petty but if the man can’t get this right then what the fuck is he doing in charge of a Premier League Club?

In the interest of fairness I must stress that I am certainly not pro Blue Union (and I find their protest march from the club shop to the Park End fucking laughable), and they most certainly don’t speak for me. The sad thing about this is

5 Liverpool estate boozers 1. Noah’s Ark – Speke 2. Lobster – Croxteth 3. Cat’s whiskers – Belle Vale 4. Tithebarn – Stockbridge village 5. Stand Farm – Croxteth Park 5 old skool town boozers 1. The Cornmarket 2. The Liverpool 3. The Marlborough 4. The Big House 5. Ma Boyle’s

All this leads to, what does the future hold for the club? As an eternal pessimist I accept that my views may not be the best nor the most accurate, but I really do fear that relegation battles may soon be back on the agenda with the sale of Arteta and the clubs precarious financial position, alongside an aging squad with no funds to strengthen.

We have a thirty-two year old Tim Howard, thirty-four year old Phil Neville, Sylvain Distin who is thirty-four, and Tony Hibbert at thirty-one, a twenty-nine year old Jagielka, Leon Osman who is thirty, Cahill is thirty-one and Saha is thirty-three. This all means that extra pressure will be placed on the academy to find at least two players to come through every season. People may not agree, but this season we face the real possibility of trailing behind clubs like Stoke and Sunderland.

5 Forgotten Everton loan signings 1. Rodrigo 2. Ibrahim Said 3. Anthony Gardner 4. Guilleme Plessis 5. Franny Jeffers

John Wharton

some random fives

5 Sandinista album tracks 1. Police on my back 2. Rebel Waltz 3. Junco Partner 4. The Sound of Sinners 5. Washington Bullets

5 whatever happened to...

1. Ray Kirwan - genuis behind the Loveable Reds cartoon.

2. The Blue Eyed Blue - very prolific then zip 3. Steam Engine - we know you’re still out there, you’ve just forgotten to write 4. Mike Saunders - another regular who kinda disappeared when we went electric 5. Dave Swaff - always a seat for you WSAG31

surrounded Ayresome Park can still be seen backing on to this estate at all corners and the exit is out - with a little help from my friends (at google map) through what was the away stand on our To recap using google map street view to check out the whereabouts of the Liberty Stadium and last visits there for FA Cup-ties. Luckily the plan in advance any routes or pubs to avoid led coaches parked right outside then but back in to also having a look at the old Vetch Field 78 there was that fearful walk already whilst in Swansea. This in turn led to having a mentioned.

There are places I remember

look to see what had become of some other grounds we visited 30 years ago and thus the past premises of Southampton, Brighton, Sunderland and Morecambe from a pre season friendly were duly reported on. So that leaves the remainder from season 81/82 that have now disappeared, a further five to get through

We played at Stoke in October 81 so its off to the Victoria Ground first. Buses to the Britannia depart not too far from the old ground at Glebe Street next to the cemetery so that makes a good starting point to land our google man and walk in the direction of Boothen Road. The pictures reveal that there are actually two cemeteries across the road from each other, then the street narrows with tightly packed houses before opening up at a fiveways where the Victoria pub still sits on the corner to the right. To the left though is quite a shock, no new houses or retail park, just a wasteland stretching into the distance, empty apart from a solitary dog walker. Trees have grown and you would never think that a football ground existed here only 14 (to West Ham) years ago given that we did play a pre season there in 97.

Gazing out into the wilderness, this can't be the right place, but then a 180 degree turn reveals one reminder of a great day back in 84 when we started off on our journey to Wembley. Now bearing the name NS Scooters, the old Stoke supporters club building is still there, happy days from visits in the mid eighties.

Our first away win under Howard Kendall came at Middlesbrough later that month, Ayresome Park though Gruesome Park would have been more apt. This ground was not for the faint hearted and to get back to the coaches you had to pass 'their' end. If you didn't make it the chances were that you were on route to one of the two places in between. A hospital or a graveyard! (It was actually a cemetery but as two were mentioned in Stoke previously thought it could be called something else).

Looking on the map there is now a road called The Turnstile bang in the middle of what was the pitch and when zooming in there is another road called The Midfield. It's a typical new estate of moderate property with gardens and driveways, no sign of any large detached houses though. The terraced blocks that WSAG32

So for old time sake its a case of retracing the steps to see just how bad it seems now. A school playground on the corner where you turned left doesn't seem too familiar perhaps it wasn't there just pavement you could cut across. Also the houses now have walls in front of them so you can no longer just step into the garden when a 6ft 6 mad man approaches. Still don't remember Sacred Heart Primary but its an old building on the corner of the road that led to the gates of the main entrance so it must have always been there, but then again it was always keep looking straight ahead on this walk back. Carry on past 'their' end expecting to at last recognise something but it's gone! The hospital has vanished, replaced by more housing, possibly there was a fall in the number of patients once Boro left that part of town. The large burial ground at the crossroads is still there though and here the road widens to two lanes, whilst there is still a council estate to pass before reaching where those coaches had parked. And it was a long walk after all.

Three days later we were at Coventry for a league cup tie where Ferguson, Mick that is followed up his two goals at Boro by netting again late on to put us through 1-0 on aggregate. Alas this was his peak and he didn't assume to the legendary status that his namesake did some years later. This was the only time we played another first division side in round two, prior to seeding, also strange that the second leg of these games were played two months later than the same round this season.

Anyway Highfield Road had the distinction of being England's first all seater stadium that season, we played there for many years so no problem locating it to the east of the city and dropping in at the nearby park seems reasonable. The special used to be escorted through here and the coaches at one time parked just passed the railway bridge so the walk up Swan Lane will be remembered by many.

Probably not too many will remember a barbers shop at the bottom but its gone anyway, a number of cars parked where it once stood. All the old terraced houses are there though until of course you reach the bend at the top of the incline and just where the entrance to the

visitors terracing used to be the newer houses begin. Most seem to be three storey and then at the top where you would turn left for the latter visitors stand entrance, the four storey buildings appear to be flats. The pub on the corner, the Mercers Arms has been demolished for these new apartments and what used to be the pitch is now car parking space. There doesn't seem to be any reminders at all of the old ground though, but then some grafiti 'CV2' daubed on to some brickwork brings back one memory I wonder if it was a sad day in their history when the famous 'Cov kick to kill' wall was knocked down. Zoom out of street view but on the redisplayed map of the area I notice a Hastings Street to the east of the ground and remember a pub frequented by fans who'd driven down. Returning for one last look and there is one last reminder, The Hastings pub is still there.

Probably the most famous ground we attended in 1981 that has now gone was at Arsenal. In some ways things haven't changed that much, you can still use the same tube stations and pubs so the area is still very much up and running. All that can be done on google is a quick walk round the outside of what was Highbury which is something you could never do when it was there. Sandwiched between houses it took a while to get from one side to the other, a problem if you left the pubs on the far side five minutes before kick off. Doing a left from Arsenal Underground, you can see a gap in the houses that led to the North Bank and from here see cabins set up for the building of flats on the land. Seems strange with no stalls selling scarves and badges, on the left is what looks like a 10 foot wall with a red gate in it. It was and may even still be Arsenal Supporters Club and was probably the smallest such venue ever. Turn right into Avenell Road and after a few clicks forward come across a mixture of almost finished apartments behind the goal and work seemingly yet to fully start on the shell of the old stand. Further on its less protected with sheeting and the letters East Stand are clearly visible. Next we can see in again through a gap and the apartments at the Clock End and the West Stand seem well on the way to completion too. All that can't be seen is what has happened to the pitch, maybe more buildings or parking, alas street view has no hard hat and can not gain access to find out.

This was where the long walk round to our end was but on-line we can get there in a second and at the junction of Aubert Park and Highbury

Hill by zooming in can view both the Emirates to the west and the old away turnstiles down the hill to the right from the one spot. In fact from outside, the entrances can still be seen as they were from our last visit there, red and white brickwork and big green gates. Shame that Highbury went and that we couldn't get on the pitch with google, still we'll always have the 1984 semi and great memories of both.

So to the last division one ground with google and to Manchester City. Zoom straight in to Maine Road itself and there is the old site, now fenced off wasteland with just a few houses built so far. No signs of fancy apartments but then anyone who went there will no exactly why, Moss Side not being the nicest place for a ground. Trying to view what was the old ground from other angles proves difficult, street view hits a number of dead ends and alleyways and its impossible to find which really sums up exactly how Maine Road was. All the streets and houses looked the same and seemed to be in a criss cross pattern hiding the ground like a maze. Google reveals that its still the same, you walk down a road that seems blocked at the end then side step into a passage way and you've made it back to what was the ground. At least on-line you can just zoom out and your home, fans could spend ages trying to find their cars come final whistle in this warren of streets.

As this all started by an on-line trip to South Wales there was the intention to return there to see what happened to Newport who we visited twice the season after 81/82. However now that this series has begun, it may as well continue until all departed grounds have been covered so Somerton Park can be included later in the year along with some regular haunts likes Filbert Street and the Baseball Ground, the once visited Saltergate and of course the notorious Den. The Overseas Correspondent (at home)

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On a Day Like This "Even before I signed for Everton in 2005 I was aware that this is a football club with a very rich and proud tradition" Your alarm goes off early. You get up and turn on the TV. Sweaty fingers fumble for the only buttons that matter.

Sky. Four. Zero. Five.

Twice a year it’s the same. It’s like the Queen – The first of January and the first of July are her two unofficial birthdays. For you, weeks of excitement lead up to them, calendar marked, waking up like a little boy, not knowing what treats to expect this year.

Alas, waking up like a little boy lost. Alone even, maybe. Nowadays, the girl you really want to wake up with is Georgie Thompson, but she never replies to your letters, she’s even stopped reading out your e-mails and texts and has blocked your tweets - frankly you're getting a bit annoyed. Still, you have all those other reporters...

You sit and wait, eyes darting around the carefully composed screen. You anticipate the next item, by lunchtime you know exactly what’s coming next in the hour, and in what order. You can predict correctly what’s on the sidebar. Wait impatiently for PREM LGE to dance enticingly across the bottom of the screen...

But once again this year, it is back to work tomorrow, you have to go out to do some shopping, what will happen whilst you are out?

Jean-Marc Bosman, the footballer who changed the game forever following his court-case in the mid nineties, has a lot to answer for, but so do Sky Sports reporters, as their celebration – their over-exaggeration - of deadline day that started all this. Anyone who has seen the channel on those days will know why. Frantic agents getting cheeky texts and hoax phone calls, who CAN CONFIRM that so and so has had contact from such a club or somebody is going nowhere, that sort of thing. This year especially, the BBC live sports page and Twitter made it even more unbearable - as different journalists so eloquently put it, deadline day is like Groundhog Day or 'the finale of DEAL OR NO DEAL on a never-ending loop' and 'makes you question the raison d'etre of Sky Sports News' especially when various players are tweeting that they are going to spend the whole day watching the channel and helping Georgie WSAG34

'trend' along the way, thus playing a part in the drama that unfolds.

What makes it worse is those crazy guys who think it is funny to send elaborately hoaxed messages with in-joke ironies that are highly unlikely, that sometimes the TV channels go with. Presumably they have taken the day off and spent weeks planning who they will link with whom this time.

Now, it's back to school tomorrow, but still you crack open the wine, with a worry that those journalists who only recently were warning that Everton fans should count down the hours until deadline day is over, might have started some similar rumours themselves which ultimately would come true in a self fulfilling prophecy.

You appease the missus, watching a half decent rom com you recently hired from a popular DVD mail rental company, without realising said film was going to be on Sky the following weekend, and suddenly you feel a bit nervous again, was this an omen, just like when at the QPR game you continued your tradition of waiting for the players before the first game of the season like you used to as a kid and felt pangs of disappointment and embarrassment at seeing your team's star player refusing to sign autographs for his adoring fans, thus wishing you had not bothered to attend?

"I am honoured to play for Everton, I am proud to have captained the team" That rich and proud tradition is starting to diminish when you turn on the radio and hear rumours that last season's joint top scorer has been seen at the training ground of a club he had asked another fan, that day at the back of the Park End when, beacon-cheeked, you got his autograph because you admired his determination, “why would he want to join?”

Obviously, now there was a reason he might.

Time went on, another forgotten hero is on his way out, and the bombshell was soon to be dropped but it wasn’t really a surprise was it?

Given that school was the next day, potentially the most stressful year of your career, you begin to swear never to go through this again and would much rather be relaxing together and getting an early night, but instead begin quickly realising that those twenty years in which your team has just about managed to survive despite many other clubs - some would say football in general – have slowly given their souls and themselves to the media and money that celebrate the deadline scoop as if a vulture devouring a fresh kill, with scant regard for those left behind, might one day turn out to have been a waste.

Your thoughts turn to others. Those young men already experiencing a childhood of skitting and Monday morning blues, yourself included, and what they will face in the morning... that nine year old you know well who just spent his share of the grandparents' Irish Lottery win on a new away kit with ARTETA 10 on the back.

You think back to yourself at nine, and how you felt when Graeme Sharp went. Beardsley, Cottee, Ferguson, Rooney...

Then RELIEF!!

The best player you have probably seen in your twenty years of support is staying, after all! It was just stupid rumours formed by sensationalist reporters who want to further disrupt a struggling, sleeping giant. You can get ready for an early night now, a couple of questionable signings coming in, still confusion about those two strikers on whom opinion is divided, but at least everything is alright in the world and once again your club has proved that the new age of football has not quite suffocated everything that was once good.

The predictable arrival of more youngsters at training grounds and stadia up and down the country meant it was all nearly over, for another few months at least, signatures were coming and deals were announced as done.

You finish off on Twitter too, then read, oh what is this, from Mark Bright to Guilleme Balague "off means never say never in football"... then, you get a text and read that apparently the official site has been changed.

The TV goes back on. It is getting late, and you start thinking about transfer deadline days gone past, especially when some strange player called Fellaini was signed overnight - the day before another return to school, back when things were better - and decide that Doris Day was right.

What will be, will be and it’s not really worth prolonging the certain. The TV goes off again, the phone is put on silent and the alarm set. Ok so the wine makes you snore, but you also dream about all the good times.

The wine then makes you wake up in the middle of the night and you can't resist putting it back on one last time, just for the confirmation. The inevitable has happened and you are not surprised nor too disappointed.

You wake up and remember.

The next day brought with it, the phone-ins, the websites and the conversations with all those smug Kopite colleagues returning from expensive summer holidays who will not remember that day he had just arrived on loan, and was sat in the same restaurant as you and some girlfriends sent a note over asking him out for a drink and him saying ok as long as you are buying. Those goals against Fiorentina and Bolton, Liverpool and Man Utd last season, the flashes of brilliance, that conversation with a stranger in Korova whom you told he was the greatest player you had seen and him laughing and mentioning Colin Harvey was his own – “you’re too young to remember” - that spirit shown in a recent Football Focus interview and ultimately the belief that everything would be ok, as proven in the ninetieth minute of a painful afternoon in the pub the Saturday before.

Neither will they not remember that nine year old whose mum you texted to see if he is ok and he's been in tears all day, just not understanding, slowly learning the hard way that nothing ever lasts forever and the pragmatism that years of disappointment bring, is ultimately a good thing especially if you choose to take an interest in transfer deadline day.

One more player in a long line - and I don't blame him.

Reality, not Sky Sports sensationalism, prevails and even if the timing wasn't perfect, the harsh reality of football today means that however difficult it is to take then maybe the decision was correct: the club gets some money, ok the squad looks lighter but Moyes earns some respect, and they know that most fans will direct their ire at the player, because: "The Evertonians never forget their heroes."

Jim White

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20 Primal Scream in Ibiza Things (or a short list about chilling) 1. Always wondering what all the fuss was about regarding Ibiza.

2. A sweep based on the first footy shirts we’d see in Plays d’En Bossa. No one predicted three Everton ones and no others.

3. “Let’s take it easy on the first night, keep our powder dry for the gig tomorrow.” Hey presto, it’s seven in the morning and the party is still going strong.

4. The Spanish girls down the corridor introducing us to a local cocktail of Cutty Sark, Coca Cola and magic. Refreshing!

5. “Is it possible to get bored of looking at little brown arses?”

6. Scottish Brian. Top man.

7. The massive wheely bin full of confiscated gear as you go into Amnesia.

8. 20 Euros for a vodka and Red Bull.

9. “How did you get that tablet in?” “Under my foreskin.” “You did wrap it in something didn’t you?” “Er, yeah...”

10. “I’m going to go back and fucking twat him.” One lad’s reaction to a Partridge‐esque moment as he tried to let on to Terry Farley and was summarily blanked. “Terry. Terry. Terry.

TERRY!” 11. Geordie John staring up with genuine wide‐eyed wonder every time the enormous smoke machine went off.

12. Listening to Higher Than The Sun when you are, well, higher than the...

13. A cheesy but rather wonderful sing‐a‐long finale of Jailbird, the brilliant Country Girl, and Rocks.

14. Bumping into Bobby Gillespie in Ibiza Town and him being surprisingly decent, although his eyes did scream, ‘Why can’t we have indie kid fans instead of mobs of slightly aggressive middle‐aged grewlers?’

15. TERRY! 16. The world’s most aggressive prostitutes. “Hey baby, even born again Christians need to fuck.”

17. Boys Own at the lovely Sands Bar on the final day 18. A massive scoff, ecstasy and white wine in the afternoon. Chilled to the gills.

19. A hen party in Sunderland shirts at the airport – I’d rather tackle the Seaburn Casuals.

20. Understanding what all the fuss is about.

If you like what you see here, why don’t you subscribe to WSAG for next season. Its easy, to receive all seven issues you simply have to follow the steps below and we will also post out all copies first class and will ensure that the postman whistles ‘Forever Everton’ as it drops through your door.

Our subscription rates are: uk : £20.50 europe: £29.50 rest of the world: £37.10 You can order in the following ways Through our online shop www.freewebstore.org/wsag You can also send money electronically directly via Paypal to our email address: whenskiesaregrey@btinternet.com Or by using the good old fashioned way by sending a cheque or postal order to WSAG, PO Box 135, 12 Liverpool, L9 7WP If you have any queries about anything – apart from transfer rumours - please email us at whenskiesaregrey@btinternet.com and we will do our best to help.

Ten To Hate Well, the football season, and with it the overblown Premier League with all its frantically media-generated hype is firmly back. Not that it ever really goes away of course, as we continue to be swamped 365 days of the year with the latest saga from what is increasingly becoming a perpetual soap opera. The lack of opportunity to escape the game means little chance to let any festering resentments associated with it to disappear, and boy do these increase by the day.

Here are the top 10, in no order, of very many that can have me seething at the mere thought or mention of them...

1) Harry Redknapp.

Everyone’s familiar with his schtick. Droning on endlessly about needing players, the ‘incredible’ wages being paid by other clubs (although he’s no idea what his own club pay their players of course), ‘I like the boy…insert player from another club here….but he belongs to…said player’s club’ so I don’t think anything will happen on that one’. In fact every time he opens his trap my blood pressure rises a tad.

What really grates though is the complete hold loveable ‘Arry has over the media. The fella can’t seem to do anything wrong.

He’s apparently rescued Spurs from implosion, oh and any record of him managing Southampton to relegation has been expunged.

2) Mark Hughes.

His flouncing out of Fulham while appearing to consider himself manager in waiting at A.C. Milan, Bayern Munich or another club befitting his managerial expertise only to end up sat on his backside and out of work has completed a marvellous Karmic journey since his ego was incurably swelled while in charge at the home of inflatable bananas. The ‘I’ll talk to whoever’s in charge’ comment when after Lescott guaranteed ‘Sparky’ a place in the affections of

Evertonian’s Thomas.

alongside

the

likes

of

Clive

3) Manchester City.

This isn’t a new one for me. Their media image as good-humoured and wacky fans, loyal to their club like no others, has long grated. I can, without hesitation, say that a takeover at Everton of the ilk City have experienced would leave me cold. No amount of Nasri’s, Silva’s, Aguero’s and the rest would be worth the loss of identity as a club that would never be recovered. And don’t get me started on The Poznan. Merely typing it has me seething.

4) Joey Barton.

Probably still confused as to how offers from Real Madrid, Manchester United, and Inter Milan, vying for his services could all get lost leaving him to sign for Q.P.R. How a footballer dribbling on self-indulgently on Twitter has managed to elevate himself from a hard-working decent midfielder into the next coming of Patrick Vieira in the eyes of many is incredible. An example of how grateful media and fans alike appear to be to have someone prepared to venture beyond cliché in his public pronouncements.

5) Phil Thompson.

As an Evertonian a healthy dislike for the most obvious rhinoplasty candidate this side of Cyrano De Bergerac is mandatory. The one-eyed dross that streams from his rs mouth can of course provide plenty of unintended mirth. Just as likely to cause a coronary in the more sensitive blue though.

6) Soccer Saturday.

It’s an extremely long time since I’ve sat and watched this. What I originally couldn’t stomach if I wasn’t at the match was the fun and games of Stelling as he toys with your emotions. ‘There’s been a goal at The Britannia. Last time we were there Everton

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were one down, have they levelled it, Alan McInally?’

‘No Jeff, Glen Whelan has just twatted a penalty into the top corner, which was given for a foul on Jon Walters by Phil Neville which has seen Everton’s captain sent-off’.

Latterly it’s the gang of needy Ex-Pro’s on the panel shrieking uncontrollably in the background as Zat Knight sticks a header 10 yards over the bar in a match said panellist couldn’t give two-hoots about, purely because they haven’t been on screen for the last 90 seconds and are feeling left.

7) Money.

Not the usual moan here about money ruining the game, although at the top level it clearly is.

A current bête-noire of mine is the continual reference, particularly by commentators, to the value of anything to a club, be it prospective promotion, qualification for the Champions League or winning an F.A. Cup match.

We’re used to hearing how some lower league giant killers will be safe as a club for years having beaten a hapless, heartless top division side, usually Everton. Now the Championship play-off final is salivated over as the £50m, £70m, or whatever the pie-in-the-sky calculation that day is, match. The commentary on that game will be littered with references to how much each individual piece of action could be worth.

‘Oooh, he’s hit that across the goal there and Noel Hunt couldn’t get his toe on it. Could that be the moment that’s cost Reading £70m’.

The most obvious recent example of monetary obsession was during Arsenal’s Champions League qualifier in Udinese. The awful Peter Drury crowbarred so many references to the ‘£25m prize’ of qualifying for that bloated, horrible competition into his rhetoric you’d have thought he didn’t know anything about the game itself…..

8) Managers…

In this case, repeated references to their ‘football club’ in interviews, or the need to win ‘football matches’. We know it’s a football club, and that they play football matches.

Dutchman Steve McClaren was the first I noticed to be afflicted by this with the baton soon picked up by fat Sammy Lee. Now the virus has spread.

If you’re ever lucky enough to hear Micky Adams or Nigel Adkins interviewed make sure ‘football club’ is on your ‘interview bingo’ card.

Similarly, if Owen Coyle is on the other side of the microphone you won’t fail if you hold the ‘Barclays Premier League’ card. Other slaves to the sponsor are Martinez, Hodgson, and ‘King Kenny’.

9) ‘King Kenny’.

Not necessarily the bloke himself, although it’s fair to say he’s not exactly to my liking. More the unprecedented levels of sycophancy afforded him by various members of the media and his own club’s self- important supporters.

I’m not sure if I’ve ever wanted them to fall flat on their faces quite this much, although that is probably my memory playing tricks.

They won’t of course.

10) Mikel Arteta A late addition, as his name would have not been anywhere near consideration when I started this list. It’s not Arteta personally that I hate, it’s the fact that he’s made me realise a player leaving Everton can still really hurt.

Adopting the position of that dreaded ‘football accountant’ I so abhor, the sale makes sense.

We all have a fairly clear idea of Everton’s financial status. In light of this, paying Arteta £70,000 a week just wasn’t sustainable, particularly not the Arteta that we’ve seen post injury.

Watching him play over the last year has been largely frustrating. He appears to have lost pace, confidence in his ability to take a player on, and that desire to take responsibility for the performance of the side in the way that once characterised the Spaniard.

Arteta has provided some wonderful moments and memories, and been the core figure in the Everton side for a large chunk of his 6.5 years here.

After Rooney, I have felt immune to the pain of seeing anyone leave, even surprising myself with my sanguine attitude when Lescott and Pienaar went. Despite trying to do the same on hearing Arteta was going to be off, I’m truly gutted.

I can’t find it in me to dislike him in anyway whatsoever, but crikey, his going has left me feeling unnervingly empty.

Paul McNamara WSAG41

WSAG164 November 2011

“I see impassioned scribes stating that this is the worst Everton team they’ve seen, particularly when it follows the sentence ‘I’ve followed Everton for 50 years. All I can say is that people must have stopped going for periods.”

Blinded By The Light The devil’s greatest trick was to convince people that he doesn’t exist. Arguably his second was to make football supporters believe that their best interests coincide with those of businesspeople.

Some Evertonians, for instance, are spending their own free time and money on meetings and marching because they want someone rich to take over the club, but what happens if they eventually get what they want, and some group of Indian or Chinese suits replace the current bunch? Once the novelty of an initial little spending spree wears off, what then? They best keep the sheets and the tin of Dulux handy because, rest assured, they will hate any new lot soon enough.

Because that’s the state of modern football. It’s not about the individual owners being cunts – and despite what many would have you believe, Bill Kenwright is far from the worst out there but the whole system that their collective greed and self-interest has created.

Manchester United have lost a chunk of local, core support to FC United, not to mention the wider anti-Glazer ‘movement’, despite being the most successful club in the country, while the supposedly brilliantly-run Arsenal, with their exemplary new stadium, have been booed off already this season and their manager has confessed that their realistic aim is to finish fourth in the league.

Meanwhile, Newcastle United supporters, just when they are starting to enjoy watching their best side for some time, and some fans even started to reconsider whether Mike Ashley is quite the cunt they thought he was, get booted in the kite with the news that St. James Park has been renamed the Sports Direct Arena. It’s apparently to ‘showcase’ the naming rights to potential sponsors, and inevitably Derek Llambias – Ashley minus the wealth and the raw sexual magnetism – passed it off by saying the cash raised could bring in another player. Ace! It’s all utter fucking shit, these people are complete bluffers who have a cheek talking to anyone about the football ‘business’ when they are in charge of clubs during a time when they receive unprecedented, unimaginable income, chiefly from a mammoth television deal, and STILL MANAGE TO LOSE MONEY HAND OVER FIST. Every individual involved in football is WSAG4

absolutely fucking minted and yet the clubs themselves have never been closer to financial oblivion than ever.

You almost had to feel sorry for Liverpool’s Ian Ayre when the ‘new Yanks, not like them other ones’ pushed him into the spotlight and made him shamefacedly table the idea of clubs negotiating their own international telly rights.

The money they already receive isn’t enough, and the only way that the new owners can envisage ever actually making any profit out of the club is from a deal that they themselves know would be catastrophic for the sport itself.

That’s the mind-bending position where football is now. Add the freak show that is Manchester City into the mix and we’ve not so much seen a transformation of the sport in recent years so much as a complete paradigm shift. Apart from the names of the clubs – the ‘brands’, if you will – the Premier League, or EPL if you are a bad twat, bears about as much relation to ‘the old Division One’, and essentially the game we all know and love and shared with our parents, as it does to Formula One or golf.

Essentially then, we owe these cunts nothing, but football fans’ tribal loyalty has allowed the

capitalists to what they always do to anything good – they ingratiate themselves, worm their way in with lies and empty promises and then slowly fucking ruin it.

Like predatory paedophiles, more or less.

What?

It’s that fear that supporters have, of their rivals getting one up on them, that is the leverage these maggots use time and again to push through their self-serving agendas: ‘If we don’t do this new shit thing then the players will all go abroad/sign for Manchester City/go and get proper jobs…’

Obviously that last one’s a joke.

So then, modern football’s shite – where’s my Pulitzer?

That’s an extreme example, clearly, but the principle still applies everywhere else.

Clearly there are always going to be financial inequalities between clubs - there always have been, although never this pronounced – and there’s nothing anyone can do about it. That ship has sailed. So you take the rough with the smooth and accept that things go in cycles – one minute you’re the Mersey Millionaires and another you are cash-strapped Everton. One day you are watching Shaun Goater and another it’s David Villa. Like, whatever.

But why pay top dollar for the privilege?

Why not instead turn the tables and start dictating back to the clubs in the only way possible?

Threaten to walk away.

Ok then, what are we going to do about it? In terms of the whole business side, well, fuck all.

If any of us had the clout and the money then we would be doing something far more constructive than worrying about 22 idiot millionaires kicking a bag of air around a field.

And if not more constructive, then at least more fun.

It would have to be a unified action between supporters of every club, and so it will never fucking happen, but imagine if a decent-sized percentage of the match-going public in this country made a commitment that if tickets don’t come down to the entirely reasonable price of £20 for every game at every club, then they won’t be coming back, thanks very much.

There is really only one thing that, in theory at least, the ordinary supporter could affect for ‘the greater good’. If we all accepted that the boardrooms are full of sharks and that the game is essentially weighted in the favour of the richest clubs – and let’s be honest, we already have – then we could focus on one single issue that unites every supporter in the country, and that’s ticket prices.

‘But we’ve borrowed against that money…’

That’s where the effort and the organisation could be put to far more use than flying planes over Ewood Park, carrying a cake to Goodison, wearing a Norwich scarf to Old Trafford or making a video chock-full of top Kopite celebrities for what really amount to generic ‘we’re not happy, it’s not fair, boo fucking hoo’ protests.

Again, yeah? Given that only a handful of sides play in it every season, that’s a small sacrifice.

And anyway, plenty of other countries in Europe charge reasonable, affordable prices, like Germany, for instance, and their game is in rude health, at both club and international level.

Think about it. Manchester City pay that despicable gargoyle Carlos Tevez a quarter of a million pounds a week to sit at home scratching his plums watching Loose Women, they have sundry other fuckers earning great tank who don’t get a game and their owners are able to draw on the wealth of a sovereign nation. And do, regularly.

So why are their fans having to pay to get in?

They should be getting in for free – the club would barely even notice the missing gate receipts.

Yeah? Well we never fucking asked you to. Sell a player, or better still, pay the cunts less in future – if we lose a load to brain surgery and rocket science then so be it, we’ll soldier on without them.

‘We would become less competitive in Europe…’

Football was meant to be a brief escape for the working man from the pressures of capitalism.

Now the game, especially in England, has almost become a flag-bearer for the sort of wonky economics that are presently ruining lives on your doorstep and all around the world.

If supporters are willing to put aside their phony differences and do something concrete and advantageous to everyone then count me in. If not, well, the rest is, in the words of that deepest thinking of political philosophers, Alan Partridge, ‘just a noise’.

WSAG5

These Times Are A Changin

The saying goes that that being a blue is not a choice and we are born that way –we are not manufactured, we are chosen. However you come on board for the ride: one thing for sure is that it’s not an easy one. The past few years have seen us go though some good and not so good times. Right now, I am genuinely concerned about the way the club is being run. It is this concern that has left me feeling really down beat and for the first time in years, I really haven’t looked forward to going the match – the first home game of the season for me was totally flat and lacking any atmosphere. Other Blues are feeling the same –I guess most fans knew there would be a lack of activity in the transfer window: but I for one always have that little hope there. There was a lot of shocked Blues when Arteta went (including me) and it seems people are starting to get twitchy – which leads people to start getting despondent but their love of the club leads them to wanting to do something about it.

This is where the Blue Union comes in: an amalgamation of fans groups that are like me and you, Evertonians that are concerned about the future of the club.

A meeting took place the Saturday before with 300-400 fans. It was the majority of fans that came up with the idea to demonstrate peacefully before the Villa game. The purpose of the demo was to raise awareness that change is needed and to make the hierarchy at Everton realise that a lot of fans are not happy. From my perspective we all feel the number one priority is that new investment is needed to move the club forward. Another suggestion is an autonomous board to objectively ensure that the club is on the market/open to investment I wasn’t sure what to expect at all regarding the march. I knew it was properly arranged – the police were consulted and the Blue Union made all fans aware that this was to be peaceful – but I wondered whether those that had said they wanted to take part would turn up or the other blues that were calling those taking part “Kopites” and “embarrassing” on forums and twitter etc would make there feelings vocal on the day. We got to the Spellow Lane meeting point at about 1:45 and there were already quite a few people there waiting. I would say there were about 300 people. As I was doing the photography for it, I was walking round taking pictures and the attendance was a mixture of older fellas, kids with their parents, girls/women/lads of different ages. The atmosphere was relaxed and everybody seemed at ease, just chatting to each other. There were quite a few banners tied up on the fences at the back of the waste ground. The media had also turned out to film and record the event; including TV and Radio. The radio stations in particular were speaking to a few of the fans and getting the opinions of why they were involved.

By the time the march was due the numbers had swelled and I would say it looked like there were about 1000-1500 fans gathered on the waste ground and on Spellow Lane waiting to join.

At the start Dave Kelly the main spokesperson of the Blue Union reminded everybody this was peaceful and to conduct themselves accordingly. It was this point the fans eventually started the march. The chant was “Let go if you love the Club”. Once the march got to Goodison Road this is where I began to get a bit nervous, about other blues biting back, but I can honestly say where I was right at the front, there was no trouble and nothing happened. It continued then up Goodison Road towards the Wilmslow and to the Directors entrance. I stood on the side taking pictures and noticed a lot of fans joined in as it made its way up Goodison Road - the singing was loud and for a bit there was a lot of Davey Moyes Chants and Everton Songs going on. At the end everybody stopped outside the director’s box and had their say. Again I have to say that there was no trouble at all. When the end of the march was signalled – everybody just got on with their normal match day. Myself included. In the ground I felt the atmosphere seemed a lot better than previous games. That’s just my opinion and was until Kenwright was shown on the big screens. (But that’s another story for another day). I don’t know what the next steps are and I think the march only signals the start of future things.

Sam McPartland WSAG9

ENOUGH already I’m really trying to wean myself off the internet. Visit any Everton related site at the moment and you’ll read the same sort of stuff.

The clubs doomed, Moyes is a dull, tactically naïve buffoon who doesn’t give a shit anymore and this is the worst Everton team since living memory.

First of all, I’ve no doubt the majority of fans writing this stuff have the best of intentions and this is clearly turning out to be the worst season for a long while.

However my beef is with the group of fans who seem to be taking great pleasure in every little thing that goes wrong at Everton. For example, before the United game the following was printed by someone who doesn’t even go anymore apparently. “I hope Everton get fuckin battered it’s the only way that the sheep will see what Kenwright’s done to this club.”

When you see shite like this you have to say enough is enough.

It appears that some people are completely losing sight of why they support the club and if it makes them so angry, maybe its time to do something else with their leisure time. As one of my mates said, “Is this how the Talliban started?”

A few people have asked why I haven’t got involved in the whole Blue Union thing. I suppose I could have come up with a million and one reasons but the main one comes down

to my relationship with Everton and football in general.

For me it started when Nick Barmby crossed the park in 2000 and was confirmed 4 years later when Wayne Rooney, a boyhood Blue and possibly the greatest young player in the world decided to worm off and join Manchester United before he was out of his teens.

At that point, I realised that Everton could not compete at the top and that I would never let it get to me again. Nothing that has happened in the ensuing years has made me change my mind. Everton, under Moyes have competed well up to a point but without that financial muscle have always missed out when the big prizes have been handed out. Generally though, by being more relaxed about things, I’ve enjoyed my football more over the past 7 or 8 years.

The other thing, from a personal point of view is the fact I now have a toddler, with another one on the way and a job that gets more pressured and less secure by the week. Everton and Football in general are now an escape and what I choose to spend my ever decreasing leisure money on. Goodison and its environs is a place where I meet a lot of mates who I wouldn’t normally see anywhere else. In short, I come the match for some light relief and I’m not going to spend that time marching for a none existent new owner. I’m not after a medal but I would argue that my position is not uncommon among many fellas who come the match. I do not love Everton any less.

Another thing that I find bizarre is when I see impassioned scribes stating that this is the worst Everton team they’ve seen, particularly when it follows the sentence “I’ve followed Everton for 50 years”. All I can say is that people must have stopped going for periods.

I’ve watched Everton for 38 years and have seen the vast majority of home games over the last 33 years. There’s been numerous worst teams, playing duller football than todays, despite the current slump. I have to say though that Straqualursi’s up there though.

WSAG10

B I T T E R? It’s the day after the ‘Atkinson Derby’ (there seems to be more named after refs than players nowadays) and after necking a bottle of Tiger in my grundies whilst arguing with reds I’ve never met on Twitter, I thought I should put my mind to something slightly more constructive.

We’re all familiar with the ridiculous ‘bitter’ tag that our friends from across the park have labeled us with, and normally for me it’s like gob off a duck’s back. But what has really boiled my piss since the match is that just because we have the audacity to feel aggrieved by a game-changing arseshit of a decision by a referee, that makes us bitter?

I realise some of the reds use this phrase to wind us up and that’s fine, it’s all part of the complex minefield known as ‘football banter’.

But some of them say it with such conviction I honestly cannot get my head around their logic.

By their parameters, they could play the second half with 14 men, a smaller goal, 2 keepers, and hover boards for the strikers, and even if an injury time, earthquake- assisted goal for them meant that we narrowly missed out on a draw, if we even thought about bringing the mitigating circumstances into the post match discussion, they would wheel out the bitter-yawn fest again.

‘But that trained grizzly bear that pawed your goal in was clearly offside!’

‘Ehh, yer fuckin bitter you lad.’

It’s also quite hard to have an adult discussion with some of them as they seem incapable of twitching and shouting ‘BITTER! 5 TIMES!’ like a toddler who’s just discovered swearing.

Of course, if they complain about referees they’re certainly not bitter are they? That 4-0 thrashing they got at Spurs was down to some refereeing conspiracy, so they were WSAG12

well within their rights moan…whatever, knobheads.

to

bitch

and

Interestingly, the only season that I saw a consistent level of boozer kick offs between Reds and Blues was the season that we finished above them (04/05). This was purely down to the fact that most of the ‘Alehouse Reds’ (a different breed from your generally decent match going Red) couldn’t bear to see a well-oiled Everton team (with Marcus Bent leading the line no less) above them and deservedly so. The phrase ‘Bitter Reds’ started getting used amongst my mates, first as a joke and a wind up, but by March / April of that season the term had become bonafide.

‘Can you imagine how their bitterness would fester if they were to spend the next 10 / 15 years below us?’ we speculated (although not quite as eloquently, and with more naughty words) as Big Dunc elbowed his way through the penalty box to nod home another late winner for the Blue Boys.

Of course, we all know how that season ended.

The status quo had been restored and we were relegated back to being ‘Bitter’. (Even daring to simply question the fact that UEFA actually changed the rules of the Champions League to allow them to compete again the following season, something that I cannot recall

happening before or since, was enough to justify the ‘bitter’ tag once again.)

I must admit to having my bitter moments in private. My dad is a big influence on this as I’m sure through the years he’s become more of an opponent of LFC than a supporter of EFC. Incidents such as this don’t help though…I was working in Norwich one weekend when a staff member asked me my team.

‘I’m a blue’ I responded.

‘Ooh! You’ve gotta meet the manager Tony, he’s a red!’ I think he was expecting some kind of Street Fighter II stand-off at this point.

So Tony shuffled over, looking like some kind of retro sex offender and boldly proclaimed, ‘I’m a Red, and not just any old Red, but a Proper Red™’ ‘Is that because you’re sarcastically asked.

from

Norwich?’

I

‘Yeah. I’m a proper Red, me.’ The deranged fuckwit didn’t understand, bless him.

This didn’t bother me in the slightest.

If anything it just reinforced my pride in supporting the Walton White Sox. (Blue Sox this year for some reason?) But what did grind my gears was the subsequent ‘banter’ that he tried to engage in later on after we’d lost and they’d won (a familiar scenario), even wheeling out the ‘bitter’ tag himself!

kept my calm. I simply went outside and keyed his tractor. One-nil motherfucker.

I’ve noticed some Blues have taken to reclaiming the word, as many social groups have done in the past. T-shirts, banners, and even tattoos I’ve seen have the slogan ‘Bitter and Proud’ emblazoned on them.

But to me that’s just admitting defeat to the reds who spout this nonsense, and giving them a level of satisfaction that we should not allow ourselves to do.

So be proud. Be Blue. But don’t be bitter. At least not in front of them anyway…

I could see he was waiting for me to lose my rag, and even though inside I was seething, I

Sam Avery

The end of the world as we know it...

Its always been thought that most multinational companies don’t have a fuckin clue. This is particularly true of adidas. Someone told them to start re-releasing their old trainees.

They were happy producing adidas mchammer. This has been proved over and over again. Most latterly with these fuckers pictured. Noel Gallagher indeed. Noel fucking Gallagher.

Someone thought this was a good idea. A cool idea. They then took it to a meeting and they all thought it was a cool idea. They then showed it to a load of magazine editors and they thought it was cool too.

It fucking isn’t. It is a manc thing?

WSAG13

GIVE US AN E What’s our name?

Forever Everton. Through thick and thin.

Good times and bad times.

We are Everton.

We don’t care what the redshite say.

Supporting a team isn’t about winning or signing new players.

We don’t give a fuck about what anyone else says.

Its not about moaning, whingeing, booing or marching in the street.

This is our club. Yours and mine.

Its about you and me sticking together, standing up for the Royal Blue.

Things are a bit shite at the moment. We are selling our best players and we haven’t got a pot to piss in. The vultures are circling, waiting for us to roll over.

Look around you. Look at all the other clubs. Look at them lot across the park.

Look at the Mancs, the Cockneys, the Geordies.

We won’t give them the satisfaction.

We are still fuckin’ Everton and all that means.

It seems to me that some people want it easy. Demanding solutions, demanding action. Demanding change.

It’s never been easy. Christ, in this City, its never been easy. Take the cards you’re dealt and get on with it.

Look at them all. You can tell us a mile off. Anyplace, anywhere.

We must use this strength, this uniqueness to unite us. To get behind the jerseys whoever is wearing them.

Don’t call me naive. Don’t claim I don’t know what’s going on, I do. But I choose Everton.

Give us an E.

WSAG8

Different Drum Back when we first started WSAG we used to dedicate at least two pages to reviewing new fanzines.

They were heady days indeed when just about anyone was starting up their own publications.

Travelling to the beat of a different drum.

Now there doesn’t appear to be many of us left in the football market.

I’m sure there’s loads out there but we don’t get to see them.

That shared identify has been lost.

to selected outlets across the country (Weavers Door in Liverpool) and as ever its hundred odd pages are a delight from beginning to end.

At last, people from this City are starting to produce magazines again. There is, of course, a heavy legacy but that should inspire not hinder.

This issue includes features on Native Craftworks, 6876, Vera shoes, Robert Wade Smith, 20 Albums You Don’t Own But Should (we hadn’t heard of any of them) and a list of Highly Desirable Items which refreshingly doesn’t include loads of poncey ‘London’ things.

Spiel chooses the sensible option and inside of aping what’s gone before, it cuts its own path. And its all the better for it.

Go out tomorrow and hunt it down. If you can’t find it try the website spielmagazine.com where you can pay a few quid and they will send you one.

It costs £7 and is worth every penny. Good website too (propermag.com)

We want to try and put some of it back and therefore we are going to try to regularly feature new or existing magazines who share our philosophy.

Finally, one of the footy mags that we still get ‐ True Faith, a Newcastle fanzine.

Next up is Spiel, a free football, fashion and lifestyle publication from Liverpool.

The first is Proper Magazine.

A quality publication which covers ‘clothes not fashion’.

Issue 11 has just been delivered

The second issue has just come out and it again looks spectacular. Beautifully prod‐ uced, and wonderfully written.

Its a remarkable beginning.

You have loads of pre‐ conceptions about Geordies.

This panders to none of them.

That is reason enough to cherish this. Always a great read and well worth checking out.

Details from true‐faith.co.uk WSAG31

HEY THAT’S NO WAY TO SAY GOODBYE

I detest clichés but you could apply a lot of them to Everton’s form at the moment and the old adage you are never too good to go down is one that I think of a lot at the moment.

Certainly six defeats in seven games is relegation form no matter who we’ve played.

Of course we seem to be perennial poor starters and in the last few seasons have been able to go on runs that have made a mockery of our early term form but there’s something lacking this season. Clearly losing both Pienaar and Arteta within half a season is crippling as we’ve lost (apart from Baines) the creative force of the team. More worrying for me however is the air of depression that seems to have gripped the club and this is where I think David Moyes comes in.

Now let me say straight away, that I would be pissed off if I was him. To come so close to breaking into the Top Four with such limited resources but to know it wasn’t enough, would affect me.

To know how the addition of a player here or there would made the crucial difference to that 2006-2010 team would be something I would regret deeply were I him.

The reality is however is that we are where we are, with the resources we’ve got (or haven’t got) and what he needs to decide is whether after nearly ten years in charge he has got the stomach for yet another rebuilding exercise perhaps utilising the youthful talents of Rodwell, Barkley et al.

I suspect he is torn between his undoubted loyalty to the club (for which I am eternally grateful) and his ambition and perhaps somehow this is adding to the general air of uncertainty, despondency and yes depression around Everton. It seems obvious that the best we can hope for this season is a sort of mid table respectability but starting against Wolves we need to pick up some points very quickly.

Who said I detest clichés?

One of the key factors in our struggling start has been the same as last season, namely the lack of firepower up front. The return of James McFadden illustrated this as I remember WSAG14

thinking in 2008 when he left how blessed we were with strikers like Yakubu, Johnson, Anichebe, Vaughan with Cahill around as well.

From feast to famine in a few seasons….It’s not just a goal scorer we lack but the inability of someone to work the opposing defence, create space for others and be able to act as a target man to hold the ball up.

Watching the Republic of Ireland in Estonia last night and seeing Moreton born Evertonian Jon Walters lead the line so capably and score his first international goal made me wonder if we are really scouring the lower divisions for talent as much as we used to? I suppose our lack of wedge means any penny spent in transfer fees (remember them?) or wages on players needs to be spot on.

When I was a kid I used to spend hours and hours writing lists about anything and everything although hypothetical Everton starting XI’s were my main preoccupation. It would be a pointless exercise today given where we are financially unless Moyes rips it up and starts again which with the stakes so high in terms of league placing, would make him a very brave man.

Of course this stupid transfer window, which blatantly favours cash rich big clubs that stockpile players before it shuts, doesn’t help.

If there was any of the Arteta and Beckford money available you would like to think Moyes in days before the transfer window existed would have already swooped for someone other than an Argentinian unaccustomed to English football and would be reaping the rewards.

It takes me back nearly 20 years ago to the day when we played Notts County at home, the first match after Howard Kendall Mk II had sensationally brought Mo Johnston from Rangers at great expense to try to provide the catalyst to a team playing some nice football around the pitch but with an inability to turn that into chances and indeed goals (sound familiar?)

My Dad and I had a habit that even though I played football every Saturday, if anything big happened at Everton like a new signing, new

manager, new pies etc (just checking you are still awake…) we would move heaven and earth to be there. The signing of Mo Jo was one such event and even though as Celtic sympathisers he wasn’t our fave player, he played for Everton now and being optimists or even dreamers, we wanted to see how the controversial striker would ignite our season.

So on a chilly but bright November day we made the pilgrimage to L4. I remember this day very fondly not however for the football which was very average accept for Tony Cottee’s winner but for some quality time spent with the arl fella, Satterthwaits sausage rolls at my Grandparents, a fruit machine win in The Mons, a Brendan Shine cassette in the car, my mate Adi’s 21st that night but most of all for my first pair of Timberlands (tan brown) that I had coveted since I saw Shaun Ryder in them circa ‘Kinky Afro’ and which I wore constantly in the winter months for years and years.

They certainly lasted a longer than Mo Jo anyway….

I loved that winter of 91/92 for many reasons.

I was 20, in love, at college and the world seemed my oyster. Everton were also showing promise as performances if not results showed.

For sentimental research purposes I dug out the two WSAG’s from late ’91 and early ‘92 and there is that same sense of optimism throughout the mags amidst great debates about wearing kits at the match, Celtic vs Rangers and whether skin behaviour at the match was really on the wane.

I record this as the recently released brilliant End compilation (like the Boys Own one) illustrates how lucky we were to have these mags to keep in paper format chronicling our

times and reflecting our lives which I am not sure that our children will necessarily have with internet. Just reading WSAG 15 and 16 takes me back to a great time in my life with such memories as Peter Beardsley’s brilliance, ‘Love See No Colour’ single by The Farm, Dark green Boss sweatshirts, singing Saw Doctors songs with Irish mates in stay behinds, blowing student loans on Polo Ralph Lauren, bus rides into Nottingham whilst everyone is watching a Rugby World Cup final, getting a three quid a week betting habit, ‘The Men’s Room’ TV series (making sociology sexy,) 21st parties galore, ‘What’s The Score’ the mag, Oceanic’s ‘Insanity,’ missing lectures to watch old videos all day long, Robert Maxwell going overboard and midweek Zenith Data Systems Trophy defeats at Filbert Street. And no I never wore one of them blue and white Santa hats….

Finally on the subject of sentimental reflection although I’m loath to recommend a book before I’ve finished reading it, I have just started Anthony Clavane’s ‘Promised Land – A Northern Love Story.’ It has been highly praised by writers like David Peace and the early chapters don’t disappoint. It’s all about Leeds – the football team, the city itself and the author’s Jewish family history within the city and is the sort of book that is begging to be written by one of our own about Everton and Evertonia.

Maybe by the time someone has written it, Everton will be out of this difficult period and back enjoying victories. I hope so because I would hate after all that he has given this club for David Moyes’ time as Everton manager to fade away ignominiously. Let’s hope that starts today against Wolves.

Kieron WSAG15

FEELING VOXISH Offer, offer, it was not an unreasonable offer…

There is a form of madness existent within the game of football that has been increasing for some years now, with Everton remaining practically untouched by this hideous disease until now. No its not the ridiculous wages paid to some of the pampered, mercenary, insipid footballers who have to perform once, maybe twice a week. No I’m talking about the deluded supporter. Not delusional in the sense of the young supporters who harbour ambitions of playing for there favourite football club, and believe one day they might - not bearing in mind that their crap at football - and lets be honest most of us did. No, I’m talking about a more sinister and obsessive type of deluded, one involving the detachment from reality by adults who really should know better.

Yes it’s the MY / WE / OUR club syndrome that infects sections of supporters of various football clubs, and has now reached Everton in epidemic proportions. Supporters who actually believe, yes BELIEVE that they should have a say in the running of a football club, and refer to Everton as MY / WE / OUR club. You know the type. People who take some decisions made by the club as a personal affront, jamming switchboards on phone ins and filling comments sections offering advice, believing they could better than the chairman/owner/manager, and worst of all…starting pressure groups and wanting to protest because things aren’t going right at THEIR club.

How Evertonians cringed at the other shower with their yanks out protests and childish pressure groups, especially with the end result being more yanks running the club. And how Evertonians laughed at the naivety of the green and gold protests at the other end of the East Lancs. who thought a few thousand scarves waved by people weighed down with bags of club merchandise was going to upset the clubs mega rich owners. But now it seems that any pride Everton supporters had of being a step above such gullible actions is now tainted by small groups of deluded people who’s WSAG32

machinations show that they don’t understand the workings of a football club.

Now I don’t see anything wrong with idea of protesting if it has a valid cause. Redundancies, corruption, funding cuts, pension rip offs, student fees, racism, anything were the common man is being exploited by the powers that be is worth protesting against. But protesting because things aren’t going right at a football club? Protesting for a reason that will not improve the lifestyle or living conditions of anybody concerned?

Protesting because for no valid reason they claim Everton is OUR club, meaning themselves and who exactly? The people involved in these groups and protests need to take a serious look at themselves, and ask haven’t they got anything more important to be concerned about.

Here are a few pointers aimed specifically at those who wrongly believe they are the club, and fail to grasp the us and them mentality that has been customary in football since its conception, a mentality established by those running the club, that is unlikely to change.

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Since its formation in 1878 a large part of Everton Football Club has been run as a business by business people, the majority of whom have acquired their wealth by having some degree of success by using their business acumen, thus enabling them to purchase the football club or enough shares in a football club to have an influence. When the people who run the club decide to move on, those who take over will be more business types.

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Through their similar interests of money, money, wealth and money, these business types become very cliquey and sit away from the rest of the paying supporters in a directors box. This is to keep a major source of there income i.e. the paying supporter away from there clique while they think of more ways of how to over charge the paying supporters to eat, drink, and watch less than entertaining football every other week.

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Consider this- If you were that good at business or influential enough, you’d already

have been invited to a seat in the boardroom and would be sipping brandy’s while flirting with the players wife’s. Instead you’ve turned against the club at a time when the going has got tough, spending your hard earned money on protest leaflets and banners…not exactly the strong personality needed for a multi million pound business.

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Believing that your attendance at matches on a regular basis, or your 10, 20, 30 years of following Everton entitles you to a say in the clubs affairs is misguided. You alone are the person responsible for parting with your hard earned cash to watch Everton, they do not force you to attend. Sound investment, good fortune and very few morals is needed for a place among the parasites that run football clubs. No amount of crying, marching up and down Goodison Road, or starting silly groups is going to get your money back or a place on the board.

Don’t go around shouting to all and sundry how YOUR / OUR club is being mismanaged, because the simple fact is…its not YOUR / OUR club, and the chances are it never will be. Even if you were lucky enough to win the Euro millions rollover, do you really think the other board members would allow you to buy enough shares to warrant a say…Not a chance.

Football clubs have supporters. They do not choose these supporters, supporters CHOOSE to support a team. Owners choose NOT to share the decision making and money with the supporters. The role of the

supporter is a voluntary act, were they volunteer to support the team. Payment is sometimes required to attend matches, and this is also voluntary. Payment does not entitle the supporter to a place on the board, or a position of authority within the club. A rule does not exist stating attendance a football match gets you anything more for your money than watching the football match.

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Chairman, directors, and most players don’t, never have, and never will care one iota about football supporters….and certainly don’t want them involved with running the football club.

Supporters who have a skewed sense of reality is on the increase, buying into the idea that they themselves, as people, are an important part of the teams they support. Believing the marketing slogans like the ‘the twelfth man’ or ‘the peoples club’ contain more relevance than the simple marketing gimmicks they are. Maybe it’s a sign of the times and these people are footballs answer to reality show contestants after their fifteen minutes of fame, having delusions of grandeur, thinking they are the club instead of simply supporting the team.

By all means go the game, be passionate, celebrate, get angry at decisions, sing, shout, sulk.…but most of all keep it real. Treat football like its meant to be treated- as a game- nothing more, nothing less. Don’t be deluded enough to think that you deserve anything for supporting Everton, or that you’re a spokesperson for all Evertonians, claiming they deserve answers about how the club is being run… when in reality most people have more important things to worry about. Its your choice to follow a football team… your choice to pay extortionate prices… your choice to sit in cramped stadiums… your choice to be fleeced by the club. Either stop going the game and find something else to do… or stay, stop the histrionics and get on with supporting the team.

MickGilly WSAG33

Simon Fowler 1977-2011 I met Simon in July 1997. I hadn’t long moved to Abertillery and the move coincided with me beginning to run minibuses to the match. I put a poster up in a newsagent’s shop in town and he was the only one who answered. I remember his mam telling me later about how excited he’d been when he saw it. A chance to go to the match!

Anyway, he phoned me up and arranged to come to our old house in Vivian Street. I think I was more nervous than he was. He arrived and we sat down and had a drink and a chat. His enthusiasm and optimism was infectious, I liked him immediately.

As I said, at that time I ran minibuses to the match. I did the Palace and Barnsley games and being the driver I was too busy to really speak to him but there was just the four of us for Arsenal so I took the car. It was the first time I really spent a lot of time in Simon’s company.

Thankfully, it wasn’t the last. His company was infectious and he was the most positive Evertonian I’ve ever known. Years later when Yabuku was banging in all those goals in his first season he swore that he was going to name his firstborn Aiyegbeni Fowler.

My favourite memory is of the pair of us in my old house, pissed and angry, shouting at Graham Poll for disallowing Don Hutchison’s winner off Westerveld’s arse in April 2000.

He got married to Nichola on June 3rd this year. It was a beautiful summer’s day and very enjoyable party. I’ve never seen him so happy, even when we beat the shite.

We were going to go out in town for a drink and watch the recent derby but life got in the way. Then death got in the way and I realised it was too late. In the modern way, I found out through Facebook.

On October 10th the diabetes that Simon had lived with all his life suddenly decided to make its presence felt. He suffered sudden and massive kidney failure and died within minutes. His last two Facebook posts showed his twin passions: ‘Just watched rodwell get sent off again.

Absolute joke. Suarez should've gone for faking. Ref spoilt the game’ And: ‘[e]very day when i wake up... I thank the lord im Welsh .

The funeral was huge, at least 600 people crowded into St. Michael’s Church. The white flowers and green leaves placed upon his coffin were sprayed with royal blue paint.

He was cremated in Croesycilliog and an Everton scarf was draped over his coffin.

Simon was a passionate Evertonian who saw some great days and nights at Goodison. I can’t believe he’s gone.

Mike Williams

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What’s Our Name Everton in books, on tv, on film

‘The Golden Vision’ of course ‘Letter to Brezhnev’ movie – Andy Gray on the front page of the Daily Post ‘This Years Love’ movie – some anti‐Duncan Ferguson graffiti in a London subway (bitter them?!)

‘Rita Sue and Bob Too’ movie – an Everton match is on in the background when Bob and his wife are going out ‘Michael Foot‐ A Life’ book by Kenneth O Morgan Alexei Sayle – ‘The Weeping Women Hotel’ book Bernard Donoghue – ‘Downing Street Diaries’ Ron Ellis’ Johhny Ace series of books ‐ WSAG even gets a mention Duncan McKenzie on Swap Shop, 1977 Derek Mountfield on The Saturday Picture Show, 1984 The History Programme on ITV Schools, 1980 Everton ’85 on the Wogan Show singing ‘Here We Go’ 1985 Peter Reid on Wogan, 1986 Everton graffiti on the ‘Blood Brothers’ set ‘Our Day Out’ Loggo to Snowy Malone, ‘I didn’t know your dad was an Evertonian’ in ‘Boys From The Blackstuff’ That ‘Liver Birds’ episode with our Chairman as a Red so lampooned in these pages by Saint Vesp Everton on Super Teams 1978 Bill Kenwright on ‘This Is Your Life’ getting the red book whilst with Kendall and the team Michael Hardcastle Mark Fox books – wasn’t he an Evertonian?

Brookside – the Rod Corkhill and Damon Grant match going competition storyline in 1986 Brian Glanville’s ‘Goalkeepers Are Different’ – Everton v ‘Borough FC’ Cup Final (of course we lose) The Wackers That schools programme with the Fortuna Sittard match featured ‘Home And Away’ Granada documentary Do you know of any others?

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Everton Firsts away days When I last wrote I continued on the theme of Everton Firsts from a piece in WSAG 162 by Mr. Hollis.

Although I focused on home games I was struck by his first away game – Bristol City in the Cup in 95. My eldest brother also went that game (possibly with Kev as they were mates at the time) and I remember him telling me of the carnage after game. He even approached a bizzie for some help and was a rebuffed with ‘fuck of home you scouse bastard’ – a nice thing to tell a 14 year old kid.

Anyway, I recently introduced the missus to the Everton away day experience. As with Chelsea, her home game First, Blackburn was to provide us with the full gambit of emotions which many of us have become so uncomfortably used to. I

thought Blackburn would be a good one to ease her in being only a short distance away, a decent away stand/facilities and a well catered pub a stones throw from the away end.

Also the sun always seems to shine in Blackburn (might be due to the fact we always play them at the start or end of season!)

I usually get the train to away games as its always more fun and allows all travelling to get bevvied – it is also a good enclosed space for getting a good atmosphere and prime for mischief making.

I remember my first trip to Blackburn, after the game a few lads relieved a local offy of as much alcohol as they could carry and were passing wine bottles around the travelling blues, big cheers for each large swig, boo’s for any small sip. On this occasion however I chose to drive as trains to Blackburn are a bit expensive (much more difficult to blag) and as I was only recently released from a prolonged spell in hossie, drinking wasn’t high on the agenda.

We got their early to have a few in the Fenhurst and soon found everyone else had a different agenda to me as we saw blokes stumbling about leathered before 1pm. I particularly enjoyed the look of utter confusion on the missus face as she attempted to decipher the drunken scouse slur being thrown in her direction.

It was the first time I’ve sat in the Upper section at Blackburn and found the view to be excellent. What we saw on view however was not so good. This was right up there with some of our worst performances under Moyes.

The frustration in the crowd grew as the game went on and I could see my missus feeling the same, ‘Why are they just standing there doing nothing?’ she enquired, echoing the thoughts of 5000 other blues.

The bizarre spectacle of two missed penalties provided mixed feelings of joy, anger and relief and both misses were almost celebrated like we had scored.

When the goal finally came it was celebrated in true Everton style which always seem to last for about ten minutes. Despite the shit we had served up there was joy and happiness all around after 89 minutes of anger and frustration. This is exactly what makes it all worthwhile. The missus appeared to

feel a strong connection to all of this and rode the wave of emotions with the rest of us. ‘Will you take me again please?’ I was asked on the journey home. With a few drinks, some good atmosphere and a pure emotional ride she had definitely been enchanted by the blues in the way I was after my first away day.

It wasn’t quite like this though on my first away day. As with my previous Everton First I don’t consider my first actual away game as being my true away day experience. The first ever time I saw the blues away was at Maine Road sat in the home stand watching Joe Royle’s City batter us five nil.

The only consolation that day was not being sat in the unsheltered away end being pissed on.

For me my away cherry was broken at Villa Park ten years ago. Me and my brothers travelled via train and on arriving in Aston were ushered into the Cap n Gown. Not really knowing what to expect I absolutely loved it once inside the pub, hearing Everton songs I’d previously never heard.

There was a lot of young scals in the pub and amongst our away following (many of whom I soon recognised at each away game causing the same trouble each time) and they helped create a great atmosphere. The crescendo of this lively pre match fun involved the unfurling of a massive flag with scores of us bouncing up and down underneath it. Some bright spark had the clever idea of launching his empty pint glass onto the flag and others followed suit causing glasses to crash against the ceiling and rain shards back down onto the flag.

This bedlam as well as underage pissed lads dancing on tables prompted the landlady to get on a microphone and appeal for calm. Needless to say her pleas were drowned out by louder and louder choruses of ‘Everton’.

Inside the ground I think I was in awe partly from the drink and partly from the novelty of the experience. There was a great atmosphere in the away end and when Unsworth scored the place went barmy, I don’t think I’d ever celebrated a goal like it. It was even sweeter as Unsworth had been a Villa player for about 2 hours or something daft a month or so earlier before we bought him back and he had been

coming in for abuse from the home fans. He ran the length of Villas main stand kissing his badge and the moment seemed perfect.

Although we ended up losing the game to a Ginola goal I loved the whole day out. After the final whistle a couple having a meal and wine in the window of an executive box above us attempted to jovially gloat about the final score in what they appeared to think was harmless banter. About 6 young lads responded by hammering on the window and coming out with a few choice comments like ‘stick your champagne bottle up your arse you posh bitch’.

The look on their faces was no longer jovial.

After the game I made a conscious effort to get to as many away games as possible within my financial constraints. I had one brother in London so was able to go White Hart Lane soon after, a day watching us under the kosh for ninety minutes and holding on due to a Davey Weir screamer.

The Everton end spent all game telling the cockneys how Mr Weir liked to get the ball and score a goal. I had another brother in Nottingham which proved to be a good satellite for Villa, Leicester and Derby. The latter two which will be discussed next time around.

Since my early experience of away days I have always preferred them to the home game. Granted my most treasured Everton memories are from Goodison, such as Coventry in 1997 and the Gosling derby, but the tribal nature of the away game, the day out on tour and the atmosphere take a lot of beating.

Of course there is a flip side to them, like the cold wet soul destroying days at Bolton and Stoke last year but as I have read in these pages before ‘you wouldn’t enjoy the sunshine if you’d never seen the rain’.

The stories and memories generated at these games will always stick with me and I hope to share many more this season with my missus and friends. Roll on the next one. Vivamos Everton.

Next Time: Racism, Wembley & Barry Horne.

Al

CURVA SUD All I want for Christmas special THE MAN WHO SOLD THE WORLD: DAVID BOWIE AND THE 1970s BY PETER DOGGETT (£15) Here Peter

Doggett explores Bowie's most productive and inspired decade, and traces the way in which his music reflected and influenced the world around him. From "Space Oddity" all the way to the Scary Monsters album. It’s a song by song run-through and in that way its "unashamed model" is Revolution in the Head, Ian MacDonald's analysis of the Beatles' work and its place in 60s culture.

Some of the muso bits might not be to everyone’s taste but the stuff about Bowie’s influences and inspirations is fascinating.

THE COMPLETE LARRY SANDERS DVD Very BOXSET (£75)

expensive so it might be worth waiting until the boxsets are reduced in HMV when it will probably be about a third of the price.

(Ask for HMV vouchers then comrades.)

Ricky Gervais has said that he owes a great deal to the The Larry Sanders Show in developing his brand of comedy (ie nicking) and he's right on the money there. It spawned a whole new hand held camera, documentary style of 'real' comedy.

There’s 15 discs here so prepare yourself for that. Well worth the investment.

EVERTON BOBBLE HAT (£12) We love our hats here

at WSAG. And this little beauty on sale in the souvenir shops is fabulous.

A great bobble in a brilliant colourway. Well done to everyone at Kitbag for this.

THIS MORTAL COIL BOXSET (£tba) All three This

Mortal Coil albums have been re-mastered from the original analogue studio recordings to

achieve the best digital sound available today. Additionally there is a fourth album, Dust & Guitars, that compiles all the singles, including an unreleased one that was to have been part of the Rough Trade Singles Club and features the otherwise unavailable recording of Neil Young’s We Never Danced.

If you don’t know much about This Mortal Coil, basically its 4AD All Stars performing an impeccably curated song list from the likes of Big Star, Tim Buckley, Roy Harper, Spirit, Gene Clark, Dino Valenti, Rain Parade, Emmylou Harris, Syd Barrett and Colin Newman amongst many others.

The albums sounded like nothing else back then so we eagerly await these.

THE

END (£20) Long threatened, its finally here.

Every page of every issue of The End. For younger readers its impossible to understand the importance of The End. Before it there wasn’t any magazines written by and produced ordinary people.

It certainly had a big impact on us at WSAG - perhaps that’s why there’s so many ‘Friends of Ours’ named in the back.

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master shoe-makers, Grenson can always be relied on to craft beautifully made footwear of the finest quality. The Fred V Boot, based on Grenson's Fred brogue has been perfectly complimented with a lovely big white Vibram Sole. The result, a fantastically comfy and lightweight brogue boot.

Available from our friends at Weavers Door.

That being so, we doubt this needs little or no introduction and why if you haven’t bought it already then its going to be top of the Christmas list.

Now, lets get the original mags onto EBay as quickly as possible.

FIVE OF THE BEST ALBUMS OF THE YEAR (in no particular order)

1. The Coldest Winter For A Hundred Years - The Wild Swans 2. 90 Bisodol (Crimond) - Half Man Half Biscuit 3. The Real McQueen Mountaineer 4. Helplessness Blues - Fleet Foxes 5. Ghosts Outside - Steve Mason and Dennis Bovell You can buy any of these in any record buying emporium on the high street.

GRENSON FRED V BOOT IN BROWN CALF LEATHER (£210)

As we move into what used to be called middle-age (although we prefer the term our second twenties) the thought of continuing to wear trainees is one which has less and less appeal.

Consequently, like our dads we are finding ourselves wearing good sensible shoes more and more As one of England's most established and celebrated

THE WANDERINGS OF AN EVERTON NERD by JAMIE YATES (approx £15 from blurb.com/bookstore)

You’re going to get a football book so you may as well make it a good one.

This is a wonderful little book, full of photos taken around Goodison on a match-day.

Jamie’s intention was to capture that unique buzz in all its glory, from the lull on a Saturday morning before players, press and punters stroll up, to the building atmosphere as kick off time approaches. From the tension of the game itself, 30,000+ Blues crammed in to the old ground willing the lads on from first whistle to last. Finally the murmer and bustle as the crowds wind away down the narrow streets of Walton.

He’s done it superbly. We hope to do a bigger feature on this next time. In the meantime, get one yourself.

PLEASE LEAVE THESE PAGES OPEN FOR YOUR LOVED ONE TO SEE.

C30C60C90GO Winter Warmers Sweetest Decline Beth Orton Play Something Fast Jez Kerr Tell Me A Tale - Michael Kiwanuka Gold Canary - Cloud Control When the Spirit Shows (demo) - Aztec Camera Metro - John Head Free - British Electric Foundation Write The Songs - Bruce Johnston The Greatest Story Ever Told - Bill Wells & Aidan Moffat Different Drum - Paul Quinn & Edwyn Collins H.O.L.L.A.N.D. - The Bluebells Lavender Way - Michael Head In The Strands Won't Turn Back (Dennis Bovell Dub) - Vic Godard & Subway Sect The Big E - A Certain Ratio Surf's Up 1967 (Solo Version) - The Beach Boys Only Love Can Break Your Heart - Neil Young and Crazy Horse Falling To Bits - The Wild Swans Petroleum - Shack Always Coming Back To You - Scott Walker More next time

Baines 4

6 Things we noticed from watching Everton in October.....

1. Everton in starting the season badly shocker!

The Blues have started the season in slowly ...not for the first time in the Moyes era (as shown by the below stats). We usually crawl through pre season and open campaigns in a stuttering manner; usually culminating in mass hysteria and panic ranging from inquests into the role of Steve Round to wild rumours that Moyes has ‘lost the dressing room’ (whatever that means).

The trend is usually to recover though; in 7 of the last 9 seasons our points per game ratio has shot up dramatically after an insipid start. Whilst there is no doubt our playing staff is weaker than recent seasons, we had our best period of last season – unbeaten in 7 including 5 wins– without Pienaar, Arteta or Fellaini available...so perhaps hang fire before pressing the panic button just for now.

2. Royston makes his mark Royston Drenthe has certainly added some spark to what has been a flat start to the season. We already seem reliant on him to provide a creative spark; with him on the field we score every 43 minutes whilst without him it takes us 149 minutes to find the net.

Despite him starting only 2 league games he already has more assists (3) than anyone in the squad and is also adept at using his quick feet to win free kicks on the edge of opposition areas in a way Arteta did so well – notably winning 8 free kicks in the win at Fulham. He is erratic though. At Fulham his possession was superb - recording a staggering 95% making him our best ball retainer. Against Newcastle though he cut a forlorn figure posting our lowest retention with just 65% and making 5 silly fouls. Its only early days but the kid certainly has the raw materials to be a top player at the club. For me he looks better on the right flank cutting in on his left peg.

3. Leaky Rearguard With just 1 clean sheet and that coming at the doomed Steve Kean’s mob after surviving 2 penalties – we have the fewest shutouts in the division. The stat is all the more staggering when you consider

that only Chelsea (11) concede fewer shots on their goal per game than the Blues (12) Whereas last season our overloading on the left flank rendered us open to counter attacks, this season our right flank has been leaking with 80% of the goals conceded coming from this area.

Whilst Hibbert clearly has his limitations as a player, as a team we can often be exposed by the high line we apply as part of our pressing game in opposition territory. Another factor is the lack of pressure we put on opposition wide men lining up crosses into our box – seemingly a deliberate ploy

by Moyes who would appear happy for the opposition to do this and instead aerially defend our 18 yard box from the cross.

4. The Isolation of Baines Baines has cut a forlorn figure this campaign. The left sided marauder has been a key cog in the Everton machine in recent years – crucially registering 11 assists last season. This season though he has toiled somewhat with no assists to his name yet.

He clearly misses Pienaar badly. The South African complimented him well, providing passes into the final third and creating the space by darting runs into central midfield dragging his marker with him and creating the space for Baines to exploit. Osman would appear the nearest like for like fit but so far he has been tepid.

Last season in the Man Utd home/Chelsea away games, Baines made a whopping 49% of his passes in the final third. In the same games this season the figure is less than half that at 24%. He has already had 6 players play left mid in front of him this season – none of which have looked convincing.

5. The Late, Late show.

The Blues have one of the fittest teams in the division – Fellaini on average covers 7.7 miles per game which is up there with Ramsey and Tiote as the league benchmark. Last season we scored the highest percentage of our goals (27%) in the last 15 minutes of games. This campaign it has been even more apparent with 54% of our goals coming in the final stages of matches. Somebody really should tell the arl fella and his goons who sit in front of us in the lower gwladys who leave every game 20 minutes early!

6. ‘4-5-1 at home Moyes’ – Are we too predictable?

The personnel should always dictate the tactics deployed and not vice versa. So far our approach has been generally about containment. His critics will lament ‘4-5-1 at home Moyes’ and propose 4-4-2 despite us not having even 1 form striker. To say our tactics are predictable is a tad harsh.

Cahill/Osman have started as an advanced forward alongside a striker in games but the perennial issue why Moyes is loathe to switch to a 4-4-2 is that the system is invariably overrun against teams who play 5 in midfield. Few teams these days can get away with 2 strikers. Out of the top sides only Man U get away with 2 orthodox strikers and this is principally due to the ability of Rooney to pivot between striking and midfield duties.

At Newcastle we setup more 4-3-2-1 with Coleman & Drenthe wide forwards behind Saha with Osman playing deeper, whilst against Fulham for long periods when in possession we used a back 3 with Hibbert tucking in alongside Jags and DIstin to enable Baines to roam. Will playing 2 out and out strikers solve our lack of punch? Not for me.

Read more http://theexecutionersbong.wordpress.com

Over the last few months as more and more column inches and internet chat rooms have been filled by our financial situation one thing is becoming clear to me. That thing is that as Everton Fans we should all take a bow.

Let me explain.

This season has been one of despair followed by disappointment. I cant think of one season whereby we have reached November and we haven’t had one thing to cheer for (maybe that season in late nineties where John Collins missed a penalty on the first game of the season and then we didn’t score at home till

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shoulder out the speed at which he tried to get that red out.

The poorest Man United team seen at Goodison for many a year allowed to sit back and defend knowing they would never concede and also it looked like we knew we weren’t going to score either.

All of our wins coming late on in matches that could of gone either way.

If we also take a look at the demeanour of David Moyes through the season and to me he is beginning to look like a tired man. He is increasingly looking frustrated and downbeat in every interview he does. In recent interview’s he has talked about how a top half finish is a priority and that this is where our sights should be.

This sharply contrasts to the man who when asked about 6 years ago what position he was looking to finish at the end of the season simply answered “First”.

Take a Bow December or something stupid like that), Let’s list some of the disappointments so far ·

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The way that we lost the legend that was Mikel at the end of the transfer window was horrendous.

(As a side point on the Arteta move if you take the timing out and had the money to reinvest I’m sure a lot of us thought £10 million for a player who hasn’t looked the same since his injury was good business. I also don’t buy that he was just about to turn a corner as since his move to Arsenal he has looked back to his self. The fact is there are better players around him and this has brought him on. The reverse of this is look how poor John O’Shea and Wes Brown have looked since the move away from Old Trafford) We lost the Derby after a really bright start in which we played our best 20 minutes of the season to something beyond our control. That twat Atkinson nearly threw his

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If we look at these what has been the constant and that is Everton Fans have got behind the team and not targeted the manager or the team during the match. Indeed the atmosphere at the first protest game against Villa was the best of the season. During that match through the showing of Bill Kenwright on the big screens was disgraceful and only served to try and inflame the situation.

I know the attendances have been down this season but this is something that is happening throughout the division and is as much to do with people’s belts getting tightened as to do with the lack of progress on the pitch. If we compare ourselves to Villa they have seen a 12% drop in attendances to our 3% and they have a £24 million England Striker up front for them and an owner with big deep pockets compared to our bunch of assorted freebies and an owner with just enough for the electric.

Talkshite, with Sir Alex Ferguson In Saturday 29 October 2011’s Guardian, Andy Hunter allowed Sir Alex Ferguson to get away with spouting utter tosh about whether Rooney plays at Goodison, and if not, why not.

We have been content to keep our problems and views away from the 90 minutes and get behind our team and manager with our support.

The fact the managers like Mick McCarthy is getting booed at half time by his own fans but there has been little or no public show of disappointment against our Moyesiah and the team. I think this is something we should all be proud of and I know every team says their supporters are the best but this is why I feel we should take a bow.

It is not something that will last forever though and us and the team need to make a massive effort starting against Wolves to start moving forward as nothing brings confidence like a winning streak. If you look at the fixtures between now and New Year there is only Arsenal away where you would say we will struggle to get anything so let’s start moving.

Having said that this was written before the second Blue Union protest at the Wolves game so I am going to future proof this.

“What happened outside the Wilmslow today was reminiscent of the battle of Goodison Road between Rangers and Everton in Waggy’s testimonial in 1997. The sight of White Shirted Kenwright Fans battling with the Blue Shirted Blue Union Fans in a “Gangs of New York” style will live long in the memory. The battle raged for 5 hours and only stopped briefly to allow a few girls past who had popped out to the shop in their pyjama’s to get some milk” What needs to be remembered is that every one of us as are entitled to our own view on this situation and we shouldn’t be derided for that view.

What is the same for all of us is that we all deserve better.

Strength in Unity KG Hillis

Rooney did not play in the Everton vs. United game on 11 September 2010, because (to quote Sir Alex at the time) “we’ve made the decision because he gets some terrible abuse here”.

Oh, really?

If that is the case, why pick him this season?

Why not continue to protect the delicate little flower’s sensibilities from a few boos and half-hearted chants of “you’re just a fat little knobhead”? In a possibly misguided sense of fair play, I would point out that these chants are almost certainly contributed to by people who are little, or fat, or knobheads, or a combination thereof. I digress.

Sir Alex explains he has no reservations over ‘deploying’ Rooney because “He’s well used to that (abuse). It’s not a problem”. So how’s he managed that then? Last season he couldn’t be chosen because of the stick he gets, yet this season, despite not playing at Goodison Park in the meantime, he has somehow grown well used to the abuse? Note that Sir Alex doesn’t say that Rooney is a year older and thus more mature, but that he’s grown used to the abuse. A clever trick that, to become accustomed to something despite it not happening.

So then, could it possibly be that last season, with Rooney allegedly angling for a transfer, allegedly getting up to all kinds of mischief in his private life, and allegedly being injured, Sir Alex could afford to leave Rooney out, while at the same time blaming the nasty Evertonians, without it affecting his standing in the game?

Whereas this season, having been absolutely leathered by his noisy neighbours 6-1 at home, and being five points behind them in the league, leaving Rooney out was an impossibility, so of course now Rooney is well used to the cauldron of abuse he, erm, doesn’t receive.

Mr Hunter may not have seen through you, Sir Alex, but we have.

Smirn WSAG9

WSAG165 December 2011

“The facts make bad reading for Blues – we register the joint lowest through ball per game in the top flight and with the exception of Drenthe and Baines deliveries we just don’t have any invention in the final third.”

5 Th hings we lea arnt frrom watchin w ng Eve erton sincce lastt time.....

Please no ote below statts were genera rated prior to la ast week’s gam me at the Emiirates...

1. Cahill can't score e One of the e unwelcome fea atures of this se eason is Tim Ca ahill's continued goal drought which w has now re eached Beattie proportions. Why can't he e score? It’s a re eal conundrum. The theory tha at he is missing Arteta’s deliveryy is however a myth; m the last direct assist the Span niard laid on for Cahill was 3 ye ears ago in the win w at Stoke. Ag gainst these opp ponents a few weeks w back, he again a toiled playying right up top as a striker. Th he fact that he is s now deployed as a target man n to ‘work’ oppo osing centre halvves takes awayy the crucial asset of his game – being able to focus f on ghosting runs into opp position 18 yard d box.

Defences are of course more m organised (blatant player cradling c and run n blocking again nst Stoke for exa ample).

He still doe es a job for the team though an nd his commitm ment cannot be questioned q - e.g g. winning free kkick for goal v Wolves W and the assist the following we eek for Velios plus p the way he will work a centtre back in a wa ay Beckford simp ply couldn't be arsed a doing. The e stats above sh how that only in one previous season has he had h more shots per game, but tthis can’t hide th he fact that this is a re eally barren spell for a player who has been mu ustard since the e day he joined the t club. Let’s h hope he can turn n the corner soo on....

2. The Creative C Void is proving g hard to fill....

A bit of a broken b record th his one and exp posed horribly in n the Stoke gam me when we had d all the ball (67% possession) yet failed to make th he Stoke keeperr make a save in the entire gam me. The facts make m bad reading for Blues – we e register the joint lowest (1) through h ball per game e in the top flightt and with the exxception of Dren nthe and Bainess deliveries we just don’t have any invention in i the final third.

Creative Stats S so far this season (league e games only)

The stats show s that Colem man and Osman in particular have h been partic cularly impotent in terms of laying on scoring chances c for teammates although both h have been victtim to the squarre peg round hole issue due to us having the ssmallest squad in the league. Ho opes are high th hat Barkley can long term fill this void and I wo ould agree with this t – but he is not yet ready to o dominate games. Sn nodgrass at Lee eds has been mentioned m as a possible p solution n and it will be in nteresting to see what happens s in January.

3. Our defence d isn’t that bad....at home an nyway.

Are we actually that bad defensively? d We e have comforta ably conceded the t fewest shotss per game at home in the leag gue (8.1) yet we are e yet to keep a clean c sheet at Goodison G this se eason. The Wolves game was a classic example as the visito ors registered just one shot (H Hunt’s penalty) on goal in the entire e game whilst Stoke only managed m 2. We have been punished a lot for silly mistakes but I don n’t think there iss a massive issu ue here. The fac ct is that we havve failed to score e in over half off our home games and d this places a massive m burden n on the defence e to get a resultt.

4. Our build b up play y is increasingly slow and a predicta able We move the ball far too slowly s from bacck to front. When n regaining possession we movve so slowly into o the opposition n half that opponentss will invariably be fully back in position for whe en we are 20 ya ards from their goal. g Thus, we h have the joint lo owest total (0) in the league for goalss from fast breakk counter attackks. Pienaar was s particularly pottent at receiving g the ball, turning and zipping pa asses. Drenthe has h this in his lo ocker and Barkle ey too has the ability a and arrog gance needed b but neither playe er has featured much m of late.

Long Ball Data from leagu ue games this season.... s

5. Winning Ugly is our o best bett Two much h needed and de eserved wins arrrived this month h – but neither game g was for th he purist! Whilstt we are undoub btedly a team in de ecline we are stiill a lot better tha an some of the dross in the pre emier league. Wolves W are utter shite whilst the e media zeitgeist of o last season de epicting Owen Coyle C as a purisst has well and truly t been rumbled. The wins w were dogged dis splays and ultimately we don’t have the t players like Arteta, Pienaar and Donovan to t walk the ball into i the net anyymore. We’re no ow ranked rd 3 in terms of fouls per ga ame – ahead off Stoke and our games are incrreasingly bitty an nd stop start. M Moyes is a pragm matist and will do wha atever he sees necessary to win a game. With h the players we e have, don’t expect tika taka fo ootball anytime soon!

16% of the e passes we have played this season s have been long balls – just a 1% increa ase on last seasson. We shouldn't be surprised really. We no lo onger possess a midfield playerr comfortable in travelling with the t ball - Fellain ni is a presser whilst w Rodwell iss better on the ball b but still need ds to develop more m of an arroga ance to his gam me to bring out th he ability he unquestion nably possesse es. There is a diffference betwee en long balls and direct diagona al passes thoug gh and perhaps this is not always appreciated. One thing is for sure e though, Heitinga is a much be etter direct passser (although no ot as good as the polished Rodwell) than Jagielka so o if Distin continues to be sidelined it would be best for the Du utchman to take over defensive distribution n responsibilities from his Engla and colleague.

Read more htttp://theexeccutionersbong.wordpre ess.com

However, lest we forget most of Everton's financial woes have been self-inflicted, not to speak of rank incompetence and as much business acumen as the numpties who appear on 'The Apprentice'.

The cock-up list includes the 2000 NTL fiasco, the 2004 Fortress Sports Fund , 'Destination Kirkby', the 'Dan Gosling Affair' where someone 'forgot' to organise an extension to his contract, as a result he went to Newcastle on a free transfer – estimated loss to the club £4million.

Crisis? What crisis?

To put it succinctly, we're fucked! No signing for over two years (except for loan deals), our best players sold and the smallest squad in the Premiership. We desperately need change at the club, without new investment, new owners and new ideas, relegation, within two or three years, is inevitable.

I was amazed and concerned at the last issue, no real debate or discussion about the issues facing the club. If in doubt reduce your opponents arguments to absurdity, so the 'Blue Union' just want any old dodgy Arab or Russian oil billionaire to replace our beloved Bill? We are stuck between a rock and a hard place but one thing is clear, we are staring over the brink of a precipice and Kenwright Tours are leading us on a short journey to oblivion. If we do get new owners we will need – 1) To watch them like hawks. 2) Stay organised.

Protest marches are just aberrant 'Kopite behaviour' that just isn't Everton? We need to dispel a few myths here. When Gillett and Hicks appeared on the scene fans were assured by David 'Trust Me' Moores and Rick 'Trust Me' Parry that everything was hunky dory. All the American cowboys did was endlessly repeat 'Anfield traditions' and all of the supporters swallowed it hook, line and sinker. Despite the claims about 'extensive background checks' this was nonsense, otherwise they might have discovered ticket prices jacked up, horrendous transfer deals and fans' discontent. So there it was, here's the keys to the Shankly Gates, no questions asked. It was at least a year before the dollar finally dropped.

Kopite Myth II is that the 'Spirit of Shankly' group was a glorious, revolutionary, socialist organisation that 'saved' Liverpool Football Club (©Brian Reade). This was the organisation that was happy to negotiate with Dubai to take over the club. That's the place where strikes are illegal, elections are banned, skyscrapers are built by thousands of Asian labourers living in shit conditions and when Filipino maids are raped by their masters they are charged with 'immorality', locked up and then subsequently deported. Yeah, lovely place Dubai.

No illusions in new owners, as LFC will discover the Americans are venture capitalists, so they expect to make a profit from their 'franchise' and that's why Randy Lerner and Stan Kroenkoe aren't going to pour cash into Aston Villa and Arsenal in a vain attempt to compete with Manchester City; last year's operating loss £179 million.

WSAG6

Then there's the 'Mysterious Case Of The Park End Development', in November 2010 the £9 million commercial plans were announced, in March 2011 'logistical problems' and 'complex legal matters' were cited as reasons for the postponement of the project until 2012.

Research it on the Everton website? Like one of Stalin's victims it appears to have been erased from history.

On the 'Blue Union' website there's an interesting analysis of Everton's finances by Colin Fitzpatrick, the article asks some searching questions about how 'other operating costs' suddenly ballooned from £11.7 million in 2007 to £22.6 million in 2008 and have remained at that level. It makes a comparison between Everton and Spurs, both with home gates of 35,000. However, Spurs generate five times more in commercial income. Lastly, in 1999, Peter Johnson’s last year of ownership, the net assets of the business were £20m and the squad was worth £29m. Spurs, under Alan Sugar, had net assets of £41m and their squad was worth £28m.Today whilst the Spurs directors have grown their business Everton’s has been decimated. Whilst Spurs now have net assets of £70m and a squad worth £116m, according to their balance sheet, Everton now have net liabilities of £35m and a squad valued at £33m.

In response to the 'Blue Union' we've had the customary manipulation and disinformation from the club. Some national papers have carried material on the crisis, but we've also had articles of stunning sycophancy where Bill has obviously utilised his contacts to paint a glowing picture of a 'family club' where everything in the garden is rosy, apart from a few malcontents. The 'Echo' have failed to carry material from the 'Blue Union', leading to a boycott. It's probably not malicious just that most of the reporters have been sacked and they are scared stiff of upsetting the club and getting banned from the training ground, that's the source of all of the 'We'll Bounce Back!' headlines.

There are of course the phone-ins, but they have just become a parody of themselves, they never discuss anything beyond the banal – does Jack Rodwell make too many square passes?

It's always the same guys phoning in, there's that dead give away phrase, 'as I was saying last week Jacko'. Phone in about the financial crisis? They don't want to know.

That leaves the Internet and the various web sites which have done a job in allowing fans to voice their views, although it has to be said that the Internet forums are usually dominated by the intellectual pond life whose only means of debate is abuse. There's also the trend where 'independent' web sites accept sponsorship from the club and start spouting the official line, 'Blue Kipper' being the prime example.

So that leaves the fanzines. WSAG did a fantastic job in leading the fight to remove 'Agent Johnson', but as Shankly used to say, 'you're only as good as your last match'. The biggest protest movement by Everton fans and where is this reflected in the mag? The editorials seem to be following the 'Bill's a Blue' line uncritically, faithfully following Kenwright's shtick of 'I'm just a poverty struck millionaire'.

Maybe some fans just see WSAG as irrelevant, or just standing on the sidelines. Let me give an example, just as 'Destination Kirkby' began to unravel WSAG stopped carrying any material on it. This at the time when the public enquiry revealed that Tesco viewed the new stadium as 'mediocre', the new stadium would not generate extra income, there were unachievable targets for fans arriving by public transport and rather than Tesco helping Everton it was the other way round.

In every issue we just seem to get fatalism. It reminds me of people in work the 'happy to be in a job' brigade and however many buckets of excrement management pour over their heads they'll just sit there and do nothing. Take the pensions' strikes, they're the people who'll say, 'striking won't do any good, let's face it we'll just have to live in poverty as pensioners'.

Fatalism, it's spreading like a malignant, drug-resistant version of the clap, take Liverpool City Council and its 'Dear Leader' Joe Anderson, he's 'desperately sorry' but there is nothing he can do, he has to cut thousands of jobs, destroy the voluntary sector and close Sure Start centres, now isn't the time to fight, it's always too early or too late. Fatalism.

armchair, mug of Ovaltine, watching videos about the 1960s. Meanwhile outside in the cold the Blue Union are battling to save the club.

Kenwright is praised as a traditional 'old-school' owner, local lad made good. Brian Clough was once asked about football hooliganism, he replied, 'You can start with 92 Football League chairmen'. In truth I think that Kenwright regards Everton as his personal train set and no one else is going to get a go. Just look at the Everton Board, apart from Bill there is Robert Earl who isn't exactly a 'sleeping partner', more like completely comatose, because he never turns up to the games, Jon Woods a.k.a. 'The Invisible Man' and Sir Philip Carter who is probably just there to make up the numbers.

Does the board ever meet? Are there any minutes? If Kenwright was serious about selling the club, rather than relying on Keith Harris and Orville, he would appoint an independent board member with one remit – selling the club.

There's a great Humphrey Bogart film called 'Caine Mutiny' he stars as Captain Queeg who starts to display signs of insanity and just before the ship heads into a hurricane is relieved of his duties. What can you make of the latest e-mails scandal? Former PR director Ian Ross describes working at Everton as akin to a 'kindergarten', he refers to an atmosphere of 'paranoia' and the club on the brink of 'financial meltdown'. The warning signs are there, if the ship is about to founder then mutiny may be the only sensible option.

WSAG has a great history, so this is written more in sorrow than in anger, but the mag increasingly reminds me of a fierce old guard dog who has had his bollocks removed and now just finds a warm spot to park his lardy backside, has that look of defeat and resignation and can't be arsed even barking when someone rattles the gate.

Knotty Ash Blue

Then there's nostalgia. Has WSAG moved to one of those retirement villages where old people huddle together, talk about operations and reminisce about the 'good old days'?

There's never anyone about because they're all in their cosy warm flats, zippy cardigans, fur-lined slippers, false teeth in a glass, comfy WSAG7

ALL THINGS MUST PASS For the first time after the recent Stoke City game I found myself genuinely thinking that if David Moyes walked, I wouldn’t be too bothered.

It was a terrible game. Stoke were organised and a load of big fuckers but they’re not great.

Yet, we couldn’t break them down. In fact, we didn’t even trouble them as we hardly had a shot on target.

Our off-the-field issues certainly contribute to the mess we’re in but I’m now coming around to the view that Moyes is making a bad situation worse.

Why? Here’s my current top 3 reasons 1. His Cautiousness His teams always play to ensure that they don’t get beat. When was the last time you saw our midfield darting into the box as we look to break quickly?

wouldn’t have happened here - he’s strictly a one season for each club man.

But what happened with Beckford. Granted he wasn’t the best but his goal return was pretty impressive. And we could do with him now.

But Moyes seemed to quickly take a dislike to him and wasn’t shy of criticising him in public (like does now with Drenthe - and what’s he done to deserve that?)

But let’s face it, our style of play under Moyes doesn’t help any striker. Alan Shearer or Gary Lineker in his pomp wouldn’t score goals in this team.

Is it any wonder Moyes admits that we’ve had problems up front for three years. This comment doesn’t seem to acknowledge his failure to put it right.

I thought this might have been down to the players, then I saw Jack Rodwell playing for England.

Of course you may claim that we haven’t got any money but three years ago we did and he wasted it. You may claim that there’s no one out there but other clubs seem to unearth forwards - Demba Ba for instance.

Take yesterday’s Arsenal game... You’d have bet your life that once Osman and Rodwell were ruled out that Moyes would play Neville instead of Barkley.

I think it all comes back to his cautiousness. He wants a forward who will track back, put a shift in. Me? I want to see him on the halfway line, thinking only of attack.

I know, in the cold light of day, it probably makes sense but I ache for a bit of unpredictability, something unexpected.

I guess we’ll never agree.

archie styles

2. Bilyaletdinov When the history of Moyes’ reign is written the millstone around his neck will be The Russian.

Nine Million Pounds. He has never looked anywhere near that value. There are those who claim that he has never played in his proper position. I’ve never seen him play in any position. I can’t for the life of me understand what Moyes thinks he is going to get when he puts his name on the teamsheet.

3. Strikers Oh god. To be fair I can’t criticise him for Yakubu. His career history tells you that the goals he’s scoring for Blackburn WSAG10

Oh so pretty... Pretty vacant

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PE Teachers, Plumbers and Sheet Metal Workers This years third round cup draw against Tamworth gives us the best and worst of draws.

Logic says that our highly paid collection of internationals should show this ragtag bunch of part timers exactly why Everton (don’t snigger at the back) are still regarded as one of the best of the rest after the stadium rock, brought to you in conjunction with Mastercard, champions league elite. In reality though, the Toffees have a habit of making hard work of these type of games. Indeed many a lower league team has beaten or run Everton close in the “worlds greatest cup competition”.

In our time the Blues have met three non league teams in the cup and whilst we got through each time, its been less than straightforward.

Altrincham 1975

Billy Bingham’s dull but effective outfit went into the new year as league leaders and championship favourites.

A third round tie against the self styled “Manchester United of the non leagues” seemed a pleasant distraction and a chance to score a few goals to further boost the teams confidence.

Meanwhile over in Belle Vale, I’d probably moaned all the way round the, then new “shoppy” that Morning before settling down in front of World of Sport to follow the progress of the Blues inevitable 27-0 triumph.

As I predicted, news flashes kept coming in from Goodison but they didn’t report on Bob Latchford hat tricks but the news that John Connolly had been stretchered off, Gary Jones sent off and just before half time some lab technician or somesuch had slipped the part timers ahead.

Now this wasn’t in the script and I can recall tears pricking my 9 year old eyes WSAG8

as my arm chair kopite uncle took the piss and it was well past half four before Dave Clements ended our agony with a penalty equaliser.

And so a barely believable replay it was and the posh mancs quickly decided to live the dream and transfer the game to Old Trafford. My dad decided that the Blues needed our support and I found myself in the K stand at my first ever away game. Over 35000 turned up to see a giant killing, but on a cold wet night they were to be disappointed. Latchford and Lyons got the goals in what was probably described as a “professional” performance and my main memory of the evening was of angry mancs outside not being happy about Altrinchams defeat and United going out at Walsall the same night. “Bloody idiots” as my dad described them.

Telford 1985 Yes even the greatest team in the club’s history struggled in this fifth round tie.

47,000 including 10,000 badly dressed midlanders were at Goodison on a freezing day as Telford, described by the Dome as the best non league side he’d ever seen, attempted to kick the future champions off the pitch.

Both Graeme Sharp and Peter Reid ended up being carried off, but its undeniable that the part timers, featuring some dog with an Everton tat, comfortably held Everton for well over an hour. 3-0 was the final score as the roof eventually fell in with goals from Reid, a

Sheedy penalty and a last minute 30 yarder from Trevor Steven.

Telford left the field to a hail of boos, whilst the Blues went on to bigger and better things. One thing I do recall from this game was a fight breaking out in the upper Bullens after one Blue finally snapped after putting with another fans ritual abuse of each Everton player and ofcourse Howard “Garage doors” Kendall . You see folks despite what the internet cranks would have you believe, every Everton manager in history has been “clueless and incompetent” and every Everton team has been “the worst I’ve ever seen in 50 years as a fan”. But that’s another story.

Woking 2001 In the third round “The Cards” had taken all the plaudits with a 4-2 hiding of second division strugglers West Brom at the Hawthorns, featuring a hat trick from Tim Buzaglo and were forced to switch the tie to Goodison on Police advice. The game was played on a misty Sunday afternoon and Everton as the “away” team wore all Blue. Roared on by 6000 giddy home counties whoppers, Woking had a good go and a mediocre Everton team pinched it with a second half Sheedy strike. I seem to remember the Toffees hanging on a bit at the end and the part timers richly deserved their lap of honour at the end.

And so you have it. Tamworth come to Goodison on January 7th and will no doubt give a good account of themselves, whatever the result. To finish here’s a self indulgent list of comedy things to look out for from their 6000 travelling fans, most of whom will be watching their first and last ever Tamworth game.

1. Tin foil FA Cups 2. Bells in Fancy dress 3. Including at least 4, made up with themselves, dressed as “Scousers”.

4. A “Tamworth loyal” flag of St George 5. A small group of lads in Stone Island speaking furtively into mobile phones on Goodison Rd. 6. Chants of “You’re support is fuckin shit” 7. “Feed the scousers” 8. “In your Liverpool slums” 9. “We forgot that you were here” 10. A middle age couple, the fella having a beard, laden down with carrier bags and dressed head to toe in Tamworth clobber being interviewed for the telly saying “We’ve waited 47 years for this, whatever happens we’re going to enjoy ourselves”

Luis Suarez - the defence in full Oh boohoo, why me? Why is everyone picking on me?

Look in my little town of Salto the finger means “Welcome, my friend!”. My six brothers and me, we are always giving the finger to our mother, our father, our friends.

You don’t understand my culture. In Uruguay we have many friendly hand gestures.

It’s not fair. Kenny says its not fair as well. He says I am being hunted by a witch. He has videos to prove it.

I just want to play football. To run and kick, to dive and roll around the floor screaming like la chica.

I know I will not walk alone.

Some of my best friends are coloured too.

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WSAG9

Who’s In Control?

I nearly joined a splinter group by accident the other day.

In actual fact I just happened to walking in the same direction as the people waving placards and singing about Billy Liar, but to a casual observer I could easily have been taken as one of the dissidents.

I could have avoided the situation altogether of course, but passing the junction of Spellow Lane and Goodison Road, we noticed a larger than normal police and media presence, and figured that the Domingoan Peoples Front or whatever they're called must be en route. We decided to hang around for a butcher's.

Standing there waiting, I was filled with the same sort of emotions Richard Dreyfuss must have felt inside that mountain when the doors of the spaceship opened - 'Will they be like me?', 'Will they have 2 arms and legs?' etc. That's a cheap shot though really. The demonstration was actually a decent looking turnout of several hundred (mostly) normal looking, match going blues.

Even up close and personal though, I still felt no connection whatsoever to their 'cause'. It's my belief that every single person with an interest in EFC, including the aforementioned Billy, wants the same thing.

First choice would be a benevolent, multi-billionaire timelord (preferably with a season ticket for the Park End). As well as wiping out the club’s debt, building a new stadium, slashing ticket prices, snapping up boss players from home and abroad, he would also use his Prince Rupert’s Tower shaped tardis, and his intimate knowledge of the space/time continuum to rights the wrongs of yesteryear - he would make visits to Istanbul in 2005, somewhere in Uruguay about 24 years ago, and Wembley in 1989, 1986 and 1984. Or we could just get him to go to the Sandon in 1892 and nip the whole thing in the bud I suppose.

In the absence of an omnipotent, mega-rich super-being (preferably from Liverpool or the Greater Merseyside area) we’d all settle for someone with a bit of dough, who’s not a bad WSAG12

nob - I would have a personal preference that anyone who’s fortune was connected in any way with poultry would be excluded, but that doesn’t have to be a deal-breaker.

So, given this broad consensus among the royal blue massive on the ownership/ investment issue, I’m still puzzled as to what the basis of this ‘protest’ is. I think a bit of it is copy-catism.

There have been two high profile, slickly organised campaigns at northwest clubs in the last couple of years, and you can’t help feel that some have decided they want a piece of that action. However, both of those movements only served to highlight some of the most unappealing traits of both sets of supporters.

The Blue Union could actually unite the entire cosmos of Evertonia today if they were to announce that it was actually all a skit - that they were parodying and critiquing the pompous, self righteous arrogance displayed by certain groups based not a million miles from here. We’d all applaud politely and shout ‘Bravo’, and it would be ever so Everton.

But that’s not going to happen because they’re actually more interested in getting an interview with the scruffy wool on Northwest Tonight who used to peddle the tits and tall-tales in the Sunday Sport. Just before the weather with Eno (Here Come the Warm Jet[stream]s perhaps).

Not that there’s anything wrong with a bit of copying of course. In fact if Saint Vespaluus

didn’t actually write the ‘gag’ at the end of the previous paragraph, then he probably should have.

I just don’t think it’s a great idea to copy something which is badly shit to begin with. In mimicking the modus operendi of the Sons of Shankly et al, the Blue Union have effectively seen Jeremy Clarkson on the telly and then thought to themselves ‘I’m going to buy myself a leather jacket’.

The other factor in people wanting to get involved in stuff no-one thought was anything to do with them a few years ago is the whole ‘entitlement’ culture which now pervades everything. Celebrity used to be a status bestowed on those with some sort of talent, or who were somehow worthy of ‘celebration’. Now, if you think you should be famous there’s precious little standing in your way, and plenty of banal outlets for you to pursue your dreams.

Previously, if you wanted some nice stuff, you’d have to, like, work and save up for it. Now, you just bang it on a credit card, or better still kick the window of Curry’s in and just take it. Everything has been debased and devalued.

It’s why I will view Manchester City’s first Premier League title when it comes in the same way that I view an X Factor Christmas Number 1 - an achievement stripped of any glory by the sheer inevitability of it all.

There’s plenty of stuff I want. If I had to prioritise, I suppose it’d be something like: a. The ability to never have to work another day in my life. ii. My own private tropical desert island.

3. Regular and unrestricted access to Scarlett Johansson’s memory card.

I don’t consider any of the above to be my right though, and I certainly wouldn’t consider getting some like-minded individuals together and organising a march. But, it’s a free country I suppose, and any kind of ‘better blue me, la’ type arguments from either side can only be counter-productive.

And then, in one inexplicable act Gary Speed has reduced every word uttered or written on this subject to its rightful status - utterly inconsequential.

The Rabid Child

PARTY FEARS TWO

As Liverpool as a City continues to develop its reputation as a tourist spot and “party destination”, one of the unfortunate byproducts has been the appearance of stag parties at the match. Already this year we’ve seen groups of bellends dressed as Elvis, a party in “superhero” gear and the other week a load of Dalmatians were seen in the Main stand for the Man United game. If there’s one ground in Britain where this sort of behaviour is completely frowned upon then its Goodison and it would seem to be only a matter of time before they become a public order issue.

Anfield probably hasn’t witnessed this problem as such, due to their current full houses, although the ground is already full of tourists all dressed as walking club shops.

With tickets in ready supply at Goodison though, the various groups of Nuts readers have no problem in adding to their weekend in the city by coming along to the match and if they didn’t insist in acting like complete cunts they’d be more than welcome.

Typical of this new unwelcome distraction were the group of pissed Irish lads (always the worst culprits) sat in the Main Stand side of the Park End for the Wolves game. With the game meandering in the second half these beauts tried to get a jolly old sing song going with a chorus of “Come on you mighty Blues” a song which has never before been heard before at Goodison. They were initially indulged, but after approximately 47 seconds were as tedious as the match they were supposed to be watching. Full marks therefore to the lad behind us who boomed in his most official voice “This is a Police message, will all supporters please be aware that this is a no singing area”…Quite.

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previous Welsh Evertonian greats such as the aforementioned Southall, Kevin Ratcliffe, Pat Van Den Hauwe (hmmm), Barry Horne et al by plying his trade at L4 4EL. Speed may not have been a match changer as such, but he was a solid professional and a leader of men, and most certainly not a big time Charlie or a Spice boy. Early hope was provided when Speed scored on his debut, and after an early losing streak, the Blues seemed to have got into their stride, culminating in the 7-1 demolition of Southampton at Goodison on November 16th, where Gary weighed in with the only hat-trick of his career. Unfortunately, from that point on we won only six more matches, lost in the Cups to York City and Bradford and we finished the season manager-less (Royle had gone in March) and in fifteenth position. Still, Speed ended the season as joint top scorer (11 goals) and as Player of the Year.

I HATE YOU SO MUCH RIGHT NOW (or Gary Speed R.I.P.) On the whole, the Nineties was not a great time to be an Evertonian. We had the disappointing Harvey years coming to an end, then Kendall Mk: II (the semi coherent years) followed by the lamentable and incompetent Walker years (for those too young to remember, imagine Blackburn’s Steve Kean in a Jimmy Saville/Lady Gaga wig). That period of false hope/utter fear was finally assuaged with the arrival of Joe Royle, whose first job was to ensure that Duncan Ferguson became a permanent, totemic (he was tall and this adjective is the law when writing about ‘lofty’ types) symbol of hope for us impoverished Evertonians. Following an unlikely but joyous F.A. Cup win (remember the Blue noses?) the next piece of the Royle Blue jigsaw was the signing of the Russian flyer Andrei Kanchelskis (for those too young to remember, imagine Bilyaletdinov being half decent instead of total dung). For a season we were treated to an electric winger supplying ammunition for the likes of Amokachi, Stuart, and a returning from prison Duncan, and the signs were that with another couple of signings we could once more be a force in the game. We ended the 1995-96 season in a respectable sixth position, although the Cup exits that year were embarrassing and Big Joe promised they would be seen as a ‘watershed’ in the history of Everton Football Club.

That summer was awash with transfer speculation. Royle’s first priority was to replace the irreplaceable as Neville Southall was now 105 years old and his reflexes were not what they were. A bid to acquire Nigel Martyn was scuppered by an amateur of a chairman (and a RS to boot), and we ended up with Paul Gerrard; the type of keeper only a mother could love. Royle’s next priority was to replace a midfield that was ageing (Horne) and fucked (Parkinson/Grant(ona). And so, it was that Gary Speed wandered into Bellfield for the princely sum of £3.5m. Speed’s credentials as a boyhood Blue were impeccable, and he had Championship form having won the League with Leeds United. The thought of him teaming up with Kanchelskis and Duncan boded well for the coming season, but it is fair to say that a number of Evertonians did not see him as the hoped for response to the ‘watershed’ at Port Vale. Being a fellow North Walian (wool, sheep etc etc.) I was happy that one of the few beacons of hope in a Welsh side devoid of much else, would now be playing in the tradition of WSAG14

As was the custom under Peter Johnson, big things were promised and once more Toffee-heads everywhere were dreaming of a world class manager being given oodles of cash to make us the force we once were.

We got Howard Kendall Mk. III, and no money.

The one good decision that Kendall made during his third reign was to install Speed as captain, who was by now captain of his country also.

Having a boyhood Blue with a fine reputation amongst his peers as a leader could only be a good thing, couldn’t it?

As the season began, things did not look good with a mixed bag of results contributing to renewed restlessness around Goodison that focused primarily on an incompetent chairman.

However, the Merseyside grapevine was awash with tales that all was not well with the manager, nor the dressing room.

Speed meanwhile continued to try and galvanise the team and chipped in with some valuable goals along the way, and his final game as a Blue saw him score his seventh of the season in a home win against Chelsea. What happened next is shrouded in mystery. All that is known is that Speed was not on the bus to the away match with West Ham. Rumours have suggested he refused to travel having got wind of Kendall’s desire to offload him to Newcastle and strip him of the captaincy. Kendall’s modus operandi in the past had been to utilise the press and come out as the good guy (see Sharpy’s autobiography), and it is not unreasonable to think that this might have been the case again.

He was getting no money from Johnson, so perhaps saw the opportunity to raise some funds by off loading Speed. The tributes that have been paid to Speed have all focused on his professionalism and his dedication to his

fitness. It is therefore unthinkable that Speed, especially as captain, would have approved of certain aspects of, shall we say, Howard Kendall’s efforts to foster team spirit. What is apparent is that the two men fell out, and Speed was pilloried. To Evertonians it appeared he had deserted his boyhood club at their time of need. In all likelihood, he was being used by Kendall to raise funds or alternatively as a scapegoat (Judas). We still don’t know for definite what Gary Speed was hinting at when he said "You know why I’m leaving, but I can’t explain myself publicly because it would damage the good name of Everton Football Club and I’m not prepared to do that." But I for one believed him.

Gary Speed was not a Mickey Thomas type, flitting from club to club and declaring his love for them all, or a Carlos Tevez mercenary. He played for Wales when others such as Ryan Giggs deemed the national team not worthy of his talents. He stayed at all of his other clubs for a good period of time and in fact it was at Everton where he spent the least amount of time during his career. Why would a boyhood Blue do that? There has to be a reason.

Howard Kendall’s only words thus far on the sad and mysterious death of Gary Speed have been these: “A final word on the many heartfelt obituaries to Gary Speed. Judging from the volume of tributes alone it’s clear to see the respect he commanded in football as a player and a person”.

Howard Kendall gave me so much to be proud of in the eighties, but today I only feel sad for someone so bitter that he could not search within himself to find one kind and heartfelt

example of a good man who could have been an Everton legend, was a lifelong Blue, and has left two young boys behind.

Could it be that he is worried that his legacy at Everton Football Club is tarnished by the events of the Speed saga? He needn’t worry; there are plenty of other salacious rumours vying to discredit his second and third spells at Everton such as “You don’t like a drink? You will do” and the Formby beach incident. Why else would Kendall not speak fondly about a former work colleague who must have made some impression on Howard for him to be made captain?

For me, right now, Kendall means nothing. I hope that by the time his obituaries are written my feelings will have mellowed and that I will only remember the good times, but somehow I doubt I will. Everton’s most successful manager has shown himself to be a small, embittered, and bad minded man. Some wonder if he might have come across as hypocritical to praise Speed at this time, but he still could have strung something together to acknowledge that someone he knew personally who had tried to do good things for his manager and club had passed away in the most distressing of circumstances.

Here are some words that Howard could not string together but words that surely would have sufficed.

Rest in Peace Gary. A good man, a fine footballer, and a proud Evertonian.

Pipecock Jackson III Blazing in the Street End Bogs

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All I Want For Christmas….

On the first day of Christmas my True Blues gave to me An end to the mi-is-ery…

On the second day of Christmas my True Blues gave to me Endless transfer funds And an end to the mi-is-ery…

On the third day of Christmas my True Blues gave to me Champions again Endless transfer funds And an end to the mi-is-ery…

On the fourth day of Christmas my True Blues gave to me No more Liver birds Champions again Endless transfer funds And an end to the mi-is-ery…

On the fifth day of Christmas my True Blues gave to me Five Andy Kings No more Liver birds Champions again Endless transfer funds And an end to the mi-is-ery…

On the sixth day of Christmas my True Blues gave to me Anfield decaying Five Andy Kings No more Liver birds Champions again Endless transfer funds And an end to the mi-is-ery…

On the seventh day of Christmas my True Blues gave to me Every game a-winning Anfield decaying Five Andy Kings No more Liver birds Champions again Endless transfer funds And an end to the mi-is-ery…

On the eighth day of Christmas my True Blues gave to me Gobshite relegation Every game a-winning Anfield decaying Five Andy Kings No more Liver birds

Champions again Endless transfer funds And an end to the mi-is-ery…

On the ninth day of Christmas my True Blues gave to me Kings of the nation Gobshite relegation Every game a-winning Anfield decaying Five Andy Kings No more Liver birds Champions again Endless transfer funds And an end to the mi-is-ery…

On the tenth day of Christmas my True Blues gave to me Ten Dixie’s leaping Kings of the nation Gobshite relegation Every game a-winning Anfield decaying Five Andy Kings No more Liver birds Champions again Endless transfer funds And another trip to Wembley On the eleventh day of Christmas my True Blues gave to me Eleven Barry Hornes, eleven Barry Hornes, eleven Barry Hornes And number one is Barry Horne, and number two is Barry Horne…..

On the twelfth day of Christmas my True Blues gave to me 1.Neville Southall 2.Gary Stevens 3.Ray Wilson 4.Howard Kendall 5.Brian Labone 6.Colin Harvey 7.Trevor Steven 8.Alan Ball 9.Dixie Dean 10. Alex Young 11. Johnny Morrissey

And an end to the mi-is-ery…

Tommy Boy

BernieWrightgeist More trials and tribulations of a 21st century Evertonian

A merry Christmas to all you Toffees, Canaries and Swans from the St Vesp family!

1 Seasons Greetings from former Everton hard man striker Bernie Wright!

Hi, WSAGers!

You’ve probably read about me in WSAG before and thought: “Who’s that hunky but thoughtful young man pondering over the chess board?”

(Porn to King 4) Well, I’m Bernie Wright! Wikipedia says that my nickname was “Bernie the Bolt”, and that I scored a whopping 78 goals in 328 league games – many of them in Division 3!” (Nite to Biships Porn 3) It also calls me a “tough centre forward”, and man, I WAS tough! I was the toughest motherfucker yo’ Everton boys have ever seen!

I remember doing laps round Bellefield and some Scotch guy called Stuart Imlach is comin’ round and starts dissing me: “Come on, Bernie – you’ll have to pick up the pace a bit – it’s a big step up to the First Division, you know.”

Man I bitchslapped that five foot four inch turkey spark out! No motherfuckin’ son of a bitch speaks to me like I’m a pussy or a WSAG26

mo’effin’ asshole, fo’ shizzle! (Kings Nite Prawn to Kings Nite Prawns 4) That was the end o’ ma career. Harry Broderick - the head coach at the Sox - calls me into his office. He say to me: “ ‘sup bro?” he says. “You caint go kickin ma homey Stoo-art’s ass, ev’y time he on yo case, y’dig?”* “Man; y’all got a problem,” I says. “ Yo spit it out. A’ight?”

“Ber-nard; you the man,” says Mr Broderick.

“You sco’ 2 goals in just 15 motherfuckin’ games, but you trouble! You trouble with a capital T! So fuck off.” (Horse to Kings Castle Porn 3. Check mates.)

So I was out on ma big Walsall ass. I coulda been a contender, y’dig? I coulda been Brett Angel or John Motherfuckin’ Spencer, but I gots me no regrets. Regrets is for pussies. And I luuurvvve pussy, me.

As Do-ris Day used to say about regrets: “Why won’t you give me one, Rock Hudson? Are you a bit ‘funny’ or something?”

Ciao!

Bernard Ian Wright (The Notorious B.I.W.)

2 The Magic of the FA Cup (Crewe Alexander v Colchester United 12.11.11)

Crewe v Colchester: note the baldy steward – not watching the ‘crowd’, not watching the game I quite like going to lower league football matches. There’s no pressure and you can just enjoy the game and clock the local wildlife. If I can, I nearly always go in the away end, and The Alexander Stadium was our choice on yet another no-Everton game Saturday The Crewe accent is bizarre. If you’ve ever been unlucky enough to hear The Macc Lads and their dreadful scared of foreigners/scared of homosexuals output, you’ll have some idea of this horrible hybrid noise. There’s some Mancunian in it, there’s some north Midlands and it’s particularly affected by its relative proximity to the city that ‘Crewians’ (? – fuck knows) consider their Metropolis, Sodom and Gotham City all rolled into one: Stoke-on-Trent.

All accents can only be judged by aesthetics and so there’s no genuine way of quantifying quality, but the Stoke accent is a bad one. I think it’s the way they say their ‘O’s. Ronnie Barker wrote a great joke about this when he created his ‘four candles’ sketch. Ronnie was great, and Norman Stanley Fletcher represents the best comedy acting performance in the sitcom ‘cannon’, but he later blotted his copybook by charging very old folk huge sums for valueless crap at his antique shop – the sort of stuff you get by hitting three playing cards with three darts at a passing funfair. Oh, and he did ‘Clarence’, as well.

And fucking ‘Arkwright’, as well; so that’s three bad things.

Yup – straight to hell He can fuck off, then.

Robbie Williams and Phil ‘on the register’ Taylor have this accent and that’s bad enough, but when it’s multiplied in its thousands, it’s like torrents of warm aural diarrhoea slashing into your semi-circular canals. There are a million things wrong about living in this city, but three days in the arsehole of South Cheshire reminds of why I couldn’t live in a very small town again. They’re big fans of the national team in Crewe.

And talking of Stoke, if Stoke manager Tony Pulis fell in love with Oldham manager Paul Dickov -and they decided to get married in a civil ceremony- and Tony decided that he’d like his surname to be joined with Paul’s to form a double-barrelled surname to celebrate their love - would he be known as Tony Pulis-Dickov?

If you ever got off at Crewe, there’s a sliver of bars and one ok restaurant just outside the station. If you’ve ever get off at Edge Hill, you may end up on the aptly-named Tunnel Road, or you may up ending spraying your partner’s breasts, hair or Man About the House saucy underwear apron with man fat.

The sliver of bars is the ‘good bit’, although in real terms it’s very, very depressing.

There was a Sky documentary a few years ago about some Sun’lan fans trying to find some action there on a 9.30, Saturday night. The snug of Saturday night.

The Royal Hotel Crewe. Some bird Everywhere was fancies me. And I’ve got a lob on. deserted, but And a boner. one of them managed to bag off with a pensioner. And I think that’s the most exciting thing that’s ever happened there. When my train broke down during British bastard Rail’s year of almost total failure/shutdown (2002?), I remember being stuck in Crewe for three hours. This was following a dead of winter (inevitable) defeat by Aston Villa.

We were told that there would be no train to Liverpool until 11 pm and having travelled solo to meet my chums in Birmingham, I was forced into three hours of solitary drinking. I remember sitting in The Royal Hotel (literally) on my own, as a solitary traffic/disco light flashed on and off to Lionel Richie’s ‘Running with the Night’. Three hours later, I got on the Liverpool train, pissed and miserable and then arrived at Lime Street about ten past two on a WSAG27

train with no lights and no running water in the bogs.

spending the day basking in their desire to hate, in order to feel good about themselves.

In Greek mythology, hell is characterised by underground lakes and rivers rather than fire; at that time in my life, hell seemed to consist of waiting in darkness, whilst freezing and trying to use train toilets with no running water to void the inevitable turds and ‘loads of loads of paper’ that were gumming them up. After watching Everton lose, of course.

And that’s not to say they’re passive cud-chewers, happy with their team’s lot whatever that might be, but the ones I’ve seen haven’t been jumping down their team’s throats from the first second to the last. And we’re talking about teams at the bottom of the world, here.

Crewe is also odd as it’s a bit of a hike from the station to the actual town centre. We’ve watched some odd games in some odd towns this season, but fuck me, Crewe town centre is grim beyond belief.

And I know it’s Cameron’s bloody Britain, but everyone in Crewe town centre looked like a refugee, was seemingly forty stone and was trying to pack about five ciggies in their gobs as we passed by.

One of the great things about going away (under my own steam) with the Toffees from about the age of fourteen onwards was that it was a chance to escape some of the miserable bellends who spoiled it at Goodison (it’s always been the same, believe me), and every so often, I dream I’m back in a strange version of the 70s - a fifty times more violent, but ironically more innocent time for travelling away.

Whoops, now I really AM talking shite.

I’d like to think I embrace the values of the great socialist writers of the 20th century and would love to think that I uphold the teachings of Our Lord Jebus, but fuck me, Crewe people, get a grip, you scruffy bastards.

The actual game was great. If you’re willing to follow a small club all over the country, it doesn’t guarantee that you’ll be a decent human being, but it’s a start. Compare that to your average Joe outatown kopite or United fan – no fuck it: just kopites – glory hunting to boost your ego and to add fuel to your desire to lord it over your fellow human beings. All based on the accomplishments of others.

The Seventies: a gentler, more innocent, almost pastoral, Arcadian time for English football.

A kopite kid pines for justice in this world: “I want Championship football! And more fucking melon!”

The majority of the real small town away fans I’ve met on my travels this year have been knowledgeable, intelligent and good humoured.

Amongst ‘the Colchester’, there were (say) five tatt-plastered Essex boys, but the rest were there to support their team, have a laugh and a drink, and for a bit of a day out. There were no death screams about how their manager and owner were ‘cunts’, and there was nobody WSAG28

3. Wire at The Academy (Hotham Street, 25.11.11) Ugliest crowd ever. And obviously that includes me. 40 and 50 something fatties who still have an interest in something beyond dad rock, but the ravages of ale and time meant that these aficionados looked like they’d just got out of Rampton, or were, in fact homeless. Fucking brilliant gig, though. A pity that Wire stalwarts Graham Lewis and Colin Newman (two geography teacher names, if ever there was) had morphed into him out of Level 42 and Ken Loach respectively. Neither a great looks for a pop star.

4. Tamworth (FA Cup 3rd Round 7.1.12) Tamworth is famous for just three things: The Tamworth 2 – remember those ginger pigs (Fairclough and Lee**) from a few years ago who fucked off from their farm because their

farmer was bumming them?

Well that’s two of them.

The other is Julian Cope. I’ve met a lot of people who saw The Teardrops’ residency at the frankly insanitary Pyramid Club in Julian Cope: off his tits the 80s who tell me: “It was AMAZING. Copey was off his face on acid and did this brilliant 25 minute version of Bouncing Babies.”

To which I reply: “Yes – I went to two of the nights. It was FUCKING SHITE. ‘Copey’ was off his stupid fucking face on acid and did this shit, scandalous ‘fuck you punters, I think I’m the fucking Lizard King’ 25 minute version of Bouncing Babies. The cunt.”

I’m really looking forward to the EFC/Tamworth game as a post-Christmas excuse for a Leo and to add another team to my Toffees list (adds ear medicine, picks sticking plaster from glasses, drinks half of Otter’s Cock, masturbates furiously).

Ask an arl arse, and I’m sure they’ll agree that the worst team that ever came to Goodison was Altrincham (FA Cup 3rd Round, 1975). Worst as in the biggest shower of bastards and not in terms of ability, that is. Altrincham were managed by a moustachioed kopite and they set out to kick Everton off the park. Everton missed out on the Championship by three points that season and I’m sure part of it was due to the ‘on-fire’ John Connolly having his leg smashed by one of the hideous bastards who played for Altrincham on that day.

A lucky penalty (converted by the largely forgotten Everton captain Dave Clements) towards the end saved me from horrific stick on Monday from the low IQ fucks at my school, but it still ranks in my top 5 worst days at Goodison Park.

And like everything bad that’s ever happened to me, it still festers inside me until my heart is fit to break.

And as the ten year old film director said to Partridge: “You’ve got to let it go, Alan.”

BASTARDS! 4. One Good Christmas Present and Four Shit Ones a) The Slanket: Once your lady buys one of these, she’s saying: “Our sex life is over.”

Within three weeks, she’ll have put on eight or nine stone and will start pissing the couch. ‘

Trevor’ in his Slanket: we keep telling you – we don’t judge anyone at WSAG. b) A Sixth Month VIP Membership to ‘Fingertips’ Gentleman’s Relaxation Parlour, Liverpool 7.

The girls at ‘Fingertips’ proudly show off their souvenirs from young Wayne’s last visit. c) Anything ‘ironic’ that you’ve wasted your money on: I was given a copy of this by a well-meaning girlfriend many years ago – “for a laugh”.

Somewhere out there, there’s yet another ‘ex’ (wondering why she’s an ex) from my tangled, John Knight***-like love-life. d) And one rather excellent stocking filler: I know for a fact that Viz stole my David Attenborough-lite theory that chimpanzees spend most of their time wanking and drinking tea from the spout of the tea pot. No matter: what’s done is done.

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But far, far worse than this piece of appropriation of my studies into the antics of our simian kopite friends is the fact that some cheapskate toy company is now marketing my idea. Here’s a photo of an ideal £4.99 stocking filler that I picked up in Edinburgh:

the ‘monkey’) and had to pay with a twenty (flash bastard) and had to wait an eternity while the assistant took an age to get my change.

Better still, the receipt doesn’t say ‘novelty monkey’ or ‘wind up monkey’, oh no. It tells it like it is: Windup Masturbating Monkey.

Obviously, it’ll be difficult trying to claim for this on expenses, but the 83p I paid in tax should go some way towards paying for roads and nurses and the emergency services, so it’s a ‘win-win’ situation’ all round.

6. Comic Book Guys Although we’d been on the train for an hour or so, my small child decided that as soon as we’d got off at Lime Street, he needed a wee. This is par for the course with young children so it’s never worth getting bothered about. We took him into the excellent Liner Hotel in Lord Nelson Street, and while there, we saw that there was a comic book fair going on, and being huge fans of the splendid ‘Big Bang Theory’, we decided to investigate.

Martin Keown: Match of the Day 2 punditry now just a distant memory I only bought this to prove a point to you, my faithful WSAG are readers. Personally, I find such things disgusting. The joke/fancy dress shop was packed when I bought it, filled with Halloween revellers buying their goods and costumes and discussing at length (in Home Counties and twatty student accents and at great volume), the crazy October 31st they had planned.

I’ll admit I lost my nerve the first time and had to go back twice. The second time I bought a comedy muzzy and ‘bald head wig’ (that smells like a spent johnny) to accompany my dirty novelty. It reminded me of a scene from Woody Allen’s ‘Bananas’ (indeed) where he’s trying to buy a nudie book by sandwiching it between The Wall Street Journal and The New York Times. The student in front of me had a card that didn’t work, and the sweat was pouring off me when it hit me that the lad behind the counter might hold up the rude purchase (as in the film) and shout: ‘Harry – how much is the ‘Masturbating Monkey?’ and further destroy a fragile psyche still recovering from a pensioner/shitty arse incident (see below) from some 25 years before.

Worse and worse still, I had a fiver ready; then couldn’t find it because I was nervously fiddling around (but not with my cock – unlike WSAG30

You’d imagine that such a place would be filled with autistic, semi-autistic and anally retentive men wearing body warmers, reeking of B.O. and haggling over ‘The Green Lantern’ #27 with fat bespectacled usurers, taking advantage of their desperation; and you’d be right.

Me and the Mrs stood out like sore thumbs amongst the ugly, dorky, It was great. comic book crowd Having Mrs SV with me helped to cut a swathe through the challenged ones because there was an almost supernatural fear of women (and the proximity to women) amongst these sexually never-experienced males. All the clichés you’ve heard about these places were true, but that’s what made it so great.

I bought a copy of The Hornet with what looks like Les Dawson on the front, but is in fact Don Revie

And better still, a copy of ‘Action Annual 1978’.

Action was a great comic, but Fleetway (its publishers) were leaned on to close it down because of its violent and ‘gritty’ content. In nearly all Action strips, someone gets twatted or abuses ‘Sir’ at school.

Here, a young Bobby Gillespie tells Jimmy Hill to fuck off for spoiling his ciggy break And though well intentioned ‘Black Jack’ (zoiks!) - the story of Trinidadian schoolboy Jack Barron - sets back British race-relations and Afro-Caribbean empowerment by several years as Jack sets about turning the table on the racist bullies through his boxing skills.

Jack’s dad’s reaction to his son’s courageous stance is not exactly enlightened in any way, shape or form:

This strip also reminds me of the unfortunate time that I saw that other great Bernard of my entire cultural life, Ber-nard Manning. At that time, I was working in The Olympia in West Derby Road when it was a humble Mecca bingo and not the home of North West cage fighting and the occasional Bunnymen and New Order gig. The last two also found their ways into my gigantic list of regrets/sleights/hurts, because my somewhat arbitrary views on these bands cost me the chance of getting tickets for the Olympia gigs. (Along with texter texting the word ‘bellend’ for asking me if I wanted any ‘tix’.)

8. New Order at the Olympia Tickets “Did you get ME a ticket for New Order?”

“NO!” “What do you mean ‘NO!’” “You said they were “fucking shit” last week, and that they were the ‘Emlyn Hughes of post-punk British music.”

“I was pissed. I don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean.”

“Well, you said it. I can only go on the language you use. I didn’t get you one, anyway.”

“Fuck off.”

I always believe that Action was closed down because Britain wasn’t ready for social realism in its comics. I was wrong.

Action was closed down because it was shit.

7. The Most Unfortunate Team in British Comics History/Abuse from Senior Citizens

New Order at The Olympia: “I feel so extraordinary; something’s got a hold on me. LIVERPOOL ARE MAGIC< EVERTON ARE TRAGIC!” 9. Echo and the Bunnymen at the Olympia Tickets Did you get ME a ticket for the Bunnymen?”

(Incredulous) “No.” “Why? I love the Bunnymen. You know I love the Bunnymen’” “You called me a ‘bellend’ for texting ‘tix’ and you said that they were a bunch of ‘kopite cunts’ and anyone who went to see them was a kopite cunt.”

“Fair enough.”

I would presume that this Action comic writer hadn’t heard of the ‘mental home’ of the same name when he ‘penned’ this back in 1977.

Rampton’s meteoric rise up the League table sees them beat all comers including Ashworth United (with twin strikers Harry Shipman and Pete Sutcliffe), Cottage Homes Villa, Rainhill Alexander and Liverpool.

10. Back to What I Was Talking About Manning was guest comedian one night and was paid £450 for half an hour’s work. Big bucks then. He opened with: “Full moon tonight. They’ll be bouncing off the fucking walls in Rampton.”

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Like the shithouse I am, I hid behind a stone pillar and watched as Manning tore into m’colleagues who were delivering drinks and bingo cards to the latish, middle-age women who often gave off an unpleasant fug of ‘women’s problems’ just to add to my pleasure of working for the minimum wage.

Every week there seemed to be a shit, abusive, racist comedian (and Manning wasn’t the worst, believe me) or hideous cabaret act (highlight: Kenny Johnson and Northwind; lowlight: male/female duo ‘Lovejuice’).

American Pie: Clonmel’s answer to Showaddywaddy

There weren’t any ‘highs’ to this job.

The lowlights were many and frequent. The second worst nadir was watching a female yard of ale contest where nobody had thought to provide bitter or a non-gaseous beer, but HAD provided a cheap paddling pool for the projectile lager vomiting that represented the inevitable conclusion to this battle of the giants. The lake of watery sick that I refused to clean up is another thing that will never be expunged from my memory.

Worse than that, though, was when the manager of the Olympia sent me to near-next door nightclub The Grafton (the Studio 54/Viper Rooms of the L6/L7 boundary) to deliver some toilet rolls because “they’re having a pensioners’ Christmas party”. This wasn’t as glamorous as it sounds, and if he’d have said “The Grafton’s just called; they’ve run out of toilet rolls! Can you take some round for me?” that would have been ok. But being blessed/cursed with a fertile imagination, the question/demand/extra bit of information “Can you take some toilet rolls round to the Grafton? They’re having a pensioners’ Christmas party,” filled me with dread.

Was lots of pooing a requirement/inevitable result of pensioners’ “Grandma! Giz a fuckin’ Christmas parties? Was ciggy, yer fuckin’, fuckin it a built-in feature of bastard!” their party games and/or their filthy coprophile sexual practices?

WSAG32

Whatever. He gave me a big wooden palette/tray and loaded the shit roll in a comedy pyramid on top. Looking back on the paddling pool of sick/toilet roll pyramid, it’s now obvious that the Olympia manager was obviously having a giraarrffe at the plebs’ expense, and it’s only taken me twenty-odd years of reflection to work this out. The dividing line between me and Terry Fuckwitt is usually only a few centimetres long at the best of times.

So off I strode to The Grafton. I had a quick look outside to make sure there were no local toughs to disavow me of my aura of coolness – because let’s face it, even Rihanna would look a bit rubbish carrying a massive tray of poop paper down West Derby Road – but luckily it was a freezing afternoon in December and there was nobody around. I walked the fifty or so yards to The Grafton with a jaunty spring in my step.

I imagined a pensioner Christmas party to look like this:

With lots of sedentary, very old people, practically comatose and falling face-first into their roast dinners due to being nearly dead or ripped to the tits on medication.

I couldn’t have mis-informed.

been

more

wrong

or

What a bunch of bastards.

The deputy manager had worked out a route for me that took me right past every one of these gurning, rough-house, pissed-up old fuckers.

The music was too loud for me even as young man (I presume it was because many of them were deaf), but for some reason they switched it off (so that the old folk could rip the piss out of me, I’d also presume) as I made way across the tables around the dance floor.

One of the arl girls grabbed and pinched my arse and I (involuntarily) swung round and nearly ripped her head off with the wooden tray. I started to apologise and then two more smelly women got up and linked me and started dancing. I can’t remember how I managed to shake them off, but I got a few more yards and

then a stronger hand grabbed my upper arm.

“You’ve got a lot of toilet rolls there, lad,” said an aggressive-looking and very big pensioner. He would have definitely battered me in a fight, and he was waiting for his feedline. I held my nerve and didn’t say anything, so he ploughed on, anyway.

“Have you got a shitty arse?” he asked.

“What d’yer think of me ‘Moyesy’ cardie, shitty arse?”

I think I’ll take the sound of the screechy, abusive laughs of four tables of pensioners with me when I descend to hell.

Apparently, it was the funniest thing they’d ever heard in their lives because the laughter seemed to go on forever. I could feel myself going beetroot, and in my mind they all started singing “Shitty Arse” to John Philip Sousa’s ‘Here We Go’ refrain, but I know they didn’t.

It’s taken a deep plunge into my buried, repressed, abuse memories to re-call this one, but the old fuckers on these particular tables started banging their spoons and forks to a tuneless chant of “Shitty arse!

Cha! Cha! Cha!” Crestfallen and humiliated by a group of about 30 people whose combined age almost totalled 2500, I Joyce Frischman (94) went made my way to some one further in her sort of stock room, taunting: “Hey lad. That’s desperately hoping you – shitehawk!” that I didn’t fall over or get tripped up by one of these horrible old cunts.

My return journey wasn’t as bad, but I remember hearing “Look! He’s back again – shitty arse!” followed my more mass cackling, so I nipped out sharpish before I started to cry.

The man who seemed to be running this geriatric chimps’ party said “I see you’ve met the pensioners, then?” and I could tell that the schadenfreude ‘stiffy’ he was getting from my discomfort was almost tearing a hole in his Action Slacks.

I couldn’t tell him to fuck off because he would have snitched on me and I would have lost my job and the £2.31 an hour I was earning in Thatcher’s bloody Britain.

I’m always accused of taking things too seriously but the combined management of The Olympia and The Grafton, along with the ministrations of a gang of FUCKING OLD BASTARDS spoiled my Christmas that year.

I’m not someone who can get pissed to forget my troubles; ale just magnifies them. I can’t divorce pain by simply doing something pleasurable to forget it.

So it’s a good job that I support Everton, then.

Or I’d be really fucked.

Merry Christmas.

Saint Vespaluus *Authentic Straight Outta Compton street language compiled from two months of research in the linguistics section of the British Library. And watching a bit of Jackie Brown whilst half-pissed the other night. **Unfair – have met him twice. A gent. Looks like a Tamworth pig, though. ***John Knight – star of the Sunday tabloids in the 70s and 80s. A man that would make Daily Mail readers explode in this day and age. Knight was an occasional builder from Cornwall who had 23 kids to any number of women, and was paid a fortune in benefits and was given a ‘dream house’ to accommodate these children, wives and lovers. Knight was unrepentant about his ways, had a big fuck off beard and revelled in his tabloid nickname of ‘Superdad’.

He was the king of the meffs and we rather worshipped him in our house because his very name made me arl fella froth at the gills.

We used to say ‘johnnight’ to each other when we went to bed just to confuse him, and I remember he told me off because we were all watching a documentary about an infertile couple and I pretended to unzip my kecks and say in as deep a voice as I could muster: “This is a job ….FOR SUPERDAD.” Obviously you had to have been there.

Knight passed away in the mid-80s when his dick fell off.

Those who live by the sword…..

WSAG33

WHAT’S OUR NAME part two Inspired by the piece in the last issue, here’s 20 more Everton in Books, Films, TV and Music things.

1. Sinbad using the scoreboard to propose to Marcia in Brookside. It didn’t last.

2. The opening credits of Scully features the teams running out before the Anfield Derby in November 1983. If you look closely you can see Neville Southall, Alan Irvine and Trevor Steven before the picture stops with Graeme Sharp’s head under the S and C of Scully. That is until that dirty Red Bleasdale obviously told them to stick a red line across the screen straight across Sharpy’s face. Still, we all know what happened a year later- …and he got behind Lawrenson there did Sharp……

3. One of Franny Scully’s mates is Brian Bignall, cock of the school. In the book “Scully and Mooey” his hardness is confirmed by the fact that “he once won a fight against a docker at Goodison, and you can’t get better than that, other than a fight with two dockers” WSAG34

4. In the TV series, Bignall is played by Gary Bleasdale, who would later help define the dress sense of wacky lower league supporters on a 3rd Round FA Cup day out by being one of Harry Enfield’s Scousers. Expect the Fancy Dress shops of Tamworth to have sold out of wigs and ‘taches in 2 weeks time.

In “The Scousers go to That London”, Bleasdale not only says “Up The Toffees” but utters the immortal line “…Everton are Great, and guess what, Liverpool are crap!”

5. When The Scousers’ sister comes to visit in one sketch there are framed pictures of Kevin Sheedy and Mike Newell hanging on the wall.

6. In the early Eighties, when Crackerjack was presented by Stu “Crush a Grape” Francis they would have two guests every week to help the kids who were trying to win the Celebrity Final. A young and pre-twat Steve McMahon helped some lucky lad win a Dukes of Hazzard Tilt Jump TCR set and Crackerjack Pen by defeating 1500m Runner Christina Boxer.

The Athlete had to then endure being gunged in Baked Beans. (if you’re into WAM fantasies involving Commonwealth Games medallist’s my mate tells me there is a selective website that also has clips of June Croft being gunged with Custard and Kathy

Smallwood-Cook Gravy.) Cor!

covered

in

7. In the Willy Russell film “Dancin’ Thru The Dark”, in the opening scene where the band are driving around looking for Bransky’s Nightclub, just before the van stops to ask some local Ninjas directions, they drive past a massive EFC sprayed onto a wall.

8. One of the film’s stars is probably the best ex-Soap -Star-and-Bike-Shop-Owning Evertonian ever, Simon O’Brien. He is best remem bered though for his seminal work as the Lighthouse Keeper in Fraggle Rock. He frequently would pit his wits against the general skulduggery of the chief Fraggles –Red (tithead), Wembley (yeah, whatever), Gobo (short for Gobshite) and Mokey (fuck knows).

Academics have for years tried to dissect the hidden

message behind the show, often falling into the trap of falling for the clichés that surround the main characters.

Some people try and paint them as heroic and talented, always on the cusp of greatness and previously unimagined success, when in reality they’re just a load of ugly puppets wearing shit clothes and with a gang of Americans with their hands up their arses 9. Super Furry Animals’ song “Mario Man” starts off with the lyrics: The blim holes in my shell suit Joined into an absolute And fell apart one day They stitched me up in Everton Then they took me to a surgeon: Lost on penalties 10.

The Episode of Airline with the Evertonians flying off for an evening of Tear Gas and Water Cannons after the friendly against Anderlecht in 2002 11.

I once got a very excited message from my mate and top blue Chris, that Kevin Sheedy was mentioned in Neighbours by Flick Scully (played by Holly Valance).

Alas, it turned out that the man with the cultured left foot was not the name on the tips of Hot Young Aussie Soap Stars’ lips and that it was the Aussie Rules coach and former player with the same name, much to Chris’ huge disappointment.

12.

The episode of The League of Gentleman when an extra wearing the infamous tractor away kit (Vinny Samways/Charity Shield) keeps appearing.

13.

Songs of Praise held its “Mersey Glory” episode from the hallowed turf of

Goodison in the summer of 1997. It’s no coincidence that a year later, a previously lame Gareth Farrelly was miraculalously healed just in time to save our souls.

14.

Back to Brookie and Tinhead (played by Kopite Philip Oliver) had posters of Duncan Ferguson on his bedroom wall.

15.

If you look hard enough on the worldwide web you can find a download of the 1979 Superteams (Mick) Ferguson Trophy between a team of footballers and a team of Athletes. Mick Lyons is captain of the football team, which also contains George Wood and Andy King up against the might of Geoff Capes, Daley Thompson and Brian Hooper 16.

The 1986 Christmas Special episode of “Duty Free” was filmed on location at Don Carlos Hotel and Spa in Marbella.

In one scene ex-Everton star Alan Ainscow can quite clearly be seen sipping cocktails in the background with his wife Cynthia. In his Autobiography “Ainscow Mountain High Enough” Alan notes that “one minute we’re enjoying our drinks, discussing whether our German Shepherd, Duke, will be ok in the Kennels, and the next we’re saying “look there’s Keith Barron in what is likely to be an ultimately flawed pursuit of the gorgeous Joanna Van Gysgeghen, no doubt with hilarious consequences”.

t-shirt. One of my student housemates observantly observed. “Look look he’s got that same t-shirt like what you have got.”

Someone somewhere must know who he was. (the contestant, not my ex-housemate) 18.

Well I’m struggling a bit so for the last 3 so I’ll point you in the direction of my current youtube favourites that involve a bit of football. First up, search for Brighton V Everton 1982-83. We’re a bit Real Madrid in all-white.

There’s an ace bit of comedy defending for the first goal, irrefutable proof that Clive Thomas was a bent, cheating bastard, and a piece of control and finishing that’s pure class by the best ever Aussie Rules Coach to play for the Blues.

19.

Everton vs Manchester United, May 5th 1984. An 18 year old and his debut goal with an interview afterwards in his best going out clothes and Duran Duran haircut.

20.

Graeme Sharp Everton. Howard Kendall with hair, Elton Welsby in a pretty nifty jumper and the greatest goal I’ve ever seen live. You can just about make me out jumping up on the front row of the old Park Stand.

You Stay Classy, San Domingo Slim Sheedy

17.

There was a contestant on Fifteen-to-One in about 1994 who appeared wearing a WSAG clouds WSAG35

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year?

Christmas Past Strange, isn't it? Each man's life touches so many other lives. When he isn't around he leaves an awful hole, doesn't he?

I write as the football world still reels from the news about Gary Speed.

The emotional farewell the crowd gave him on Sunday – especially the reactions of his father – underlined maybe more than ever the irrelevance of football or Christmas or bad performances or X Factor or whatever else people spend their lives focusing on.

I remember the excitement when he signed (I was sixteen and more optimistic about life than I ever had been) and his goal on his debut. I remember him still scoring during the bad defeats to York and Bradford. I remember his goal in a derby. I particularly remember two goals in an exciting 4-2 victory over Barnsley when John Oster looked a world beater and a One2One rep gave me a programme and scarf at Lime Street Station, ‘cos he didn’t want it’. I also remember listening to that late late penalty at Leicester that gave us a much needed win just before Christmas 1997.

Unfortunately, I also remember the rumours, and calling him a Shithouse without ever properly understanding.

I am truly sorry, even more so after reading the various tweets, reports, comments, shock and sympathies that have been written over the past couple of weeks, which have gone to show Speed must have been a pretty special guy.

Strange, isn't it? Each man's life touches so many other lives. When he isn't around he leaves an awful hole, doesn't he?

As we approach Christmas time, hopefully bringing with it with a couple of much-needed victories, we also need to remember that last issue, my mate Mr Brisley shared with you a rather difficult time he too was having, and the effect that various situations and behaviours were having on his emotional health and well-being, not least the actions of Everton Football Club.

His concern was that he would have to make tough decisions about his profession and whether to continue letting Blues defeats and Reds victories get to him so much. Then came WSAG42

two nervy but ultimately enjoyable afternoons against poor Wolves and Bolton teams, Fellaini signs a new deal, and everything looked rosier – there was even rumoured interest in investing – all before the Stoke debacle.

Since that article, though, overall, things have improved slightly for him, off the pitch if not on it, and now that Christmas is upon us, his mood is better. This cycle will be a trend familiar to anyone who suffers from negative emotions in autumnal months, and now that the most wonderful time of the year is here, I am sure everything will be ok for him.

It’s funny that, despite the money problems (see Arthur Fowler’s meltdown) and Samaritans adverts rolling across the screen on Christmas Day evening TV, generally Christmas makes everyone happy. When you are young it’s the excitement of Father Christmas and opening presents, new pyjamas perhaps, then you get older and it becomes about drinking, ‘party’ nights out and getting someone under the mistletoe, before you grow up and focus on going the matches, precious time away from the workplace and the joy of giving.

Christmas Present Well, kind of – the drink, the food, the songs and the films related to the festive period offer a nostalgic reference point that are existent from childhood, and even though they may change slightly every year, the same tastes, tunes and scenes come around every year for six weeks or so, then are shelved for another year...

The Radio Times – another Christmas institution - recently caried out an online poll of favourite film and “Its a Wonderful Life” came top, with nearly 18% of the votes. Now, I would be inclined to agree with that choice, as it is timeless and heartwarming and potentially the most ‘feel good’ movie ever made, certainly on the Christmas theme.

I will be recommending that Mr Brisley re-watch it at some point soon.

The Muppets Christmas Carol came next and for a certain generation, I can understand that, telling, as it does a similar story, the this-is-

what-life-would-have-been-like-without-you narrative used by so many other tales.

The third film was somewhat preposterously Love Actually, which I would not agree with.

The poll also included such classics as The Holiday, Jingle All The Way and Black Christmas so we can’t read too much into it.

Therefore, I conducted my own less scientific straw poll, taken at lunchtime in my department today, offered some surprises, as – aside from those previously mentioned - the top voted were Planes, Trains & Automobiles,then Home Alone and The Snowman.

The first one was good, the other two... But they are all Kopites.

Other favourites of mine include Scrooged for its twist on the Dickens story, and Trading Places and Home Alone 2 due to their New York links, just like Elf and Serendipity, which are hopelessly romantic and daft but resonate with me for various reasons. However, one oft-overlooked perennial version would have to be Gremlins, basically because it scared me shitless as a child but also it had several references to not just B-Movie Horror classics but also It’s a Wonderful Life.

limit due to getting married next year, still, I can imagine the highlight of the season will be the look on our baby nephew’s face when he opens his Let’s Rock Elmo.

It looks like the most amazing present a one year-old could wish for, and if toys like that had been around when we were that age I know for a fact my parents let alone god parents could never have afforded it which not only shows how times have changed, but also how Christmas has, mostly in a good way.

Touch wood, Christmases yet to come will involve the patter of tiny feet of our own making, and that joy of giving and seeing excitement too early in the morning, that so many of you will enjoy this year, will also come to me, and I can just imagine seeing a face lit up by a new Everton kit or match tickets sent

by Father Christmas just like my own used to years ago.

God Bless us, Everyone.

Billy Peltzer

For anyone who spends their years watching much more sophisticated fare, Frank Capra’s IAWL basically tells the story of George Bailey (James Stewart) whose life is a bit of a disappointment and he feels shit, gets in a bit of money trouble and decides to end it all one snowy night. He is interrupted by a trainee angel (Clarence) who shows him what the world would have been like had he never existed, and how those close to him would have managed without his presence.

I know it is a scenario many people have thought about, and hopefully the story may have had a self-fulfilling prophecy a few times over the years, and will continue to do so as it gains new fans.

Christmas Future Most stories – especially those films we dissected earlier – have a happy ending, and I will leave you with what I hope is one.

This year for the first time we entertain (well, cook for my parents) on Christmas Day but have a spending WSAG43

CURVA SUD Some things we want to bring to your attention HALCYON MAG: In the last

issue we gave a hearty thumbs-up to a few magazines and hoped that we would be able to talk about more in the issues to come.

Well, here’s the first. Halcyon Mag. You’ll be aware of their website as we’ve mentioned it a couple of times and we are big fans.

designed with loads of interesting stuff to read. A sterling effort from all involved.

Daniel Sanderson’s editorial notes sets out the stall: “There’ll be no test driving of Bugatis, no photoshoots with reality stars, and certainly no tips on improving your golf swing, but there will be something for the regular man who enjoys sport, music and not dressing like an idiot.”

If that doesn’t sound right your street then there’s no hope for the world.

Available free all over town.

Go and seek one out. You deserve it.

THE SLAP (BBC4): As the

much triumphed series like Boardwalk Empire start to drag and lose attention, we have found ourselves becoming captivated with The Slap on BBC4.

It’s great to see them eschew the increasing tiresome and clogged up with shite web and move into magazine production. We hope paper is the future as people become more discerning.

An Australian eight parter which starts with the slapping of a child at a party and ends with all involved having their fucked-up lives dragged into the open.

The first issue is excellent.

Beautifully produced and

It has been incredible. Based on Christos Tsiolkas' novel of

the same name, each part has focussed on one cast member and has shown them warts and all - leaving the viewer confused as to who to sympathise with.

The series hasn’t finished yet and so far there’s only been clues where its all going to end. But it looks messy.

GREAT CHRISTMAS PRESENTS YOU ALWAYS WANTED AND NEVER GOT: No1. EVEL KNIEVEL STUNTCYCLE: If you were a

boy in the 1970s we will almost guarantee that you will have wanted one of these too.

The adverts were boss. Wind him up and watch him go.

Marvel as your little mini Evel Knievel went for miles, across rugged terrain and even jumped across canyons.

Although we didn’t have any canyons in Walton, Liverpool 4, it didn’t matter. These were a must-have toy.

Apparently, they made approximately $300 Million so loads must have got one.

I never did.

And you know what? Good job.

Because it was shit.

WSAG44

FIVE ALBUMS TO LOVE

1. If... - Bill Ryder-Jones 2. Numb Mouth Eat Waste Jez Kerr 3. Fire Escape In The Sky: The Godlike Genius Of Scott Walker - Scott Walker 4. Ten Short Songs For Lovers - Aidan John Moffat 5. Smile - The Beach Boys

No matter how much you would wind it up the bike never went more than a few feet without falling over. No wonder the daft cunt always crashed jumping over buses.

THE END

DESPERATE SCOUSEWIVES (E4)

Two weeks in and we’ve had enough. Of course the City looks great (and Everton were actually featured briefly in the second episode after not appearing at all in the first) but is that enough?

We mentioned last time that finally every issue of The End has been collected and put together in a book. And it seems by the comments we’ve had sent in and those who have come to talk to us on the island that a fair few of you out there in readerland have bought your own copies - the second run is almost sold out so get one soon if you don’t want to be disappointed.

Frankly its a pile of shite.

Everyone in it is a thoroughbred knobhead who’s lives are so vacuous its painful.

Not everyone though. We’ve been taken to task for our “endless suckholin’ to Peter Hooton and his red mates”. A reader who describes himself only as Benny Blue comments that not every page of The End has been reproduced with The Goats disappearing completely and some naughty graffiti quietly removed.

Only, I guess its not. These people are sadly real and while its true that there are some who will watch and dream of living similar lives, I would hope the vast majority are laughing at them.

Benny also points out (rather churlishly) that while The Farm like to tell us not to buy The Sun, he was sure ‘All Together Now’ has been used

by Sky Sports. .

Maybe he has a point but we wouldn’t want to deny and give credit for the influence The End had on WSAG and to acknowledge hat without it we probably wouldn’t be here now.

Actually, halfway through the second episode I came to the conclusion that its a brilliant parody; that it was a wonderful set-up like Brass Eye which savagely lampoons its subject matter.

And, where are they all from?

I demand to see their birth certificates.

C30C60C90GO Festive Cheer Be With Me (Backing Track) The Beach Boys Leaning (Star Of Sweden) Bill Ryder-Jones All Things Must Pass George Harrison You And Your Sister - This Mortal Coil This Boy Can Wait - The Wedding Present Every Time We Say Goodbye - April Showers Overjoyed - Shack You Can Make Me Dance, Sing or Anything (Even Take the Dog for a Walk, Mend a Fuse, Fold Away the Ironing Board, or Any Other Domestic Short Comings) - Faces Baby A Go-Go - Barbara McNair My Sugar Baby - Connie Clark Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow - The Shirelles May I - Kevin Ayers Son of a Hermit - The Nebyudelic Sound System meets Professor Yaffle Mother Protect - Niki And The Dove We Found Love (Extended Mix) - Rihanna feat. Calvin Harris 212 - Azealia Banks Abandon (Boys Own Mix) That Petrol Emotion A Roller Skating Jam Named "Saturdays" - De La Soul Boogie Oogie Oogie (12" Remix) - A Taste Of Honey Wordy Rappinghood (Chris Mo Mills GTA1 Remix) - Tom Tom Club Barefoot Acoustic - A Man Called Adam The Bottle - Gil Scott-Heron

The Wanderings of an Everton Nerd In the last issue we did a review of Jamie Yates’ ‘The Wanderings of an Everton Nerd’. We love the book and you will too. We have Jamie to tell us a bit more about it.

May 1987, I was seven years old and on my first ever visit to Goodison Park. My dad and uncle Dave led the way while I excitedly dodged the horse shite, a bag of Everton mints tucked proudly in the pocket of my Parka. The thrill of a pile of manure and a bag of humbugs…

THIS is what it’s all about, right?

The Wanderings of an Everton Nerd is my attempt to capture the essence of that match day walk up through the lens of a Nikon SLR as old as I am. I didn’t feel the need to add captions, I wanted the images to speak for themselves, to visually preserve a little something of what it is to live and breathe a Saturday afternoon at Goodison.

At the time I took the photographs I was living back at my mum’s after a couple of years of wretched toil in London. I would travel by train every other week across the Pennines from East Yorkshire to the match, a solitary pilgrimage and the only time in my life that I’ve managed to go regularly. I had been fighting a stark battle with depression for a while but was just getting back on my feet. Goodison Park with all of its positive associations in my life, win, lose or draw, was the ideal place to be to as I began to find a path away from those dark times.

The matches I attended and took these pictures before, during and after followed on immediately from the ‘Johnson Derby’ in September 2007, a run of a dozen home games which culminated in that surreal afternoon we all remember now as Sylvester Stallone’s visit to L4. A week after that I met a girl from a tiny Hebridean island and we were married there a couple of years later. We now live happily in Glasgow where I scrape a living as an artist and my wife still wonders why I come over all misty eyed any time I see a pile of horse shite in the street.

You can buy my book here: http://www.blurb.com/bookstore/detail/2156567 or find out more about my (sometimes Everton related) artwork at www.mrkapow.co.uk.

Jamie Yates, December 2011

genuine poise and dynamism in an Everton shirt in 10 years, maybe more. He’s the one. As the season wore on into the winter months even my red brothers were a little perturbed at the team that Royle was building, ‘Proper dark horses your lot, that’s some midfield,’ my brother noted after a televised away win at Derby. Poise and dynamism, Speed was integral to perhaps the only decent side there’d been at Everton in the twenty years that followed the last championship win, and growing up in wool country, it was the first time I could be really proud of the side, a relief amidst years of Liverpool and then United plastics using their team viewed from the sofa as a shield of honour at school. And at the middle of it was Speed, a player you could point to and say ‘he’s one of ours’ and really mean it, looking every inch the modern Premier League hero a symbol of what Everton was now all about after years of scraping around in the cellars.

It’s as disappointing as the current lots falling short, that that side of Kanchelskis, Speed, Limpar, Hinchcliffe, Ferguson, Unsworth and Parkinson never did get more time together, but then again, being Everton, this type of stuff isn’t supposed to work out is it? If he got nothing else from his time at the club, we can at least know that Speed got to complete a hat-trick in front of the Gwladys Street.

Speed and Poise ‘Fuck me.’ and then an apology and smile that looked more like a grimace to the woman strapping her little one into a pushchair to my right. I was in Waverley Station in Edinburgh and had just waved the missus off as she caught a train back to the north-west when I looked up to the big jumbotron screen; ‘Gary Speed dies... FAW spokesman announces his death.’ Open-ended, no mention of illness, traffic accident, intruders. Nothing. And despite not knowing the guy in any other capacity than as a footballer on the TV or the other side of the perimeter wall, and not usually being one to spiral into a funk at the loss of a public figure, an empty nothing feeling discomfited me for the rest of the day. I hadn’t lost anything here, and indeed have suffered loss of a nearest and dearest which throws the public grieving frenzy into a sallow light, but still felt that empty nothing feeling. Why so?

I never indulged in the baiting of Speed when he left during a period that is probably the darkest I can remember at the club. This isn’t due to ‘knowing the story’, I was a 17 year old lad from Preston with no inside track from the corridors of Goodison or Bellefield; nor was it ‘rising above it’, only that I went to the game with my granddad and my old man, and spewing abuse at players wasn’t something I wanted to be doing in front of these people.

Over time I was happy that I’d had family eyes on me preventing my joining in, as it became clear that Speed was a man of honour refusing to take the opportunity to flaunt the clause and throw events back in the faces of those who taunted him on his many returns – even when notching as a veteran in a controlling, intelligent display in which his Bolton defenestrated Moyes’ team. What made his restraint even more powerful was his being an Evertonian. We all know that the insults and hard words that really sting are the ones that come from our closest, and having 15,000 of your own yelling that you’re a shithouse would have got a response from just about anyone you or I know.

Rewind to August 1996 and in strolls the Shearer roadshow, all £15m of it, to Goodison.

A few hours later, I fairly raced across the cemetery to Utting Avenue walking the few miles back to Broadway to boast to my red brothers about how the Big Man had shown the watching world just what a £15m centre-forward really looked like after Ferguson had bullied Darren Peacock. ‘Speed, Mike. He’s the one.’ I listened to my granddad and father talk about how they hadn’t seen a centre-mid of

His post-playing appearances at Goodison and more memorably at Wembley made it clear that Speed wasn’t ‘just about anyone you or I know’, and in possession of a maturity and temperance to supplement his model good looks and apparent self-ease. You should have hated someone this blessed, but he was more the effortlessly wonderful and loved guy in class that I couldn’t hate, even if I’d really wanted to.

In recent months I’ve become increasingly convinced that Speed is a future (the next, even) Everton manager. The poise with which he has righted the Wales ship and made them more than the sum of their parts had me excited by this possibility. I feel that Speed’s death is a loss to Everton’s future as much as his sale was a loss to Everton’s past.

God bless you Gary, whatever your demons were you proved yourself more of a man than many of us ever could.

Mike Murphy WSAG41

WSAG166 January 2012

“Difficult as it may seem sometimes, we need to get behind the team. It’s the only answer. Most supporters don’t need telling. And the Club needs to stop viewing all supporters with suspicion and start trusting us again. Together we will win.”

Better Times Recently someone posted a link on the internet to a story about near-to-extinction Darlington, with the invitation to read about ‘a club even worse off than Everton’. It was an innocent enough comment, but it reveals just how despondent Blues have become, because, let’s be quite honest, if you look at our club with even a hint of objectivity and a modicum of perspective you can work out that there are scores of clubs between the Toffees and Darlo who would kill to have to ‘endure’ our present plight.

For more and more Evertonians though, supporting the Blues appears to be at best a chore, while some have become so alienated that they seem to have nothing but contempt for everything associated with the club and, indeed, the majority of their fellow supporters.

Just go and look at the comments below even the most innocuous Everton-related story posted online. They make for grim and very repetitive reading.

So then, with all that in mind, what can be done to lift the mood around these parts?

1. David Moyes has to set the tone The manager at any club is like the captain of a ship, he steers the course – to really labour the arse off this analogy – sets the rules and is, all in all, the person everyone looks too for guidance.

Now, Moyes hasn’t exactly clambered over small children to get to lifeboat like that Italian cat, but he hardly cuts an inspirational figure these days either.

In fact, it’s got to the point where his pre and post-match interviews are best avoided completely, as it borders on the depressing listening to him give curt answers to even the softest of journalistic enquiries.

Of course, like all managers, he wants more money for players, and we would all be delighted if he had it. But at the end of the day there is still enough in the kitty to pay his £60k a week, so he has a bit of a fucking cheek looking like someone’s permanently pissing on his chips.

In short, how are the people who have to do real work in order to actually pay to watch his cack teams meant to get motivated for matches when more often than not he looks like he WSAG8

would rather be shovelling shit than doing what, by real world standards, is a right cushy number?

He has been magnificent for Everton, absolutely incredible, but at times he needs to remember how lucky he is, and how well he has done out of this club. Maybe even get back to being the brutally honest but totally ‘can do’ individual we all fell in love with in the first place.

2. Decide on a playing style Pundits and ex-pros always say that players like clarity and boundaries. The best managers keep things simple and tell them exactly what’s expected of them.

Watching Everton at the moment though, it’s tough to try and fathom what sort of instructions our players are given.

Leighton Baines confessed that before Steven Pienaar moved to Tottenham there was a tendency to just give the ball to him and play from there. The same was true of Mikel Arteta, and so it was always going to be the case that we would struggle to adapt when losing two players who were so key to our passing style.

However, can’t mourn them forever. It’s halfway through the season now and the Blues just look so passive, exactly at the start of games; almost as if they are waiting for the opposition to set the tempo before we frantically try to figure out a way of countering it.

We don’t play possession football like we used to with Arteta and Pienaar in the team, which is understandable, but we are not particularly physical and don’t press the ball very effectively either, especially compared to when Moyes first arrived at Everton. It wasn’t always too pretty, but it was effective and exciting – nobody enjoyed playing against us, especially at Goodison, but that’s far from the case at present.

Nowadays, after a token attempt at a bit of passing football just inside our own half, the ball usually ends up with the centre-half and then gets twatted long anyway, towards isolated, frustrated forwards, so why not just be honest about it and, unless we somehow get our hands on more cultured players, utilise a more ‘dogs of war’ style, but do it properly.

Have an identity. Be one thing or another.

3. Indulge Royston Drenthe The big-faced Dutchman is a bit erratic and frustrating but he also makes things happen and terrifies opponents. Granted, he might not always be particularly diligent when it comes to defending, but fucking hell, his competition is Diniyar Bilyaletdinov and Magaye Gueye.

Without denigrating those two unnecessarily, Drenthe offers far more threat than either and, not be underestimated, he gets the crowd excited too.

Find the best way to get him on the ball then, in the areas where he can do the most damage, even if it means letting him loiter in the centre-circle when we are defending. It worked for Thomas Gravesen when he had his best spell at Everton, just before his move to Real Madrid – could it do that much harm to give Drenthe similar freedom?

4. Give the players a break That one’s aimed at the crowd, not the manager.

Certain players in particular have been singled out as ‘lazy’ and get loads of stick no matter what they do. For instance, there are sections of the Goodison crowd that seem tensed from the outset, shivering with anticipation of Louis Saha’s first bad touch when they can scream abuse at him. Granted, they normally don’t have to wait long, as his confidence looks completely shot and his performances this season have not been great by any standards, but howling at his every involvement really doesn’t help.

Saha’s the best striker we have, and one of the most talented players at the club by a long distance, so we need his form to recover. That’s just a fact.

Victor Anichebe, meanwhile, may not have Saha’s talent, but a couple of goals in recent matches have been invaluable, so again it might just pay to ease off on a young lad who had a horrible time with injuries and who comes across as decent enough, even if you have ‘heard from a friend of a friend that he’s a right big time Charlie who loves himself and is always ‘giving it loads in town’.

As for Darron Gibson, well, it might have been nice to actually wait for him to play a game before lamenting how awful this particular ‘Manc reject’ is.

5. Break the cycle of negativity This one goes out to the club, the Blue Union and their followers. Both sides are currently locked in a nasty, indulgent spiral that alienates the majority of the Everton support.

The club have to take the lead here and stop being so fucking sensitive about even the slightest criticism. They also need to accept that it’s their lack of communication that creates a void that’s in turn filled by the rumour-mongers and the ‘we’re doomed, the sky is falling in’ brigade.

Robert Elstone can pat himself on the back for publishing that piece on his blog about where all Everton’s money is spent, but he only did it in response to attacks from the Blue Union.

And before they get too pleased with themselves, that video of Bill Kenwright getting out of his car did them no favours whatsoever if they really want to be taken seriously.

Going back to the club, the leaked Ian Ross emails, which were an absolute disgrace, showed how reactive they are.

Instead of putting so much effort into discrediting a small group of concerned supporters they should have been looking to engage positively with the vast majority, the ones who, despite the Chairman’s fears, didn’t all turn into jibbering wrecks when the club’s financial plight was laid bare by his original interview with the Blue Union.

Both sides continue to get it so wrong when they adopt their ‘you are either for us or against us’ stance. Most fans don’t ‘worship luvvie Bill and buy into his Boys’ Pen bullshit’, but that doesn’t mean that they automatically assume that Phillip Green is turning down bids for the club from Arab billionaires every week either.

Everton’s support contains a great deal of reasonable, intelligent people willing to listen to balanced arguments and unvarnished truths.

They deserve better than this.

WSAG9

5 Things we learnt from watching Everton since last time....

Please note below stats were generated prior to last week’s game at vs Blackburn Rovers...

1) 4-4-2 v 4-5-1 One of the biggest bores of the season is the perennial ‘4-4-2’ debate...usually held following a defeat. We’ve predominantly played a 4-5-1 variant this season (4-2-3-1/4-3-2-1) but for the Bolton game Moyes played 2 strikers through the middle with Stracqualursi/Saha. Whilst injuries played a part in this fixture, the shortcomings of 4-4-2 were glaringly obvious. Bolton – who are completely shite – were afforded an extra man in centre of the park enabling them to pass through us and control the middle ground. With the midfield lost our back four were forced to go long with aimless punts to the forwards. 4-4-2 can work when you have a player (like Rooney) who can pivot between mid/att zones when possession is lost and won ...Cahill to an extent can do this. Two out and out strikers can work but not with the players we have available.

2) Make a change Moyes One of the peculiar aspects of the season is how we start and finish games...based on half time scores we would be in 20th place but we finish games very strongly. Prior to the visit of Steve Kean and the Blackburn circus we had gone 10 games without scoring a goal in the first half of a Prem game with opposition sides opening the scoring in 66% of our games. In stark contrast to this, the Blues have won more points (11) in the final 10mins of games than any other side in the league, largely due to Moyes substitutions. 33% of our goals this season have been scored by subs – again a league high with 76% of our goals coming in the second half of games.

3) Creaking Squad In the Bolton game - which followed a busy Christmas period - our paper thin squad was creaking. As we all know, influential personnel have been moved on as have squad players. We have a first eleven who can compete with any side on their day and are comfortably better than some of the dross in the ‘best league in the world’ ...but beyond the first eleven the squad depth isn’t great. Some players such as Saha, Cahill and Neville are simply past their sell by date and are examples of the worrying age of the squad. If you compare the side that finished the cup final in 2009 the average age was 25, compared to those that ended the Bolton match– average age 29. We have lots of ageing

pro’s and raw young g talent but what w is missin ng is players in their prime aged around 24-28 – n abundance e during the 3 years we qualified for Europe E back to back. Moy yes is no something we had in n, but such is s the lack of finance f to rep place them he h has fool and would have moved thesse players on oice but to pe ersevere. little cho

4) Striking Problem ms The Blue es attendancces have bee en dropping for f months now n – only Sw wansea’s gro ound has see en fewer th goals tha an Goodson this season with the Blues the 4 low west scorerss in the top fliight. We hav ve had enough shots; however our convversion rate of o chances (7 7%) has bee en poor whilsst our oppone ents hless in frontt of our goal as a the chart shows.... have been more ruth

5) New Blo ood The sign nings of Donovan and Gibson are botth good pieces of business for the clu ub. Donovan has already shown his cllass and his pace and inccision gives us u something g only Drenth he has been able to bson at £1.5m m could prov ve to be fanta astic businesss. Some of the t show in patches thiss season. Gib i based on rash r generallisations by Man M Utd ‘fans’ - most of whom negativitty relating to his signing is who havve probably never n seen him h play - so o the least the e kid deserves is the cha ance to win over o the Goodiso on faithful. An nyone who seen s his goal and overall display in the ECL Quartter-finals aga ainst Bayern a few yeas back b will testiify what a talent he is. His s passing an nd shooting a accuracy are e both comforta ably better th han what we already have e and if he can c lose a bitt of timber we e could have ea cracking g player on our hands.

Read more e http://theexecutionerssbong.wordpress.com

A Question Of Trust Over the past couple of seasons there have been questions raised about Moyes’ ability to do the job and whether he should really be at the helm. Most of these questions have come about as the club are seemingly going backwards, and the majority of criticisms point to various issues such as: some of the more recent transfers (e.g.

Heitinga and Bilyaletdinov); his increasingly negative tactics that are resulting in some less than attractive football on display; and there are also other concerns such as his attitude, inability to keep certain players happy; stubbornness in team selections and reluctance to make substitutions.

More than anything though I think over the last season his general attitude of despondency has irked many and appears to have rubbed off on the players and fans alike.

When Moyes arrived he was an ambitious young manager looking to prove himself on the big stage. One of his most impressive attributes was his drive and determination, he always appeared to know exactly where he wanted Everton to be and how he was going to achieve it.

I used to enjoy listening to Moyes in interviews as he was so precise and calculated in everything he said and furthermore, I believed in him. I truly believed that the club could achieve everything that Moyes wanted to achieve.

There was no doubt that this steely determination was a major factor in Moyes realising his some of his ambitions for the club much quicker than expected.

Within a couple of seasons with very limited resources at his disposal he took an average group of players to the Champions League.

After pushing on from these early successes Moyes clearly looked to establish Everton as a club to challenge the top four and regularly play in European competition. His shrewd signings were testament to his long terms ambitions as he brought in many quality young players such as Lescott, Jagielka, Baines, Pienaar, WSAG12

Fellaini and also ones of great proven quality such as Arteta and Yakubu.

Our inability to push on any further in the past couple of years is down to the meagre resources we have available. This has led to some of the better players moving on and we have been unable to replace them with anyone of the same quality.

Aside from Gibson, who may turn out to be a great signing, some of Moyes later signings have appeared to be much less effective and combined with other players such as Cahill, Neville and Saha having aged and looking less capable the current playing staff available are not of the quality of those we had in 2009.

Moyes appears to have accepted that we will not progress any further without change from above and is openly showing this frustration.

His spark, drive and optimism have been replaced with a fatalistic outlook, essentially a kind of shrug of the shoulders as if to say, ‘what do you expect?’

Interviews with Moyes now are less than dynamic and his comments in regards to being unable to compete with Man City etc and as to where we can finish in the table suggest he’s almost given up. This attitude must have an effect on the players, as we have seen in previous years when he sulks, but also it does little to give the fans any faith or motivation to shell out £35 for a ticket every week.

as a whole. Admittedly this is too simple an appraisal to apply wholly to the manager of a Premier League football club but I do believe it has a strong bearing on his mindset.

Although I don’t agree with everything that Moyes does and especially his negative attitude I do believe that his job has been made much more difficult due to factors out of his control. The parameters and environment that he works in have been altered dramatically since he first came here, and he has been forced to temper his ambitions due to these factors.

Its recently been announced that one third of Liverpool households have adults who are unemployed which clearly contributes to out lower attendances but if we were playing better football and challenging for Europe I’m sure that we would sell out more often than not.

But in our arguments for Moyes to go I think our critiques are very harsh on the man. If we were to judge him on the same criteria that many of us are judged in our 9 to 5’s then it would appear that he is in the same boat as most of us.

For performing way above his means he’s now being penalised for not repeating these successes despite the less and less resources available to him. His employers have tightened their belts and accordingly he has had to let players leave to reduce the wage bill and also let some better players go.

With less quality at his disposal to work with he has become much more conservative and cautious in his decisions and tactics in an attempt to protect what he does have. Without having the confidence in his players to go and take the game to many teams he has adopted a more defensive approach as he feels there is too much at stake to risk.

Its very easy for us to say we need two up front or that Barkley needs to start but it is Moyes who pays the price for any risks taken. If we look at most businesses in the current climate few line managers will take risky decisions that could jeopardise either their job or the company

To some extent this excuses his current negative attitude as he is a straight talking man so his honest assessment when asked is much less optimistic. We cannot compete on the same level we were capable of between 2004 and 2009. Since this time we have weakened and the competition has strengthened.

For this reason I still believe Moyes, whether I like what he says or not. I’ve said before in these pages that we need Moyes more than he needs us and in this sense we should be careful what we wish for. Moyes has stayed with us, I would say mainly due to a hefty salary that we pay him but also partly out of loyalty or maybe that he feels the job isn’t finished, but he has had other offers and there is less and less keeping him from leaving.

Although we are not as strong as a few seasons ago there is still some quality in our squad and I believe that Gibson is a good signing and will prove to be a great player for us. I don’t believe for a moment that Moyes will relegate us but currently can’t see beyond a mid-table battle that will take place between approximately 12 teams this season. If the situation changes and we get the much needed take over I firmly believe that Moyes is the right man who can take this club forward again. With the right backing I believe he can realise some of those ambitions he brought with him ten years ago.

Time will tell whether he stays long enough for this to happen though, but if he does go I would be very disappointed if he was pushed out. Vivamos Everton Alan McKeown WSAG13

god only knows Do you really know what’s going on at the Club? I don’t. I see a Chairman without a penny, shit-scared of the bank. I see a manager who faced with the forced sale of his best players has resorted to safety-first football. I see players who lack confidence, ability or passion - sometimes all three.

That’s what my eyes see but I just can’t get my head around it.

Of course, I’ve got opinions on what’s going on and suggestions as what needs to happen, but I guess when it all boils down, like most people, I don’t actually know that much.

Apart from this.

It’s up to us how we deal with this. We can moan and hurl abuse. We can give up and stop going.

It’s not going to help.

I don’t know if Bill Kenwright is really trying to sell the club. I know his theatrical language pisses me off but I don’t know if that means he’s not genuinely trying to find a buyer.

I don’t know if he’s what’s blocking any investment. I believe he has the best interests of the Club at heart but I can’t tell if his interpretation of best interests is not only keeping away all the charlatans but also those who might make a positive change.

I’m fed up listening to people stating that they are losing interest, that its a chore going the match, that they won’t re-new next season.

I’m sick of internet only fans telling match-going fans to withdraw their support to force change.

You have no right. No right whatsoever.

We’re Evertonians. We go the match.

It’s what we do.

I don’t know if there’s actually anyone out there who is prepared to take-over.

I don’t know whether David Moyes still has enough fire in his belly to get us through this. I know that the words out of his mouth don’t inspire any more, but I don’t know why that is.

I don’t know if the players are good enough. They look scared, too cautious. I don’t know if this is down to coaching or what.

Difficult as it may seem sometimes, we need to get behind the team. It’s the only answer. Most supporters don’t need telling. And the Club needs to stop viewing all supporters with suspicion and start trusting us again.

Together we will win.

Onward Evertonians.

Something On My Mind Sometweet On My Mind maybe. Never let it be said that weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re stuck in the past... Weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve ditched the phoneline and replaced it with Twitter.

Simple really. Follow us on Twitter (@wsagfanzine) and, when prompted, let it rip...

Following the Bolton game @nisaniop GL: I don't know if the worst thing about tonight is that I'm not surprised, or that I'm not that arsed. Fucking dreadful.

@AndroidWebber: See that marriage proposal at half time?

Yeah he was pretty keen but it was embarrassing to witness. A bit like Straqualursi.

@mikeefc74: If moyes goes it can't come soon enough! Yes the money issues are a concern, but with the squad we have we should do better!

@Thomas_Flaherty: Dreadful.

Bambi Bernie Wright Rocky Horror Tevez's ugly brother Stracikamikaze summed us up.

Clueless. Something gotta give.

@jp_fitzsimmons: Played 5-a-side before the game so had to sit through that wearing soaked boxies. Then I stood in dog shit walking home.

@sockspebb1time: hello, hello....

Is this thing on? .......Nah, gerr off will yer!! An a 'Arf there lid... Ah fuck off Everton!!

@milkyonedesign: Years of zero investment, irresponsible borrowing and shockingly poor business management is finally catching up with EFC. @ericbisto: we might aswell attack our own goal for all it's worth. Not a hope in hell, and no amount of Baines pens will change that. @revolversk4: I'd sooner pay to see the Thatchfilm than Everton. #fuckoffeverton2012 @Hoodie1878: Highlight of the game was watching the stewards fiddle with the blown over hoarding.

As clueless as those on the pitch. @bash_78: Moyes preference for "solid" players over footballers in the middle would wear on the patience of St Peter himself #10YEARSIN

@ScottBroadhurst: true fact...

Denis Stracq was the only player on the pitch playing with a rugby ball @KJMell: Tilley out!!

Following the Tamworth game @colf75: a couple of good footballers we'll conquer europe. I feel what's about to happen has all happened before. Mum mum my head hurts. @AJ1984EFC: like pulling teeth.

And on the piece of string pulling the teeth are razor blades. Dipped in vinegar. Go blues! @General_Zod_PE1: Tamworth played like Everton today.

Retreated to the edge of their penalty area, one creative player and a goal down. @cruachan66: cack

@mikemurphy1979: better starting XI than v Bolton. Everton bringing the FA Cup *back*. @james_fwyk: At a point now where a game against Tamworth is described as "a bit of a struggle" by our manager. Enough said. @AlLedward: Didn't go, but me mate Ste in the top balcony reckons OPERATION GOODISON (exercise) went like a dream...

Following the Blackburn game @immatters: Duffy looked ok. Bit harsh, but Gibson with Felli didn't work. Saha looks gone. Goal a game means bleak few mths ahead. #efc @DirtyMouseUK: Turgid, insipid, ageing team. Feels like the dark days of Walter all over again. @DaveyBilo: we are abysmal, no entertainer whatsoever and If Kenwright is still Chairman in 2013 we'll be in the Championship, Get out now! @felix_mitchao: The manager's tactics are scary. His default setting is drop everyone back and defend.

Awful. @Dedutchrudder: win or lose. we follow the blues. fuck the rest of yizz. @exileoport: I'll cut to the chase we were garbage. Club (that's the club) is in freefall.

More next time.

WSAG10

Something Blue In less than three months I am to get married, hitched, wed, whatever you wish to call it. The parallels with Everton could be that we both have an exciting new chapter to look forward to, or it could be that we are on the brink of going downhill fast, your own experiences will determine which metaphor you would go with.

Anyway, for some strange reason, Everton have been dominating my thoughts on the subject just recently: not in a married-to-the-club clichéd way that inspires stupid souvenir t-shirts, tattoos and the like, but in the fact that I have loved Everton longer than anyone but my family, and certainly spent more money on them than anything else (until this wedding preparation, that is) so I seriously wonder what my view on the club, on football, will be following the ceremony?

Will married life adversely affect my devotion to Everton, not just in terms of financial decisions but in prioritising lifestyle activities (ie going the match, the pub, or onto www.myp2p.pe to watch the game, as us occasional-matchattending fans often do, indeed I am watching the Spurs game as I write this) or will it be a welcome distraction and opportunity for time away from my betrothal, as some naysayers have already suggested?

Only time will tell.

Certainly, starting the family that we intend to will be a challenge to my support, but may also invigorate it. But, in terms of the preparation, the ceremony and the immediate aftermath,

WSAG32

there are hints at least of a strange Everton presence throughout.

Something Old I have been to a few weddings in the past where the match was foremost in my mind. My cousin got married on the first day of the season back in 1993 when we beat Southampton, as Beagrie and Ebbrell scored, before the era of mobile phones, my only option back then as a thirteen year old would have been a transistor or to spend ages and loads of money in a phone box on to team talk.

Fast forward a few years and my soon-to-be brother-in-law’s wedding, on my birthday no less, took place at a lunchtime whilst the Goodison derby was taking place. I had given up my season ticket for the game, thankfully I realise when we came out of the church and I got twenty texts through, informing me of events, which I had already heard during the ceremony when some Irish Reds came in late having been watching the first half in the pub next door and whispering the score.

And of course, my Dad took my Mum to an England game back in 1973 whilst they were on honeymoon so this idea of football and marriage isn’t new, and runs in the family.

But it is perhaps best encapsulated by a scene from a TV play that we will all know well.

If you’re not familiar with it, parts 7 and 8 of The Golden Vision when you watch it on youtube, shows the feelings of Bill Dean’s character about going the match with his mates (“I like to let steam off at the match, you don’t want to go with your wife or girlfriend”) but more importantly, the nerves of the groom and

particularly the best man at the wedding who, eager to get the game, gets frustrated waiting for the bride to arrive, then prompts the groom all the way through.

He is seen quickly exiting the church on Seel Street that is now Alma de Cuba, and sorting the photographs in a rush (“are you expecting to go somewhere or something?” says the photographer) which he then ruins pacing about, before jumping in the bridal car to be dropped off at Goodison Park, instructing the driver to “step on it” and arrive just after kick off.

Thankfully, Thursday.

we

are

getting

married

on

a

Another old thing is the ‘Stag’ do traditions.

Never one to be a stereotype I have chosen to heed the words of last month’s WSAG and ignore the temptation to go the game dressed as a cartoon character to celebrate “the burial of the life as a boy” and, ignoring the Hangovers, Bachelor Party, Very Bad Things or some shitty Martin Clunes ‘comedy’ from yesteryear of this world that glorify the Vegas, strippers, naughty larks of some people’s ‘last night of freedom’ I will instead be travelling abroad for a cultural weekend with my best man and then visiting some old haunts in town, trying to avoid the pitfalls of the first stag do I ever went on – having photos taken with Jennifer Ellison, getting called Harry Potter by the strippers, then vomiting...

Something New I am getting a suit made by the quite excellent tailor Peter Harland on Stanley Street. As extravagant and expensive as it is, I would urge anyone to try to do the same for the experience and for the look. His shop is adorned with photos of him with a plethora of Everton players past and present and whilst I kind of knew his calibre before enquiring about bespoke two-pieces, it was a nice surprise to see who else had worn his creations, and to find him a true gent and a good Blue at the same time.

As I write Distin has just gone off injured. Duffy comes on and I can only pray my new thing might be either some new players from somewhere, or some new heroes to emerge from the crop of youngsters we have recalled from loans or the reserves.

Another recent development which may be involved in the ceremony is my learning to play the ukulele. Never having played an instrument I suddenly decided before the new year to buy one and am only at the chords stage but even

joined a local group in order to become the next George Formby and maybe one day learn to play Z-Cars on it.

Something Borrowed My day job and various articles for WSAG would suggest I should be comfortable preparing a speech.

However, writing it is quite nerve-wracking and having experience some horror stories (in particular a best man who was pissed and hadn’t prepared, so just said “thanks everyone for coming” about twenty times over...)

To avoid repeating this, I have spent a while trawling the Internet searching for examples on youtube or the various groom websites such as staggered for examples and advice. Most of this is useful, apart from the sample one that starts with a joke about preparing a few lines and snorting them – are these guys for real?

We have also hired for the reception venue, a well known local seaside hotel that is apparently part-owned and oft-frequented by one local footballer, and was the venue of another’s own wedding who is famously yet to score. Those links though are not the greatest, so we will ignore them.

Something Blue Thankfully, my bride to be has both sense and taste so blue was chosen to be a central colour scheme quite early on. Not royal blue, a darker version, with vanilla, coincidentally reminiscent of our third strip from last season.

The invitations and my shoes and tie will also be the colour of choice, and I was kindly lent cufflinks and a tie pin from a fellow Evertonian that he himself wore on his big day back in the year 2000, who wore a blue rose despite his own wedding’s colour scheme being red.

All this talk of romance, weddings, being so heavily involved in the preparation, will I am sure disappoint and maybe even disgust some readers, I apologise for that, but will not say sorry for admitting my enjoyment of the engagement period, particularly as there have been so many Everton links throughout.

Howard Kendall’s quote when coming back as Mk II was perhaps ill-advised but does resonate with many.

Because, as he said, Man City was an affair and Everton was the marriage...

William Frederick Slater WSAG33

WHAT’S OUR NAME part three Inspired by the piece in the last issue, here’s 20 more Everton in Books, Films, TV and Music things. good friend’ ? asks Chris Tarrant, ‘he’s a good blue’ replies Andy, enough said.

1 - TISWAS broadcasting live outside Central TV in Birmingham, gatecrashed by Everton fans on their way to our FA Cup Semi at Villa Park in 1980.

2 - Mastermind contestant having ‘Dixie Dean’ as his specialised subject.

3 – Egg Heads, about 12 months ago the challengers ‘Off The Rails’ proudly declared their team of five Lime Street railway workers to consist of four blues including Steve Jones displaying tattoo of the Everton crest in several shots.

4 - Krypton Factor in 1987 as we were league champions our crest had to be assembled as part of the Intelligence Round.

8 – The Rock and Roll Years showing the Goodison Chippy, something to do with a ship called Goodison being involved in the Cod War with Iceland 1972.

9 - Of all the teams in all the countries in the world, why did the 1998 Official World Cup programme use a colour photo of our dressing room in an article unfortunately all in French but no mention of Everton.

10 – Rocky O’Rourke (70s kids drama)– Chick and Spadge (foot soldiers in Simpson’s Mob) sporting blue and white scarves, maybe because the feared Simpson was none other than top

Evertonian Bill Dean (Harry Cross in a later life) 11 - The iconic picture of Muhammad Ali with Everton fans in Hyde Park the morning of the 1966 FA Cup Final Sub - Airline with Everton fans singing on board as an easyjet flight took off was actually a 1998 tour of Holland and Belgium not the Anderlecht match of 2002 as mentioned in the last issue.

5 – Coronation Street Eddie Yeats in the Corner Shop praising Duncan Mc Kenzie in a late 70s episode.

6 - Eddie Cavanagh at the Twin Towers of Cantril Farm on Fantasy Football's Phoenix From The Flames' 7 - Who Wants To Be A Millionaire – Evertonian Andy Martin from Rice Lane declares that with a lot of money he would like to take over at Anfield and put them out of business. Doing very well and on phone a friend choosing Little Billy Bradshaw, ‘is he a WSAG41

‘Casuals’ DVD Review There was cause for optimism on hearing about this DVD release. Peter Hooton was the narrator and had contributed along with Phil Thornton of the brilliant Swine magazine and let’s face it, there has always been the potential for an insightful documentary about the ‘cult with no name’ that had such an impact on terraces and ultimately high streets up and down the country.

That optimism started to dwindle on seeing Paolo Hewitt interviewed at the start about the supposed cross over from mod and although it has it’s moments, it was disappointing overall.

The documentary co-written by Cass Pennant is largely a series of first person recounts by a succession of lads (and two girls) who were around in the 80’s and who were heavy duty casuals, dressers, scallies or Perry boys depending upon where you came from.

There is a very healthy regional representation with a scruffy Motherwell fan from the far North, representatives of the Cardiff Soul crew and lads from the main cities you would expect, including Peter Hooton who apart from narrating, spoke about what had happened in Liverpool. A big part of the documentary is inevitably taken up with which city or region created it. This was a boring debate when it was played out in the pages of magazines in the 80’s and it isn’t any more interesting in a documentary. It does provide a moment of hilarity however when a rather rotund cockney ex mod who must have been there for comedy value, in his claim that London was before Liverpool in starting it all, says that he and his mates got into a Liverpool end in a match and that ‘they stuck out’ in a crowd of thousands of scousers. As he admits to wearing a white denim jean jacket then maybe this is true but

his contention about the travelling LFC mickeys that ‘they all looked like miners’ and were wearing DM’s and donkey jackets was surely tongue in cheek and to be fair says more about him than anything else.

Of course you are wondering what mention Everton get in all of this? Predictably Liverpool FC’s ‘dominance of Europe’ is signalled as the catalyst for the change in dress style of Merseyside’s terrace lads but to be fair to old Hooto he does acknowledge Everton’s boys, albeit in the context of them travelling abroad to Europe with their red brethren for ‘grafting’ opportunities. As however written in these pages previously, in 1978/79, Liverpool went to Nottingham and Everton went to Rotterdam – and where would adidas trainees be more likely to have come from?

The main disappointment is however it’s concentration on the retro and sportswear side of things. One of the great things about all things ‘casual’ has been the constant moving on to new labels, new forms of dressing (eg Tweed jackets, plain crewnecks and suedies in Liverpool) and generally innovating. Whether it is because there is heavy patronage for the movie from a website called ‘80’s casual classics’ a major theme of the documentary is the sportswear obsession with Fila, Sergio Tacchini and Ellesse which clued up lads wouldn’t have been seen dead in from about 1985.

Predictably Danny Dyer in ‘The Business’ is laughably seen as a role model. This retro concentration doesn’t acknowledge how for many still, discovering new labels and styles is important which Phil Thornton’s far superior book crucially did.

The net impact is that if an alien came down from Space and were to watch this, they would conclude that this was a cult like teddy boys, steeped in the past and with no direction on the future. Indeed, the only nod to the future comes from an embarrassing interview with a load of young Southerners who claim to be ‘moduals’ i.e. a cross-over between mod and casuals. I don’t know much about that but if you were to be cynical, you could describe them as dressed like a load of beauts…

All-in-all, it was a fairly enjoyable hour or so of viewing and brought back lots of memories but the over-riding feeling was one of a missed opportunity.

Fair play to the producers for developing a long overdue perspective on such a largely ignored (media wise) phenomenon but when you’re watching, don’t expect it to be a definitive study.

Finally, now such a documentary has been produced and films like ‘Awaydays’ and ‘The Firm’ have been made, hopefully the clothes can be put back in the wardrobe for posterity and people can move on. As many already have done for the last 25 years…

Dries Van Noten

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WSAG167 March 2012

“How we’ve missed Steven Pienaar.

Didn’t fully realise it at the time but as soon as he stepped back on the pitch it was clear for all to see.”

Welcome to the latest issue of When Skies are Grey. Written and complied over the past month or so with tender loving care to all you Bluenoses out there.

Here’s something new to start with covering just some of the things we’ve been talking about recently...

How much would it cost to keep Landon Donovan? He’s great, isn’t he? The only sadness of him returning was that he was never going to stay. But like last time a short loan is better than nothing at all.

Maybe in the summer?

We love pitch-invaders. We even love crazy political protests. But the fella who handcuffed himself to the post during the Fulham game was all a pointless. And he was a kopite. The crowd reaction was interesting considering there are those talking of bringing protests into the ground.

We’ve fallen in love with the FA Cup all over again.

Our cup run has been fantastic. Just what the club needed. Just what we all needed. Of course there’s plenty still to do but it’s great to be in this position and dreaming of what might be. Revel in it.

Of course that lot finally made it to Wembley. It’s maybe a measure of their new status that they had to plan for travelling like it was a crusade to the Holy Land. It’s only in London, chaps.

Made it all the funnier when the trains fucked up.

How we’ve missed Steven Pienaar.

Didn’t fully realise it at the time but as soon as he stepped back on the pitch it was clear for all to see.

As Moyes has said, some players suit some clubs. Let’s hope Steven realises that and a permanent move can be arranged.

Neville Southall has a book coming out. If anyone is going to tell it how it was then its got to be our favourite Binman. And while these books can get tempered by over-cautious lawyers the fact that he called Mike Walker ‘one of the Chuckle Brothers’ on Radio Merseyside recently bodes well.

Denis Stracqualursi. Can’t say it properly. Certainly can’t spell it but he has played a large part in the Club’s recent resurgence particularly at home. No one is pretending he’s a great footballer but I’d rather have him playing upfront than that ponytailed cunt over there.

We’re becoming obsessed with Kenny’s coat. No matter what the weather, he’s there all zipped up in a tight bubble-jacket, sweating his bollocks off. Just like last time, if you remember.

Where’s Ray Kirwan when you need him?

Finally, hat’s off to the Club for its new kids season-ticketing policy. A fiver to get in all next season. You can’t knock it.

There’s a lot of things the Club do better but its only fair that when they get things right that we give them due credit. Well in.

onward evertonians Since last time...

It would appear that the Toffees have run into a bit of form with a couple of decent wins in the league and a fully fledged cup run that’s left us 90 minutes away from Wembley with a tough but eminently winnable home quarter final against Sunderland.

Without wanting to count any chickens but IF the Blues reach Wembley lets hope that all those shitehawks who think they’ve been making some sort of noble stand by “not giving Kenwrong anymore of my money” and who’ve spent the last 6 months sneering at those who’ve supported the club during a difficult period, will stick to their guns and leave the tickets to those who’ve continued to back the club during this frustrating season.

Given that the clubs finances are rigorously independently audited surely there’s nobody who seriously believes that anybody is on the take among the Goodison hierarchy. With that in mind how is any match goer “giving money to Kenwright”?.

WSAG 166 was produced against a backdrop of mounting unrest against, not only the club but also the manager. Indeed the Bolton game on January 4th saw one of the worst performances of the Moyes decade, a period that has witnessed 0-7 and 1-6 debacles against Arsenal.

At that point only a relegation struggle seemed likely, but wouldn’t you know it, in the short term at least the Toffees seem to have, yet again, turned their season around in the new year. Things can turn to ratshit just as quickly and whatever happens questions need to be again asked at the end of the season as to why we’re always rubbish before Christmas.

However now is the time to bask in the recent upturn in fortunes and to look at the reasons as to why its happened.

Harking back to earlier in the season it would appear that the fallout from the last transfer window and the late departure of Mikel Arteta weighed heavily on the squad. Both the players and Moyes appeared flat and there appeared, from the outside, to be an erosion in what has made Everton special during the Moyes era, namely the team spirit. During that run of games against the likes of United, City and Chelsea in October it never looked liked the players believed they could win.

Although the defence didn’t leak loads of goals, we also very rarely kept a clean sheet and when you couple that with a lamentable scoring record, its plain to see why the team struggled.

January, at last brought some action in the transfer market, with the short term arrival of Landon Donovan, the temporary return of the wonderful Stephen Pienaar and the permanent arrivals of Darron Gibson and Nikica Jelavic.

Donovan again came, contributed loads and left. It’s a real shame that he’ll probably never be a permanent feature at Goodison. A real Evertonian though. Jelavic has, as yet been injured, but in a brief cameo at Wigan, looked the part. Gibson meanwhile has been steady and nowhere near as bad as the armchair Man United support would have you believe.

His presence certainly seems to have helped Fellaini . Hopefully his injury won’t keep him out for too long. Pienaar meanwhile is and has been fantastic. If the club has any money

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available in the summer they must bring him back permanently.

Another new signing is the highly rated (but free agent) Portuguese midfielder Francisco Junior. No idea what he's like but he sounds like a bad Euro dance act who had a summer hit in 2001 and who are appearing this weekend at Escapade in Barnsley.

To offset these arrivals, we said goodbye to Diniyar Bilyaletdinov (thank God, I won’t have to check the spelling of that again - Ed.) and Louis Saha, both of whom for different reasons needed to move on.

Billi was an expensive mistake who never looked comfortable in the Premier league. He clearly had skill and a powerful dig on him, but neither the pace, strength or seemingly desire to make it over here. Saha meanwhile was, on his day one of the best strikers I’ve ever seen in a royal Blue shirt, combining pace and power to great effect. Sadly though, injuries and fatigue appear to have taken their toll and Saha certainly this season looked like he’d had enough. A move to the more expansive Spurs team looks to have given him a new lease of life.

I wish him well.

January also brought a renaissance in the fortunes of a player who previously has been unfavourably compared to luminaries such as Bernie Wright, Brett Angell and that fella from the Daily Express who came on during that testimonial years ago.

Denis Straqualursi’s arrival last September didn’t really fire the imagination. Apparently turned down

by Leicester after a trial in the summer, his arrival smacked of desperation.

His early performances seemed to back up that opinion as he struggled to adapt to the pace of the British game and there was no evidence of the fabled silky skills of South American mythology.

However Big Denis has clearly worked hard in training and his emergence in the team appears to have galvanised his team mates and the support as we have witnessed the birth of a genuine cult hero.

Straqualursi will never be pleasing on the eye, although his touch and awareness has improved immeasurably (it couldn’t have got any worse) but its his work rate and desire that has endeared him to the support, not to mention 3 vital goals in the last 5 games.

At the back Johnny Heitinga has finally shown why he is so highly rated in Holland and it looks like Phil Jagielka will struggle to get back in on his return to injury. With Shane Duffy emerging as a genuine defensive option, Royston Drenthe desperate to impress and the likes of Jags, Leon Osman, Jack Rodwell and Jelavic returning imminently, the coming weeks promise to be pivotal.

The club still has loads of problems that won’t go away until something changes at the top, but now is the time for us all to do our bit in roaring the team up the table and hopefully to Wembley. In both 1984 and 1995, Everton won the cup after suffering calamitous early season form. Lets hope we can do it again.

Onward Evertonians

******************* Serious question. When did Liverpool last win a trophy without needing the lottery of a penalty shootout?

Staying on a league cup theme, driving around the city, during the week of the final there was a distinct lack of that great tradition the Wembley window and indeed any sign that one of the City’s big two were Wembley bound. A far cry from 2009 when the Evertonian’s put on a fine show of allegiance. ******************* The Blue Union plan a day of action at the Tottenham game on March 10th. Despite their sometimes questionable tactics, the Blue Union obviously have strong concerns about the direction the club is taking and have tirelessly campaigned for change at the top.

One things for sure they're not going to go away.

While some of their supporters can be criticised for taking a "You're either with us or against us" stance towards other fans, its also fair to say that some Evertonians have been quick to deride them as cranks without listening to what they've got to say.

Neither position is helpful. We would advise all Evertonians to read their literature and make their own minds own up.

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5 Things we learnt from watching Everton since last time....

1 The Drenthe Enigma Continues….

Royston Drenthe has split opinion amongst fans thus far. Many see his quick footwork, pace and flair for the unpredictable as a refreshing tonic from the frankly dour fare we’ve been subjected to pre xmas, whilst others have been riled by his seemingly sloppy approach to the defensive side of the game.

The FA Cup Games against Fulham and Blackpool showed the good and bad of Royston in equal measure. Against Fulham his refusal to ‘do a job’ for the team by not tucking inside to close off passing angles late on in the game -, only doing so following Cahill’s interjection- showed that he is perhaps yet to fully buy into the team ethos at the club. Then fast forward to his all action display against Blackpool, winning the game with a goal and assist in the first 6 minutes and you have the enigma of Drenthe in a nutshell. A recent article showed that Royston is ranked 4th in the top flight in terms of assists per minute for wide players and with Donovan now back in the States, Royston will surely get more opportunities to prove he is worthy of a new deal at the end of the season.

2. Importance of Heitinga Three clean sheets on the spin at L4 for the first time in ages has occurred with our key defender Jagielka on the sidelines and Jonny Heitinga coming in from the cold to play a key role. Not only does the Dutchman block more shots than Jags/Distin but his distribution has been key. Specifically, the long diagonal to feed the widemen and turn defensive situations into attacking ones seamlessly has been crucial… especially as it’s a ball that neither Distin, Fellaini or Gibson have got in their locker from deep areas.

3. Man City/ Chels sea Slayed d February provided our best back b to backk home win ns since lasst season’s double aga ainst the same opposition o and again sh howed that despite the incompara able wealth at the clubs s, on our day we are still a match for anyone. a Deffensively th he games had all the h hallmarks off classic Moyes-- Everton displays d in years gone e by; solid d through the t middle,, untold am mount of blocks and a clearan nces, showing sides out wide and d then gobb bling up the e headers in n our 18 yard bo ox. The key difference between b the ese games and some of the earlyy season gu uff is the touch of o quality we w now po ossess to relieve defe ensive presssure and b break sides s down.

Againstt City, Dren nthe’s class run opene ed up the Le eague’s best defence and enable ed us to take the e points, whilst the acce Pienaar wasted no time in sho owing L4 w what they ha ad been missing g as he got the vital early breakth hrough aga ainst Chelse ea . Landon n Donovan bagged assists in both gam mes and it’s this classs in the fina al third whicch is the diffference between a workma anlike 0-0 and taking all 3 points.

4. New Signings Making M Imp pact There iss no doubt that the transfer windo ow (for once e) worked in n our favour. Moyes ha as come out and d said he fe eels refresh hed with havving new players p to work w with an nd the results have completely turned around. The T injury to t Gibson is a real shame s as ssince his arrival a in Januaryy we have gone unb beaten in 7 games an nd he seem ms the ide eal foil for Fellaini.

Donova an has aga ain had an incredibly fruitful loan n spell, piccking up a tidy 6 assists and judging by Drenthe e’s display last l time ou ut the compe etition for places is insspiring all players at the club b. Pienaar has looked like he’s never n been away and the dynamiism of him and the Bainaarr axis down n the left givves us so many m more options as an attacking force. Am midst the great le eague form and the facct the club are a on the cusp c of a po otential Wem mbley date its easy to forge et that our biggest b deal of the wind dow - the Croatian strikker Jelavic - is still to make m his first start for the clu ub.

5. El Trraca Since th he Man Cityy win the Goodison faithful have found f a new cu ult hero in the t unlikely form of De ennis ‘The Count’ Straquilar, El Trraca or one o of hiis other various v pseudo onyms. He seems a pretty p good fit for Moyes and Everton n in that what he lacks in quality he h makes up for in shear effort and belligeren nce and it’ss often ea asy to overloo ok what the ese qualitie es can brin ng to the ta able in match situations. s M Moyes like his sides to o defend from the front an nd Straq is an ideal pla ayer in thatt respect; against a Chelsea a for example who likke to play out o from the back the Argentine consstantly close ed down an ngles for pas sses to Cole an nd Luiz, forrcing Cech to kick long – someth hing he isn’t gre eat at doing g. The 3 go oals have he elped his confidence also a and yo ou would gu uess the board would w find the t relativelly small transfer fee to o secure his services permanentlly in the summe er.

Rea ad more http p://theexecu utionersbon ng.wordpres ss.com

Transfers, Denis and Jim White When I wanted to write an article like this after the euphoria of Tuesday night I was determined to keep it positive, the negativity, allot of totally justified anger at the board and the tactics of our manager seemed to evaporate in an atmosphere of determination and also a club determined to take the feelgood factor of the day into a match winning performance in front of the premier league leaders The day was truly special for Evertonians, we were signing players, being the focus of sky sports deadline day coverage to which Jim white had an unforgiving short stint on deadline day due to the premier league seeing fit to play a load of matches on the day Jim had just got his tux pressed. Jim's Blood pressure must have been mightily relieved The signing of a Nikica Jelavic really did lift the fans, just one new face had everyone chewing their keyboards in anxiety and hope for more, as twitter went into overdrive, and Everton saved the best for last ,creaming off a delicious 1-0 win over the billionaires with the announcement that Peanuts had come home.

Cloud nine does not come close

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Its been a while since Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve felt like that at Goodison, the twelfth man, all 29,856 of us, really made a vocal contribution against a Man City team who quite simply expected to turn up and win, based on Mancini's own admission that he thought Everton would be easier Everton fans were in unison and seeing Denis getting in their face and really giving Lescott and Kompany the shock of their lives, they looked totally unprepared for him and Cahill, was something I haven't seen since Duncan used to terrorise Man Utd defences.

The day was joyously rounded off by Piennar and Jelovic signing on, all of sudden we can attack the rest of the season in confidence and performances such as Stoke at home should be a thing of the past, Everton simply have to build on the win against City and should give our manager the necessary confidence in our side to start on the front foot against teams from now on The passion for the fans was immense, we are a club worth fighting for, we are a club that will not go down easily, the sense of defiance from

the players and the crowd was a breath of fresh air from previous performances seen at Goodison this year Evertonians are best when were together, normally brought together by a lunging tackle or a sense of injustice, always feel Evertonians love nothing more than an us against them scenario and Tuesday was the pinnacle of that.

One win does not paper over the cracks though and I respect all Evertonians, but the amount of blues who don't want to talk about the club at boardroom level and who dismiss what's going on as the Blue Union stamping there feet over nothing is surprising, I'm just a bloke off the street, I live and breath Everton football club behind my family, and I have not liked one bit what Bill Kenwright and his board have done to this club, the time now though is to be positive, a day like Transfer deadline day might well have turned our season around, I think the questions must always continue, the atmosphere on Tuesday night showed the team Evertonians are right behind them, its also the same desire that has seen the protests and blue union form to try and protect this great club of ours from huge incompetence Credit has to go to Moyes though who ignored a woeful home record this season to seize the moment of the day, and turn up the heat on a faltering Man City, the performances of Hibbert and Heitinga, through Fellaini and Gibson upto the hugely impressive, hugely entertaining Straqualursi has made the fans feel allot more at ease with what was an increasingly worrying league season Tuesday 31st January 2012 was a day ill never forget, it was a day I got the pride back I've so desperately wanted to feel all season for my team, we are the greatest club on earth , and why we must build on this glimmer of light and get our club back.

Our History demands that we can’t be happy with punching above our weight, we should acknowledge our achievements and aim for the top.

OOOOOHHHH St Domingo, St Domingo, Ohh Everton We’re the greatest football team the world has ever seen We’ve had the likes of Kendall, Harvey, Ball and Dixie Dean Mark Ellis

all right Paternity leave A cup of coffee and digestive chaser Shane Duffy Suit Denmark Supermarket ale deals Whitechapel Porter Homeland Spongebob Squarepants Big Denis Mercury 13 Geordie Shore (grimly addictive) KFC Salt and Pepper chips The animal channel Frank Carson Pathe news website Pat Nevin’s Disco 6876 vs Rohan (again) Old Everton clips on youtube TOTP 1977

shite Ashley Banjo And the little weird one with the bins and mad hair People who talk about the need to “tackle the national deficit” That arl one who sits behind King Kenny at Anfield Whoever it is Dalglish turns to in the main stand whenever they score Denise Welch Having a mayor The Falklands Rosie Redknapp White MC Hammer kecks Colic Racist apologists Ed Sheerin the horrible Prince Harry looking twat Loose women The Sun on Sunday or any other fuckin day for that matter.

Kenny Miller The Health and Social Care Bill The Olympics

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THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING (or when the fuck will Everton Football Club begin a season in August?)

Well, well, well, who would have thought it?

Everton hit February and their stride in tandem.

Wasn’t it ever thus? Every fucking season we do it! Not that I am complaining now, but August to December is becoming a regular ball-ache. Anyway, let’s stay cheerful for once.

THE UNDEFEATED

The Mighty Blues have now gone eight games undefeated, and moreover have beaten two of the supposed big four in both City and Chelsea, and just for an added bonus we are two games away from the F.A. Cup Final (otherwise known as a proper Cup). For fuck’s sake we even have a brand new terrace hero in Denis Stracqualursi, a man whose physiognomy alone can strike fear in a defender’s heart (the rumours that when he was born the doctor slapped his mother are a little wide of the mark).

His work ethic and strength have resulted in him being taken to the hearts of the Everton faithful, and if Jelavic proves as good as he was in Scotland we might just have a mouth watering attacking force on our hands. Even Victor has been getting on the score-sheet regularly. Meanwhile, Pienaar looks like he has never been away, Tim C. Seems to be regaining his mojo and Gibson, despite not being fully fit has started well. Fellaini is approaching his majestic best and all in all, things are looking

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Royal Blue in the L4 4EL garden. Let’s just hope Landon was not the catalyst for the improvement, because now he has gone again.

Once more, he proved himself worthy of the club and the shirt and must be commended for his time here again. Ta Landon la.

Still, be warned, watching Everton can be fraught with danger.

GYRRU, GYRRU, GYRRU.

In December, on my way back down the M62 after the Swansea game, I had the misfortune of being snapped by a speed camera. This resulted in my being given a choice of 3 points and a £60 fine, or an £80 fine and going on a speed awareness course. I opted for the latter and so it was that I made my way to Carrington one cold and wet February evening to spend four hours being told (but not particularly listening) how to drive properly. The first face I espied on entering the building was a well known soap star who shall remain nameless, (let’s just say Street Cars might have been down a driver that night).

THE COURT OF KING ARTHUR

Everyone was sat there mulling over their Highway Codes when a booming Scouse voice started calling out our names. As I passed him, I spotted a manky liver bird on his tie and made the obvious connection; this fella was a high-order twat.

Between him, who fancied himself as a bit of a John Bishop, and his back of beyond mate whose role was sidekick Paddy McGuiness, it suggested I was due for a night of interminable tedium. On entering the room, John asked that we write the names we would like to be known as for the evening on a sign that was then to be placed in front of us.

I chose ‘King Arthur’. This confused John as it differed from the name on my driving licence.

When he asked for clarification, I reminded him that he had told us to write down the name we would like to be called, and that tonight (Matthew) I had a predilection towards the moniker ‘King Arthur’.

“No chaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaannnnnnnncee” he responded.

“I didn’t ask you whether the shite were going to win the league this century, you flabby cunt”, I wanted to reply. Paddy was obviously not quite as sharp (ahem) as John and all through the evening he referred to me as Arthur.

Meanwhile, I had been seated next to the young and lovely Diane, who was also a Kopite.

I say lovely, but she could have been our Denis’s sister.

Every time we had a break we had to listen to her blert on about how magnificent a teaching assistant she was, and how wonderful her kids were and how her fella was gorgeous...which just forced me to ponder on the fact that there is never a Eric Harris or Dylan Klebold around when you want one.

seventies and eighties)thanks to life-long Liverpool fan Anthony Gerrard (who certainly helped the family cause somewhat) was a stupendous sight.

They really managed to out-whopper themselves this time, which takes some doing. Whilst sympathising with those Cardiff players (losers) who genuinely missed their penalties during the shoot-out at Wembley, I was reminded of another shoot-out, the one in Abbottabad last year. I can imagine them all sat in the pub, drinking their beer and talking about the good ol’ days when they took out Osama. I’ll set the scene; At the bar of a pub stands a Navy Seal (we’ll call him Phil Nev) and a member of the public.

Phil Nev has had a few, and lets on to the member of the public that him and his mates sat at the table in the corner were the crew that took out Bin Laden way back in 2011. The Seal invites Joe Public to their table as they regale each other with the memories of that remarkable night. All the time they are chatting, one of the crew (who we’ll call Phil Jags) remains silent and solemn faced throughout the tales of the murder of the world’s most wanted man. After a while Joe Public turns to Phil Nev and asks why Jags is such a misery arse.

“He was the twat who crashed his helicopter” comes the crushing reply. Loser.

So my fellow Blues. March and April might turn out to be very exciting months. Keep the faith and we might have something to cheer come May. If not, there’s always next season.

Keep on Keeping On Peace and Love Pipecock Jackson III Blazing in the Street End Bogs.

The night dragged on for four hours and by the end of it I wanted to seal up my ears and claw out my eyes.

Speed. Don’t do it kids.

SHARK RIDDEN WATERS

Liverpool Football Club, what a bunch of cunts!

I have watched with glee as they have self combusted in their support of the racist utterances of Luis Suarez (eeez fact!). Their ‘global brand’ has plummeted somewhat, and watching them celebrate beating a Championship team in the Mickey Mouse Cup (copyright Liverpool fans throughout the WSAG13

Talking Blues The idea is simple: we ask you out there a question via email and ask you to respond in 100 words or less. The question was: “What’s your first FA Cup memory?”

Jon: Back in 1986, everyone in my class was going to be supporting Liverpool in the cup final, so ever contrary or just because I liked Lineker, I decided to support Everton and that is why I am here today. After that I recall the Match of the Day credits with a guy wiping his brow with blood. It's my stag do this weekend so I asked a couple of other guests what their memories were, just to spice it up: Simon, a Liverpool fan, said them losing against Wimbledon too, on his birthday no less. Jay, my best man, says Barnes’s curler in the 4-4. My sister, chief bridesmaid, says me going with my mum to the homecoming in 1995. And my bride to be, her waving an Everton flag outside her house during the 1986 derby too – it must be fate.

Pipecock Jackson III: My first F.A. Cup memory is the ‘77 semi final. I was not yet into double figures and did not yet understand that adults could be cheating, nasty, twats. Still, the

game primed me for the many disappointments to come following the Blues, and also inspired in me the vitriolic and passionate hate I harbour for those twats across the park that remains today. In my own unspectacular playing career I have been known to suffer (normally fairly in retrospect) at the hands of referees, and I put that down to one particular bastard in black from Treorchy.

Graham: Altrincham in 1975.

Sat on the bar in the Paddock with my dad. One nil down. John Connolly carried off. Gary Jones sent off. We get a late penalty and a fella in front of me can’t watch.

He crouches down with his hands covering his face. Dave Clements slots. “The only bloody decent shot all day.” My dad says.

Dan McKay: I can remember us getting beat in the 83 quarter final by United. I remember listening to the second half in ours and being quite pissed off

about it all, they went on to win it that year. Frank Stapleton scored the winner who incidentally I saw standing outside a bank waiting for his Mrs. in Dublin a couple of months ago. All wasn’t bad though, as we all know. We went on some cup run after that game.

Phil: Vaguely remember having a 1968 cup final team poster on the bedroom wall, clearly remember losing to the shower in the 1971 semi final. My dad went, I remember his kipper when he got home Steve B: Missed the 1980 semi....on a canal boat with friend's. Remember having to avoid going through a tunnel near Northwich in the afternoon to make sure we kept a radio signal.............remember Kidd being sent off and praying for a replay. The rest...sadly....is history.

Ian Moran: My first FA cup memory is probably seeing Jeff Astle on the Golden Shot, the day after his goal had beat Everton at Wembley. I can't actually remember seeing the match on the telly. Ah well, top Baggies fan Frank Skinner got him back for us, making a fool out of Jeff every week on that fantasy football programme they did.

L J J: Ok, here it goes – it is therapy time: It is 1986. I am six.

My sixth birthday was on 2nd January 1986 and I had received my first Everton kit: the infamous ‘Lineker Bib’. 1985-86 was my first season of real football consciousness (although I attended my first game at

a team Howard had put together as was shown for the following years. Sharp and Gray did the business. Happy days and I headed back to Southampton still surrounded by blues but by now we were very, very merry.

Goodison in 1987); Everton were my team, my family’s team, the only team; Gary Lineker was my hero; I knew about LFC, but they didn’t seem to matter – it was just something that seemed annoying, but not important. In my memory, every house in our street in was decked-out in Blue or Red leading up to the 1986 Cup Final. EFC and LFC were fighting it out for the top honours and I think I thought it must have always been that way (and that it would always be that way).

Cup final day came and we went to watch it at a neighbour’s house. My Mum had prepared an Everton cake with a little plastic Blue player stuck on top. I was certain Everton would win – it didn’t even cross my mind that it could be any other way. I sat and watched as my hero scored. Then, as the match progressed, it happened: the end of innocence.

And I cried. For the first time ever (and not the last), I cried watching a football match. I was devastated by what unfolded that day. Then the aftermath kicked-in: the gloating reds in the street and in school, the despondent Blues putting a brave face on it. I will admit, I think it had a profound impact on me – I remember hating a footballer for the first time (a certain moustachioed LFC striker), and a deep-seated irrationality took hold regarding my feelings towards LFC and their fans (including some of my best friends and even some members of my own family of course); this is a feeling that I’ve never been

able to quite get rid of, despite my best efforts. However, I also remember knowing that I supported the right club, the right team and that, although we had been defeated, that there was something more important about it, something that I still feel to this day: an overwhelming and all-encompassing pride in supporting Everton. And I still love the FA Cup. It’s boss.

Phil Garner: Like loads of blues of my age, I've got plenty of memories of listening on the radio to FA cup games the blues were in, but my first memory of attending the big game is when we got to the first FA cup final in my lifetime in 1984. I'd moved down to Southampton to work and so got on the train to meet my Dad at Wembley. Even though I was heading to the game from the south the train was still full of blues and heading across London from Waterloo up towards the jubilee line the numbers of Evertonians grew and grew until I arrived at Wembley which was completely overrun other than the odd Watford fan. The general feeling seemed to be not whether we would win but how many we would beat them by, which looking back was a reflection of just how good

Doug: The 4 all game against 'them' was the first FA Cup game I went to. In the Upper Bullens with me dad, who'd only been able to get us tickets because we went to the Sunderland home league game about two weeks before, so we had the right ticket stubs. I vividly remember begging me mum and dad to get the tickets (money was tight and they'd literally only just forked out for the Sunderland game), but thankfully common sense prevailed in the end. To be honest, I don't think I really saw any of our goals because the fella in front of me was a grown up, and I was 10, but the atmosphere and tension was so gripping that it didn't matter. I knew when we'd scored anyway, and that was good enough for me. After the game I remember getting home late in the evening to find me mum doing the ironing and telling me how she'd been listening to it all on the radio, jumping up and down and screaming at the thing - I always imagined that the radio commentary for that game must have been amazing and bizarrely, was a bit jealous that I'd missed it.

Al: I have three early FA Cup memories that are hazy but stick with me - Pat Nevin not getting that blatant penalty against the Shite, Clive Allen’s overhead kick

destroying my young world and lying in bed holding my wireless to my ear and listening to Owen Coyleâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Bolton knock us out. I was gutted after all these. Luckily 95 made everything better!

Stewart MacLaren: My first Everton FA Cup memory dates from May 1984 concerning the FA Cup Final versus Watford. I had been living abroad for a few years at that time & after watching the Semi-Final success over Southampton in Hong Kong, my Uncle Bill was lucky enough to get a pair of tickets for the Final at Wembley. A sea of Blue greeted us as we walked down Wembley Way to that famous old Stadium. As of the match itself, I can still remember the goals by Graeme Sharp & Andy Gray along with the Evertonians easily outsinging the Watford fans. It was the Toffees first trophy in fourteen years & the magic of the FA Cup is still burning bright almost thirty years later.

Ken Wattret: Brian Hamilton's 'goal' in the final minutes of the 1977 FA Cup Semi-final against Clive Thomas - sorry, against the other shower. The first of many emotional traumas inflicted upon us by matches against that lot, which have had a bigger impact

on the psyche of Evertonians of my generation than any of us have probably ever realised. (There was no TV coverage of the FA Cup semis in those days - it was huddling around the radio if you were deemed too young to go to the game.)

What really struck me as a seven year old was the impact it had on the elder blues in the family, who were crushed by the injustice of it. As a young kid, the naive belief that justice would be done in the end temporarily cushioned the blow.

Within a few days, however, and another Clive Thomas intervention in the replay, and any faith that wrongs would be righted was crushed - forever.

Read what Mick Lyons has to say about it all in the 'Talking Blue' books and the scars run deep.

I recall a consolation of sorts a couple of months later when we watched Stuart Pearson and Lou Macari wreck the treble on a black and white telly. But then, as now, vicarious enjoyment at Man U winding them up never truly compensates.

Andy McEgan: "So many but the Semi in 2009 stands out. My brother got married the night before and left his wife the next morning to go to the match. The limo on the way down with, me dad, uncle, brothers and cousin all hungover but still drinking.

Then the match, the nerves, the Jagielka tackle, Cahill's miss, the elation and jumping all over strangers tempered by the sadness at knowing I'd be back in New Zealand for the final, not with me Dad and family at the game. Let's get back there this year and win the fucking thing."

Kieron: It was the 1977 Semi-Final as I remember

my Dad going to Maine Road and coming back with tales of how we were robbed by a referee called Clive Thomas and being six not really understanding what being robbed meant. I was allowed to listen to Radio Merseyside for the replay but when Liverpool went 1-0 up by guess what, a penalty, it was lashed off and waking the next morning to be told we'd lost 3-0 was the first time that I really ached for Everton and really hated LFC. Both were feelings that were going to be familiar for years to come...

Lee Weightman: Getting Telford in 85 and being baffled as they were not in the shoot league ladders thinking it would therefore be a really difficult match Paul McNamara: As a 6 year old sat in my front room with Grandstand on and Everton seemingly being forever 1-0 behind against Luton Town in the 1985 semi-final.

In my happy, young Evertonian world we simply never lost and I can still remember knowing absolutely it would turn out ok. My first realisation that may not always hold true came in the final only a month later.

It took 8 years of match going before I broke my Cup duck at a foggy Selhurst Park for a 0-0 bore draw against Wimbledon. Some youthful naivety remained as I travelled home looking forward to the 4th round draw.

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Once again After an autumn of apathy and a bleak midwinter, culminating in gloom, doom and despair… and most of us wondering where the next goal was going to come from, the feel-good factor is back at Goodison Park, pride has been restored and the Old Lady is back in her rocking chair.

This remarkably proud club, which we’re all so proud of, is making us feel proud again.

Cheers, Everton.

Following two excellent league victories against Man City and Chelsea, everyone’s thoughts turned to the FA Cup and the visit of Ian Holloway’s Blackpool, a game my friends and I were lucky enough to attend thanks to a tremendous act of generosity on the club’s part.

A lot of negative stuff has been written about the running of the club, so I think it’s only fair that we give them credit and report positive stories, however small, when they get things right.

Our story goes like this.

Cheers, Everton.

At 4.00pm on Friday January 27th, a carload of us set off from our homes in East Yorkshire for the fourth round cup-tie against Fulham. Even though the Blues’ form had been patchy (at best) prior to the tie, the fact that we don’t get to Goodison very often these days (young families, work commitments and a lack of disposable income – you know, the usual excuses) coupled with the game being played under the lights on a Friday (how American is that?) meant we were all really looking forward to the match.

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However, after picking up another Blue just outside Leeds, we soon began to realise that we weren’t going to make kick-off. Road works, snow over the Pennines and an accident somewhere between Huddersfield and Manchester conspired against us and resulted in us being stuck in one horrendous traffic jam, or “a sea of red taillights” as driver Chris poetically put it. “Don’t worry, Tom. We’ll get there for the second half,” we told the youngest pilgrim, looking forward to his first night match. We lied. In over three hours we moved around twenty miles. At 8:30 pm, we turned the car round at Huddersfield. By 10 o’clock, we were all home!

The next day, I wrote a letter to the club, relaying the same story. I ended it by saying that I knew it wasn’t Everton Football Club’s fault that we had missed the game and that I wasn’t after a refund. I just wondered whether they could do anything for young Tom. I thought they might send him a programme, an annual…or a Mikky and Joleon poster. What I wasn’t expecting was a set of tickets for the next round.

The players, like Tracy in customer services, who sorted our tickets, and the supporters in the ground, were fantastic on a really, really enjoyable day. Everyone seemed up for it.

And Royston 2-0 on a first scorer/correct score double meant one of our lads went home £90 better off. Cheers, Everton.

Paul Owens A Proud Blue

In the last issue, Saint Vespaluus commented on the clip on You Tube of the pitch invader at the England v Scotland match in May 1979. I waited for the punchline but it didn’t arrive, the scribe seemingly believing in his statement that he was a Scotland fan ‘the epitome of the 1970s soccer hooligan – skinhead, Crombie and rollers scarf’.

Actually that is not true and the origins of the pitch invader in fact lie a lot closer to home, so for anyone out there who has since watched it and would like to know some background to the story, read on First back even further, to another Saturday afternoon, probably in July around about 1974.

The Aintree Gala was an annual event at Harrow Drive Playing Fields, a cavalcade of floats paraded the local roads beforehand, (one year I remember being in a canoe on the back of the cubs lorry), followed by events at the park which included the finals of the knock-out football competition for three age groups of boys which had been played out over the previous fortnight.

This year I wasn’t playing in the final (actually I don’t think I ever played in a winning side) so was watching from the sidelines when mischievously one of my mates on the day proposed we emulate a regular scene from match of the day at that time and invade the pitch. Without time to reflect on the

being to celebrate victory after the final whistle.

Of my two accomplices, one progressed from pitch invading to several appearances on Crimewatch, not on the wanted board but by being in charge of the police investigation into one of the cities most high profile cases in recent years. Had the third appeared on the programme it probably would have been for the wrong reasons though!

Stephen Binns who had masterminded the pitch invasion was in my class at school and as an Evertonian would always be a mate. I remember when we were very young going round to Johnny Morrissey’s house who lived not far from us on Aintree Lane with a brand new autograph book that had been bought for young Binns.

From Harrow Drive to Wembley consequences three of us ran on mid game bringing disruption and chaos to Aintree’s premier event of the year.

Well almost, I think we waited until the ball and all players were down the other end and then ran from behind the goal across to the side never too far from the corner flag. So whilst it wasn’t much of an invasion and nothing to alarm anyone in the crowd, one fella didn’t see it that way and charged after us. As a youngster in those days this frightened the life out of us and we ran even faster, away from the pitch, through the crowds at the stalls, passed the morris dancing and out through the gates, too scared to return until the event twelve months later.

For myself, this was to be the only time I ever invaded the pitch during a match, my soirees on to Villa Park, Highbury and Carrow Road all WSAG22

Alas when we returned for it, all his wife passed him was a printed sheet. This probably prompted him to decide we would have to go to Bellefield to get the autographs so off we rode on our bikes reaching the junction of Melling Road and Seeds Lane and knocking at a house to ask for directions to West Derby. I can still recall the look of horror on the couple who answered the door, we were probably only eight or nine at the time.

Progressing from boyish pranks and mad capers, he was inevitably the first at school to smoke, to have a pair of doc martens (this was the seventies) and generally get involved in trouble week in week out. Occasionally we would give him a lift to the match and I’m sure though not yet in his teens, one match was a 70s classic when we beat Leeds 3-2 and he did claim to run on the pitch that day to congratulate Steve Sergeant but nobody else in school had seen him.

We also went with our Dads by car to both League Cup Final Replays in 1977, but by then he had gone to his first away game unparented, travelling to Leicester with some older Aintree lads, given he had now joined the junior ranks of the local gang. It was the first time I heard of a gang member called Rory, whose younger brother was also in our school. Strange how the calm suburb of Aintree managed to turn out these two characters as Rory certainly made his mark in many ways and will be remembered by plenty of readers, saddened, when he passed away in 2008.

By May 79, Binnsy had left school, not sure if it was his choice in the end and was ‘earning a living’ in Bournemouth through the motor trade.

It’s quite likely that this was the time he shared a room with Rory as they did at some time in the resort. I hadn’t seen him for some time and since 77 he had stopped going to the match being more interested in punk rock and The Clash.

The England v Scotland international was a big game for Evertonians as our hero keeper George Wood was playing in goal for Scotland after two seasons of being touted for international honours.

Scotland took the lead and then came the pitch invasion that you can all see on You Tube as recommended in the last issue. I didn’t even realise it was him at the time but our phone was ringing before he’d disappeared from the screen with school mate and another toffee Neil Hamilton convincing me that I had just witnessed our ex class mate Stephen Binns running on to Wembley mid match, doing a silly dance, ‘meeting’ George Wood and then being chased by four Old Bill who slipped numerous times as he slalomed his getaway before finally being collared.

It was some years before I caught up with him, I think in the Valentine, where his proudest recollection was getting to meet George Wood.

His claim being that he was being told in no uncertain terms to get off the pitch before telling George he was an Evertonian which led to a much more relaxed attitude from our keeper something along the lines of ‘nice one son but watch out there’s some coppers coming for ye’.

I haven’t seen him now since 1990 when he had just got back from England v West Germany in the World Cup semi in Turin. Going to football was rare I think and I don’t think he was around at all in the mid eighties when we were on top on the field and off it with a no-nonsense following often including Rory amongst the leaders. I did say to him that he had missed a great opportunity to have been

part of those days. It’s similar to when there would be two apprentices, one seemingly more talented and gets his chance first, but the other comes through to gain stardom and win many honours. In May 79 following the Wembley invasion, of those two Aintree scallies living in Bournemouth, most folk would have bet on Binns rather than Colquhoun becoming a legend amongst a generation of Evertonians.

Acting like a professional journalist I decided that it would be of interest to readers to find out what our old form teacher remembered of the incident and although you may think that sounds a long and painstaking task I did manage to track him down. Sir aka Alan Ryder was kind enough to agree to my request to discuss his pupil’s moment of fame even though I did approach him when he had little time to spare. He actually blamed himself for the incident and said it was all his fault! It wasn’t a lack of discipline or authority that he meant but as he said himself ‘maybe it was because of that day I brought film in of the 66 Cup Final with Eddie Cavanagh running on the pitch’. I had forgotten this myself, this was in days before video recorders I think it was cine film that he brought in to show us one morning before lessons given that our class had an Evertonian majority.

With that he bode me farewell and returned to his seat for the second half against Chelsea, promising to take a look at the clip before I saw him either at half time of the Blackpool match or as is often the case these days in one of the pubs we both seem to visit pre match these days.

And with that it is time to ring the school bell, I’m sure I wanted to put more into this article, but time has caught up with me. One last thing I did track Stephen Binns down in a small way and you may be pleased to know that his one boast is of ‘running on the pitch at the May 79 England Scotland match’ and he still likes The Clash. No mention of Everton or Aintree though.

Adrian Thomas PS I never did find out what he was doing at the game, how he got in, why he was dressed like a jock and most importantly why he did run on the pitch.

Please don’t mistake him for the other Steve Binns who supports Everton, the excellent local historian.

Don’t forget England were one down when Binns came on and went on to win 3-1 !

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raybrightgeist The even further trials and tribulations of being a 21st century Evertonian

The only column with a big fucking stupid fanny face Hi WSAGers Former 70s Aussie spin bowler Ray ‘Candles’ Bright here. You’re probably wondering what a good-old beardy twat Aussie bloke like meself is doin’, talkin’ about The Toffees in this esteemed mag. You’re probably thinkin’ I bet he’s got a whole shelf of Jeremy Claaarkson and Richie Hammy Hamster Hammond books, and if not, you’re probably thinking “I bet he’s a Second in Depaaaartment Geography teacher in some Brisbane comprehensive, and he’s probably some sort of sex-case - what with that Sutty Sutcliffe ‘obviously hiding something’ beard an’ all.”

You’re also probably thinkin’ “I bet that fucker’s a kopite” – but, strewth, you couldn’t be furtha from the truth! Listen, mate - I was on the tube in that stand-off/ruck with Chelsea in ’77. Admittedly, I did one sharpish when ‘the’ Chelsea ordered the women and children off the trine (not because I was scared or anything; I genuinely needed to go to the toilet – my arse was a bit crook), but I would have ‘got into them!’ if the bastard inspector would have let me back on. I remember telling him: “Listen mate, me mates WSAG24

noyd me back there – The Park End! The Park End! – You’ve gotta let me on that tryne!” The bastard just looked at me and said: “You’re goin’ nowhere, shitty arse! And pull your strides up!”

Just because I look the spit of one of the Catholic brothers from De La Salle in the 70s – the one who fell over into a rock pool and nearly ripped his cock off because he was wearing Speedos and nearly gave the guy who’s writing this shite an embolism because he was trying not to laugh – doesn’t mean he wasn’t stuffing sovs up his hoop like a good’un (rings up me ring – geddit? Oh fuck you, then) after that Seven

Sisters jewellers was had off after the Spurs game in’79. Admittedly, I wasn’t – I’d caught me foredog in me zippa coming out the dunny in Euston, but if I’d have been there my bullet hole would have been like the shop window of Ratner’s, I ‘swear down’, I tell ya.

And just because I look like Kev Seed’s hairy arse with some teeth stuck in, doesn’t mean I wasn’t as good as Lily or Tommo. Slow bowlin’s an aaart, mate - any fucker can lash the ball down at baldy old bastards like Brian Close, but was Geoff Lawson there at the Den in the 80s when Millwall were openly brandishing knives but the coppers were saying “What the fuck do you want us to do, you Aussie Scouse bastards?”

“Would you like a cup of tea, love, and a bit of pie?”

Even when it all went wrong, Whitney never forgot her manners.

Was he fuck.

I WOULD have been there, but I’d had had a bit of a dodgy goat’s cheese and cranberry wrap at the Punch and Judy in Covent Gaaarden and I’d shat my Inega baggies before I could get off the chaise longue.

Gotta go, now, mates – the thought of Spurs at home has got me guts goin’ like a good ‘un.

Bugger – I’ve shat me strides again.

Ciao Brighty

2. More Dead Singers

As you know, it goes without saying these days that every time I start to type one of these fucking things, one of me favourite girly singer dies. I can’t say that Whitney was one of them, but one of her songs reminds me of trying to get into the pants of a minor local celebrity and yes, it WAS a woman – you cheeky bastards – not that I care, like, but me mum might be reading this, and she’s very traditional.

Anyway, when I was trying to get into minor celeb’s drawers, we were assisting at some Whitney in better camp for orphans times: a bit ‘Paul Ince in a wig’, but ‘tidy’ and every night the nevertheless dj would set up his minty little lights and turn- tables on the top a Welsh hill and play one of the top hits of the moment - the

moment being 1987. I bet her £10 that it would be Whitney’s excellent ‘I Want to Dance With Somebody’ and she said it would be Starship’s horrible hit of that year.

Needless to say, I won, and the fact that she didn’t have the ten pounds to hand eventually led to me having sex with her. Not that she was a common prostitute or anything, crudely disfigured and scarred by a succession of vicious punters in fog-bound Victorian London and requesting in a cackling voice “Do yer want a bit o’ fun , ducky?” , oh dear God no.

But, I, like some scheming, slithering snake, used her lack of funds to set up a date and eventually to relieve her of her undergarments and dignity. I remember little of the actual rumpo, but I DO remember that her family were Evertonians. What’s that got to do with the price of love you might be asking?

Well, it’s surprising - considering I’m a man of the world - how few Evertonian chicks I’ve done the dirty with. To be honest, there have been far more nominal reds. So either the reds are the people’s club, or maybe red lasses are just slags who whip their knicks off for just anybody, including a fat, ugly bastard like myself.

What I’m trying to say is that Whitney wasn’t my cup of tea, but anything or anyone who gives reason and occasion for pleasure – however minute that pleasure might be should be rewarded or lauded.

The only other thing of interest about Whitney was that her partner Bobby Brown removed what he described as ‘doody bubble’ from her person. In other words, he assisted his crack-addled lover in the unleashing of a turd that had become wedged in her arse. Sorry if you’re eating a half time pie whilst reading this, by the way. And even if you’re reading this on WSAG25

the lavatory, it’s probably put you off your shite. Why ‘doody bubble’, I don’t know.

Shrewsbury tramps spent about 90% of the time stamping on it trying to buckle or break the cowshaggers’ (their words, not mine) visitors’ section.

A ‘Bobby Brown’ would have been just as good a term for something hanging out of one’s arse, both literally and metaphorically.

3. Unreleased Films

Bobby Brown: I love this cunt, but give film – it’s him his due, got a he’d always heavyweig give you a hand ht, stellar cast (McDormand, Lithgow, some other bloke), a decent story and it did quite well in the States, and like all great art, it tells me something about own life. I’ve no idea why they thought it unsuitable for a British audience:

4. Down Amongst the Dead (Hereford United/Buxton FC)

Men

Hereford United v Shrewsbury (League 2, January 28.1.12)

This month’s travels have seen me at Edgar Street and The Silverlands. I’d always wanted to go to Edgar Street ever since seeing a toothless Malcolm MacDonald celebrating Newcastle’s goal in that famous FA Cup tie by telling the home fans to “fuck off”. The sight of those waves of parka clad scratters invading the pitch is also burned on my mind from what was John Motson’s first-ever match as a TV commentator.

Malcolm MacDonald – “Fuck off!”

I’d been away with Shrewsbury the year before – they were an ok bunch, but this was a derby, and every ne’er do well from ‘Salop’ had turned up for the ‘big one’. There were police everywhere – dogs, vans, a helicopter, the lot.

Hereford had erected a temporary stand reinforced with aluminium cladding. The WSAG26

After about half a second of having 1000 low IQ hicks clanging a piece of tin with some of the worst footwear known to man (Freeman Hardy Willis nine-stripe trainees, Velcro trabs and work shoes), my tits were well and truly got upon and a nice day in the winter sunshine was partially ruined. But good ale, good food and good company saved the day.

I’d recommend a day out at an unfamiliar lower league ground – it’s a nice, cheapish way of seeing some stress-free (rural titheads excepted) football, and best of all, it gives you a decent perspective into the strange lives of others. Best of all, it’s that greatest of things – an ‘any excuse’ for a day on the piss. And – whatever these so-called ‘experts’ may tell you -that’s what football is all about.

Buxton v Mickleover Sports (Derbyshire Cup, Semi-Final 15.2.12)

Now, this was more like it. The Silverlands is the highest ground in the country and it was fucking freezing. Buxton and Mickleover are in the Evo-Stick North – one of the two Level /Division Sevens (if my understanding of the football ‘pyramid’ is correct) so ‘quality’ was going to be a key word.

One of my chums once played in goal at the Silverlands and said that he was hit with chips, coins and a sausage by the home fans, but it wasn’t going to happen tonight as the

goalie was a big bastard and only the dog (can you see how depressed the little fella looks?) would be there to save the thrower from a hiding. Arsenal were playing Inter Milan that night and while we neutrals braved the cold with the die-hards, you could see the kopite Buxtons watching the game in the Champions League in the portakabin clubhouse.

As the match neared 90 minutes, the aforementioned goalie howled with despair: “Oh fuck off! Fucking bastard extra time!” I presume he had work in the morning an d it was -5° at best. We wanted to see who’d be playing Derby County in the final. But not that much - and kopited it down to Pizza Express before extra time began.

Next time: Mark King Old Boys v The Douglas Adams Celebrity XI (English League Pyramid Structure - Level 42)

5 More Received Wisdom Revisited

Do you know that if you switch on The Dark Side of the Moon to coincide with the start of The Wizard of Oz it still sounds shite?

· Evra didn’t put his hand out · Luis has been punished enough · Kenny didn’t see it How much bullshit can you take from these people? As I said, if this had happened at Everton, I would have held my Kopite #1: Rat-Face hands up (for those Weasel-McFuck: concerned) and everything that’s wrong pointed out that my with humanity in one club was being tarngrotty, ghastly little ished and destroyed package by a group of pricks.

The apologists were out in force in the media too. Alan Hansen, of course, is no stranger to racist controversy himself this season.

There’s a great bit in Goodfellas where the psychopathic Tommy DeVito complains about Henry Hill having to hide his crucifix so that he can visit the house of his Jewish girlfriend. My favourite part of the film is Joe Pesci’s look of pained, resigned disgust as he points out the iniquities of racism and sectarianism: “Can you believe that? In this fuckin’ day and age?”

So if a crazed, sociopathic truck-hijacker and murderer can be so enlightened in Brooklyn in 1959, how come a media professional of some 20+ years’ experience can think it appropriate to talk of non-white players as being ‘coloured’.

Floyd: the cunty one; the thick one; the moody one; Simon Pegg

Coloured. Can you believe that in this fuckin’ day and age?

7 Those Bastards Again

Honestly. Where DO you start with these fuckers and their (and the media’s) deluded attempts to mythologise their shabby, always in ‘lumber’, horrible club? And once again, my apologies to some of their few, sensible, old-school fans (just this once - and only on this subject) who have been almost as appalled as I have been regarding the condoning of racism at LFC. Sometimes I feel like the teacher who’s blaming the entire class because one of the kids has farted and making the good ones angry because their clean-living ‘reps’ have been tarnished by someone else’s arse.

But then again, there’s only so much Christian, liberal guilt you can feel, and let’s face it, we’re only talking about a few Kopites here, and not proper people.

It’s great when you’re ‘one of the boys’ at the BBC. You can get away with everything. On the Utd / Liverpool MOTD, Hansen pulls his punches: he realises that he HAS to censure Suarez, but doesn’t have the courage to condemn or even censure his old mate and golfing buddy ‘King’ Kenny. When you are WSAG27

appearing as a professional sports analyst on an impartial licence fee-funded television channel, you not only have to be impartial, it’s important that you are seen to be impartial.

Handball Hansen’s friendship with King Dong has compromised everything he says. Shearer is just a cabbage: he can’t do anything. Maybe Lineker should step up to the plate and prove that he has the respectable journalist credentials he craves and berate Hansen for his hypocrisy.

Andrew ‘Pubic Hair Head’ Neal might be the most repulsive of men, but he turned on his friend Diane Abbott and gave her down the banks about her hypocritical stance regarding her own children’s education. He didn’t forget HIS journalist’s credentials. If Hansen, Lineker and co want to talk about something beyond the world of offside and defensive formations, they should have the courage and integrity to do so with honesty.

Otherwise they should just fuck off.

And you think ITV is shit?

Gary can’t say anything cos Al’s a mate, and Al can’t say anything cos Kenny’s a mate.

This belief that the team that hasn’t won a title in 22 years has some inalienable right to be treated as a special case continues unabated in the media. I broke the habit of a lifetime and watched the bastards in Carling Cup Final – electronically accompanied by Facebook and Twitter die-hard reds who proclaimed their undying love for their team via lap-top computers.

I’ve always been a bit sniffy about Cardiff following their sterling brick-throwing performances of 1977, but they play in blue and white, have a proper, non-glory hunting following and they were playing the redshite.

There was a contemptuous, patronising nod to the Bluebirds in the build-up and then the usual hagiographied, clichéd bollocks about the mythical Liverpool FC was trotted out to convince Joe Public that they were, indeed, the nation’s favourite club - conveniently brushing WSAG28

under the mat the last three months of quite unbelievable modern racism.

I’d clocked Sue ‘phony Scouser /Sheila fucking Grant’ Johnston for a few minutes on the Some twats recently few minutes of Soccer AM I’d been able to stomach the day before. Within a few seconds, the liquid torrent of shit started to stink up my living room with ‘Kenny’, ‘Stevie G’ and ‘Shanks’ escaping from her wrinkly arl lips and confirming everything you needed to know about this lovely daughter of Liverpool who was born just a stone’s throw from the Liver Building. (Assuming there was a sentient being who could throw a stone from the Liver Building to the middle of Warrington, that is.)

Accompanying ‘Jobs for the Girls’ Sue was ‘Aren’t you a bit old to be called that now?’

‘Robbie’ Fowler, and his razor sharp wit and brain. Fowler often throws me because of his quiet manner and his unforced accent – compare him with Carragher and Stevie G who are still playing the ‘working class Scouser’ bullshit – but he’s still a twat. The same boring stories, the same insight of a blind boil and the lack of anything approaching magnanimity towards Everton that manifests itself in little sly-arse digs when he has to comment on any Everton goals.

Fowler’s taken some horrible stick over Fowler: now applying the years, but so has that scalpel-sharp, Mark ‘Lawro’ LawrenColumbo-like mind to son and he’s quite Sky punditry generous in his praise of the Toffees. (“Ah – you love Lawro”, I can hear you say. “You want to touch him intimately,” – “I bet you fancy John Oster as well.”) People say that Everton made a big mistake in not doing what was necessary to sign Fowler when he was a lad, but I don’t. I just say ‘fuck him’, and his dad – the great thing is that now his career is over (although he’s still trying to get a game with a Canada Dock) is that we can look back and say “at least that little gobshite didn’t play for us.”

And he can stick his cream suit up his fat arse.

The worst thing about the game – apart from the inevitable spawny result – was crap commentator Guy (?) Mowbray talking about Wembley as ‘Anfield South’. Have you ever heard anything more unjustified? Have you ever heard anything more likely to make their clueless, fuckwit, gloryhunting, never go the match ‘fans’ use the phrase wherever and whenever it will cause the most Liverpool fans bringing more glory to the city at harm?

Anfield South.

Anfield Fuck off.

South.

6 It’s Ann Way or Harry Secombe’s ‘Highway’

I know most of you have worked out that behind all of my joking, like most (if not all) Evertonians I’m sexually obsessed with Ann Way. Fawlty Towers’ own Mrs Colonel Hall is the biggest fucking sex symbol this country has ever produced. Besides looking like a pink human gimp mask, Ann’s other engorgement-provoking attribute is the brilliant way in which God has stitched two very different faces together on the same face.

I couldn’t believe my excitement when ‘the Mrs’ put on her ‘Prime of Miss Jean Brodie’ DVD the other day - there was Ann, large as fucking life, standing in Celia Johnson’s office. ‘The Wife’ had no idea that she was unwittingly colluding in my own almost instant sexual gratification (I claimed that I’d spilt my Carnation over my Farrah’s) and had no idea that when I said, “Could you pass the DVD box over? And all the other ones” – it was to hide my shame.

There’s a great HORNY shot of Ann singing in opening titles, and it provoked me to write my own little ‘Away in a Manger’ tribute that I’ll try to get started at the back of the Gwladys Street in the run up to Christmas:

“Ann Way is a minger, No lips give me head, Though Rona’s quite lovely, I’d fuck Ann instead.”

7. American Landon

Footballers:

Goodbye

What’s’ the big problem with Americans, apart from everything they say and everything they do? Stewart Lee tells the story of the American incarcerated for years with only a woolly tea cosy, and not having the wherewithal to fashion a serviceable hat. It’s true that the vast majority of Americans don’t own passports so you’d think that the ones who were adventurous enough to go abroad would be their better citizens, open to new experiences and new ways of thinking. If you’ve travelled the cities of Europe at any stage of your life, you’d know this is not the case.

America seems to sends its most crass, loudmouth, Dick Emery Show stereotyped kopite fucks to despoil the cities of the world (a bit like their foreign policy – whoa, a bit of politics; yes, indeed).

It’s bizarre that on my few trips to America, I’ve found the average American to be charming and with manners to put ours to shame. Send them away from what they know and they’re a bunch of pricks. A bit like the average citizens of this city.

Being the quiet types, me and the lass have compiled a stereotyped (but never wrong) list of nationalities that we like best and least to sit next to for hotel breakfasts.

Top of the list: the Japanese (by a million fucking miles) Next: Germans Middle: the Brits Next to Bottom: Americans Bottom: Italians Anyway, while I’m stereotyping, why is it that Americans association footballers are such all-round good eggs? We’ve had three at EFC of varying degrees of ability and each of them has left the club with nothing but good wishes and mutual admiration aplenty.

They’re professional, hard-working, good-natured and not whingeing cunts.

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You could probably drive a bus through this theory, but yet again, what a breath of fresh air was Landon Donovan. The club’s fortunes turned around when he arrived, and he wasn’t just a great player, it was almost like he was an old-fashioned Evertonian in the mould of Kendall, Lyons and dare I say it, Brian Landon Donovan: Labone?

Corinthian. Just for one day…

I know this sounds like waxing-lyrical, sentimental ale talk, but fuck it.

8. Ian Rush’s Nose

Another boyhood Evertonian who I’m very glad didn’t play for us, because we’d have to say “Look at that fucking ugly bastard – he used to play for us.” But now we don’t; we can now sit back and relax, secure in the knowledge that every time this swollen snitched halfwit appears on our screens, we can say: “Nothing to do with us, mate. No-one that deformed could ever wear the Royal Blue shirt.”

It’s called the healing balm of time, and although Cunty Balls scored four against us in 1982, that was 1982, and it’s gone now.

And is it me, or is E.T.’s nose getting ever bigger and bulbous? He looks like a comedy version of Karl Malden, or like someone has emasculated a decent sized cock and then attempted to flatten it with a garden spade or roadside shovel:

“Who’s that next to the lad in the checked shirt?” Fuck Nose.

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9. Meff Sweets

I don’t want to sound all Billy Butler here, but like the judge who said “Who’s Gazza?” in the summer of 1990, there’s an entire meffs’ world out there that the always-privileged could never understand. Thanks to the crazy world ushered in by everyone becoming a university student in the 1990s, everyone knows the world of Space Raiders and Freddo’s, but it’s the shite ‘penny sweets’ that remain a hidden domain for a lost generation of dentally-challenged adults of a certain age. Here’s the Top 5: Climpies: Tiny, boiled sweets retailing at one half pee right to the end of the 1970s. Their being taken off the market resulted in a 100% drop in British poor children choking to death.

Besides being shit and having no nutritional value what so ever, they sounded like a particularly vile (as opposed to a wholesome) genital/venereal infection.

“Could you have a quick blimpse at my dick, doc?” you might say to a qualified medic with whom you enjoyed colloquial banter.

“Ah, yes - those small globular lumps on your prick,” he might say if he too could speak to you in a familiar manner. “Yes, those hemispherical protrusions on your Brighton Rock can only mean one thing: climpies.”

Iced Gems: The Kings of Meff Sweets were designed for two purposes: 1) To rot the teeth of poor kids in order to make them less likely to rise up the social ladder, and thus maintain the status quo.

2) To kill all diabetics.

We don’t do stereotyping at WSAG but if push comes to shove, it’s a known fact that Glaswegians are 35% trampier than the good folks of this city. Admittedly, I’ve never seen Glaswegians delighting in being given a go of the slops tray in a down-at-heel ale house; nor have I seen Glaswegians wanting to use a sweet jar for the purposes of football away travel coach defecation; nor have I seen any Glaswegian trying to buy 17p worth of chips from a Chinese takeaway emporium – and then pulling the skin taut on either side of his eyes when his request was refused…but they are both meffier and screffier, and like your average Scot, they lose their teeth at a far earlier age than anyone else in the world: There’s a linguistics theory that the Glasgow accent is so impenetrable to the rest of the

country because at the turn of the nineteenth century, the Scots were losing their teeth like there was no tomorrow and were buying ill-fitting, 6d pick and mix dentures from Woolworths. This is almost certainly nonsense, but it DID provide a good proportion of Russ Abbott’s act for nigh on twenty years and also provided work for his crack comedy ensemble of Dustin Gee, Les Dennis and Bella Emberg.

Jelly ‘Beatle’ Heads: Almost all jelly sweets are unsuitable for vegetarians. Midget gems, wine gums and JBH’s all use gelatine, a substance created largely from bulls’ testicles. One of the great shit lyrics of rock history is from ‘Killer Queen’ – “She’s a Killer Queen – gunpowder, gelatine, dynamite with a laser beam”.

Freddie actually meant ‘gelignite’, but was too busy pulling off ‘blokes’ and ended up tossing off this illogical lyric that nobody seems to have noticed over the past 38 “Love and Peace years.

– or I’ll give Barbara another hidin’.”

Following the cultural explosion that followed the rise of The Fab 4, manufacturers all over the world did their best to produce anything and everything with The Beatles imprint. Somewhere in Taiwan, a jelly Beatles’ head mould was created and from 1964 until perpetuity grasping newsagents sold these as a sop to poor children who tried to make their life ‘one better’ by buying some sweeties, in much the same way that Hans Christian Anderson’s Little Match Girl chased the dying lights from her matches and smackheads chase the dragon.

On the subject of newsagents, I always remembered our Ginge (a former paperboy) laughing too much and too knowingly at ‘Kes’ – especially when Billy Casper diverted newsagent Mr Porter’s attention and filled his papers bag with sweets and chocolates, and he laughed most of all when Casper deliberately bumped Porter’s ladder so that the old man nearly had a heart attack.

And talking of Beatle heads, I don’t approve of wanton destruction but it’s heart-warming to see that the privet head of Ringo Starr at South Parkway station has never been replaced following its decapitation some four years ago.

Good.

And if you’ve ever been to South parkway, you’ll know that it’s (genuinely) one of the nicest stations in the country. But, civic

planners, next time you build an airport railway link station, it might be an idea to build it near the airport.

Spanish Gold Sweet Tobacco: Looked like arsehole hair. Tasted like arsehole hair that been dipped in Malibu.

Walkers’ Toffee/Highland Toffee: The only times I’ve lost fillings was because I’d eaten toffee. It was God telling me off for being a scruff. Toffee is shit, and like the other hard drugs substitutes I’ve mentioned, it’s designed to maim the poor. McGowan’s, the ‘Highland Toffee’ manufacturer went out of business last year because of “a drop in demand for traditional toffee”. I hate to see anyone lose their jobs, but I think the nation has wised up a little bit, and you just wait – in ten years’ time all kids will have teeth like the Osmonds.

Or ‘real teeth’ versions of the dogs out of the ‘Doggy Dentures’ adverts.

Walkers’ Toffee, like Mike Walker’s Toffees, was also very shit indeed. It used to be sold individually for half an old penny, but you can still get ‘presentation packs’ which contain a small hammer for breaking it up. Yes, a fucking hammer. Again, this is God telling you not to eat something, just as God told Peter Sutcliffe to do certain things. With a hammer.

The presentation pack (“I saw this and thought of you”) is particularly creepy, and was obviously designed for either the Pete Townsend / Gary Glitter in your life, or the ‘LFC fan celebrating his team’s cup win with a night out in Bulgaria’ end of the market:

Walkers’ Slab Toffee – The Star Trek Commemorative Edition.

‘Highland Toffee’ Scotty: “There’s nothing I can do Captain: the ‘Shields’ have gone down!”

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10. Not Doing Your Homework – a Back to the Future Special

Sunday tea-time 1981, and I still haven’t done my WSAG homework. I started it as soon as I got home on the day it was set, but I’ve left it to brood out of sight, but not out of mind. I’ll just watch a bit of Bullseye and then I’ll make a start.

Blimey, that first half went quickly.

Ha Ha – the fucking speedboat. Shit, it’s six o’clock. Graham’s going to kill me. I’ll have a quick look at the paper while Songs of Praise is on. I bet that Thora Hird has seen some cock in her time.

Oh good, here’s me ma with the tea…..

I know they say Last of the Summer Wine is shit, but…..

You get the picture.

I know I promised a review of this Pulitzer Prize nominated book, but I just couldn’t manage it. I DID get through (in a Captain Oates pushing on, exhausted, against an Antarctic blizzard sort of way) 50 pages – and I WILL have it done next time, sir, but fuck me, it’s soul destroy- ing/ spirit crushing stuff, lacking any sort of wit, irony or intelligence.

The early part of the book covers much of the material and times and places you regularly see in WSAG, but the author’s persona is just so fucking horrible that you wouldn’t dream of wanting to spend a microsecond of your life with him. It’s not even the subject matter – I’ve read loads of books by criminals and low-lifes, but this, like other hooligan books starts to sap your life-force because it’s about boasting, and scheming, and trying to get one over on other idiots; and most of all, it’s about wallowing in shit.

Nick comes from the mean streets of Kirkby and it’s this environment that gives him licence to pay the world back big time. There’s no such thing as a personal responsibility or inner goodness in Nick’s world.

I come from the bottom of Breck Road, but I (like the vast majority of its inhabitants) never WSAG32

had any intention of robbing or battering my way out of there, or indulging in a grotesque version of the Tory ethos where it’s an eternal fuck you/dog eat dog world.

Every cliché (so far) about life in the seventies is here – and when he’s not lacing up monkey boots, he’s eating cola cubes and listening to Slade and ‘Dave’ Bowie. All woolly backs are ‘tight’ and according to the author “Thirty hard Scousers are bound to batter thirty hard Geordies.” There IS the structure of a half-decent social history lurking around in here, and Allt’s guide to musical trends in Liverpool could have been quite good – especially for a beginner or an outsider with nods to Deaf School, punk and the divide between the top half of his gig-going clothing (music fashion led) and the bottom half – always jeans and trainees and never ‘kecks’ or pointy shoes.

But like I say, there’s no irony, no self-deprecation. Those of you who’ve been with WSAG for the long-haul will remember Mike Love’s genius article about having an out-of-school straightener with one of the rubbish kids at Anny Comp; a fabulous piece of writing that elevates the writer to greatness in everyone’s mind - although he portrays himself in what at first seems a negative light. Here everything that’s supposed to be funny is not even telegraphed – when the author tells me about what a ‘great laugh’ everything was, I had to take his word for it as there was no evidence of anything funny in his text.

As for the rest of it, you can tell he sat round with his four pack of felt tip pens – writing down as many stereotypical ‘cultural’ markers and signifiers as possible to create as many brilliant analogies as possible. Playing a Belgian team at Wembley? Why not try ‘Stella’, ‘waffles and ‘chocolate’?

He does: Johann Cuff doesn’t play in the ‘Waffle League’; the ‘fat greasy cunt’ (he’s Belgian remember) bus driver is “sweating out Stella” after “hammering the Belgian chocolates”. All of this while young Nick is trying to steal a bag full of tickets before running away from ‘Jean-Claude’ – “who’s no Van Dame” in his Samba trainees. I’d imagine that there are 300 more pages of this utter dreck from here (p50) to the eternity (the rest of my life).

I’ll read the rest for you – honest - but I’ll expect a pint from you next time you see me.

Not Stella, though.

Saint Vespaluus

the kop choir We all know - because we are always being told - that everything that is good about the game of football started on the Kop. In fact, anything good that’s ever happened in the history of the world can be traced back to the piss-ridden steps of the Spion Kop. Here’s just a few of the cunts who have stood there (or claimed to).

1. John Bishop - the unfunny Suarez-toothed Runcorn comedian.

2. Ian McCulloch - hugely debatable as to whether he actually went the game during the band’s pomp. Let’s face facts, if he’d have gone the match that overcoat, he’d have got battered.

3. Pete Wylie - see above.

Never went.

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4. Ian Beale - Jesus wept.

These cunts must be attracted to the place like a magnet.

5. Gerry Marsden - of course, he was a blue until he smelt the money. Never walked alone since hmmm.

6. Craig Phillips - he won Big Brother because the Kop loved him. Traded off it ever since.

7. Kim Cattrell - you’re stealing a living. Biggest phoney scouser ever. You probably can’t point to us on the map. And you’ve been here now.

8. Everyone off Desperate Scousewives - probably.

They’re all cunts.

9. Alan Greene - biggest cunt of all. Total radio bollocks.

10. Alan Parry - same as above but on television.

11. Brian Reade - says a few nice things about us occasionally but scrape just below the surface and he’s the same as the rest of them.

12. Chris De Burgh - do I need to spell it out?

13. Ricky Tomlinson - get a wash you scruff.

14. Michael Howard - Tory sleezeball of the highest order 15. Sinbad and Mick from Brookside - in fact, almost everyone from that shitty-arsed soap. Except Simon O’Brien.

He was all right.

And finally...

Peter Hooton - you won’t print this because he’s your mate. I used to think he was all right too then I saw him on Soccer AM. Sell out.

“Hey there Mister Blue...”

Some Moores or less of modern Evertonia: No. 6 (of some more) - Johnny’s Scott a Boom-Boom!

I hope the BBC4 brains, who started screening, last summer, full repeats of 1976/77 TOTP episodes - pedantically at 7.30pm each Thursday - don’t lose sight of their original idea: to continue showing them in the run-up to QueenLiz's diamond-do this year, in order to reveal the unfolding picture of how, from 1976, the clueless British music establishment (Noel Edmonds in pin stripes presenting a "pop show") had no idea of the iceberg (New Wave, Punk etc.) that their Titanic complacency was destined to smash into in summer 1977, when Liz was doing her silver knees-up. Coz I better not have sofa-sat through 30 weeks so far of The Wurzels, David Soul and Showaddywaddy for zip pay-off. Anyway, this ain’t about how a British cultural industry finally realised the need to change the record in 1977. So here's another lump "about Everton chairmen". Conveniently it's 1976/77... * If there was a definitive see-saw season which would send Everton’s boardroom finally tilting towards total complacency (as previously examined) it was 1976-77. On the face of it, there's enough anecdotal evidence to suggest that the suits had cause to believe all was spiffo. Despite our books-balancing (again per previous instalments), we still retained the kudos of the British transfer record (Latchford 1974).

Also, despite self-destruction, the team had only just missed an eighth Championship in 1975 and there seemed no reason why we couldn't complete the job soon (well, Carlisle had gone down!). There was also, probably, no major panic because there’d been seven years between the 1962/63 and 1969/70 Championships so by that measure things were about par and likely viewed as "a matter of time...". Then there was Goodison, still basking in the decade-long glow of being seen as the premier English club stadium during the 1966 World Cup. Now that it had (been perceived to have) undergone an ultra-modern facelift, it seemed established as England’s second home.

For example, the last two "home" games England had played outside Wembley (January 1966 v Poland; May 1973 v N. Ireland) had both been at Goodison - and another league ground wouldn’t be used for national service until 1995. Sadly, when the Twin Towers were demolished in 2000, Goodison's reputation had declined over 27 years from the point when it was the only ground considered fit for the Three Lions circus, to never being in the running during the seven years it took to build new Wembley - when Middlesbrough, West Ham, Leicester, Soton and even Ipswich were deemed suitable. Anfield, for example, hadn't been sniffed (apt) by WSAG36

the FA since 1931 and had only ever hosted England five times anyway, once when Everton were tenants.

By 1977 even Old Trafford had only ever been used twice. Undoubtedly, Goodison's "four sides seating" brag was a major draw and only its geography prevented it hosting more FA Cup semis: a view reinforced by its stagings of the Man Utd v Liverpool hoolie-fests in 1979 (replay) and, even as late as, 1985 (first game - sponsored by Titleist golf balls). Despite location, though, the FA still preferred Goodison as the neutral venue to settle the farcically riotous Newcastle v Notts Forest Quarter Final replays in 1974; when Walton was invaded on a March Monday by 40,685 Tyne and Trentsiders (when, so claimed, a mounted police horse was jockeyed into the Winslow bar to separate four firms - assorted Everton, Liverpool, Forest and Newcastle heads [look, it was a school night, I was tucked-up, so I'm just relaying the ace legend; you measure the doorway to see if it's feasible!]) before another 31,373 screffs stabbed-up 72 hours later.

* No doubt, even during the ropey mid-70s, Everton was still a jewel in English footy’s crown. Well, in the interests of true speculation, that's certainly one way of assessing how we’d been patriarched by John Moores since 1960. Another is that, in the period he served Everton's board, the club went from being on par with England’s top clubs and being generally considered superior to Liverpool (although, trophy-wise, by 1960, it was only by virtue of 5 Titles and 2 FA Cups -v- 5 Titles and 0 FA Cups) to watching them disappear over the silver hill. The tally, when Moores quit our boardroom for the last time in 1977 after 17 years - as the other shower became "kingserr-yorlapp" for the first time - stood at 7 Titles and 3 FA Cups -v- 10 Titles, 2 FA Cups, 2 UEFA Cups and 1 European Cup. Sigh. So that's Everton v Liverpool measured across the "glorious" Moores directorship in trophy terms. Y’know, what with our longer, richer history. Bigger, better ground. And loadsa Moores dosh. * We won the "Chairmen Cup", though. Whilst Moores was Everton director (1960-77) our big-chair swivelled seven times to Liverpool's four; with plans, within months of his departure, to make it 8-4. In fact, between 1973, when the risible John Smith ("it was Chelsea") took over at the Pit (a 17-year-stint as chief demon) and when Moores left our boardroom in 1977, we actually squeezed three chairmen into four years and even made it four in five. Our boardroom had been anything but stable since Moores first stepped down as chairman in 1965 and, in little over a decade, seven men occupied Everton's throne. Some going. Did it matter, though? To fans?

Not really. Most weren't tuned-into club politics then; and really, Evertonians only started paying attention when PJ’s Spuddles started stenching.

The suits traded on it: that turnstile fodder weren't

bothered about boardroom boredom. It's basically how - especially in an analogue era - Everton's hierarchy spun, unchecked, into sustained instability right at the point of its history - with the European competitions still in relative infancy when we could have used 90-odd years of proud existence as the solidity on which to launch us into the continental elite. It's also how the club (mis)managed to get itself into the position between 1977 when Moores' exec-role finally ceased and 1993 when he croaked - when its whole future was, for far too long, complacently held in the trembling hands of a bloke everyone was still basically terrified of (previous instalments) who degenerated from 81 to 97 years of age (it still bears re-typing, like last time, that even in the first Premiership season Everton was still handcuffed by a speech-deserted NINETY SEVEN year-old). If ever there was a period for "let go of the train set" protests, then check the 16-years between 1977 and 93. But that would never have happened because "Mr John" was royalty, he'd led us to “glory” and built a super-stadium. Unlike the clowns of the last 20 years who've initiated the screw-up. A thought: if Kenwright really does want to do a "Mr John", and lives long enough to retain his toy til death, then buckle-up: there’s two decades left, in Moores-years. * If the darkest hour is just before dawn, then perhaps, circa 1976, it was finally dawning on Moores that Everton's board really needed the type of stability that the other lot suddenly seemed to have crafted (but they had upheavals during Shankly's 1966-73 trophy "drought"). Maybe he'd clocked that the machine grinding at Anfield, since 1972, wasn’t showing signs of stopping. Well he hardly needed to be Sherlock-with-an-iPhone to suss that. I was nine and even I knew the torment would WSAG37

last at least as long as I needed school kex. Cynicism aside, Everton's heavily-greased swivel-seat did suddenly settle in the late 1970s and it's clear to see, thinly transparent, that Moores had a plan: called Philip Carter. Whether it was the right plan is debatable. But Moores at least had one. Just that in 1976 he couldn't yet execute it. So the prestige of Everton’s chairmanship had to "go swivel" at least once more. * Everton chairman: T.H.W. Scott (1976-78): An apology. I said last time that Alan Waterworth's seasons as head honcho (from 1973) included the sacking of Billy Bingham. Error: Scott fired him. So instead of my plan to say that Scott did precisely jack, I’ll just reverse the sentiment and Waterworth gets the gong as Everton’s most anonymous chairman ever (mind you, Dr David Marsh, hmmm).

Either way, it's true that Waterworth and Scott were co-guardians for the bulk of Everton's somnambulist seventies. When we hardly expended energy treading water. As to why Waterworth was ever installed, the only answer is: "stop-gap until Carter". As to why he stepped down: "fed up being stop-gap" (or the theme variation: they were the terms of his "stop-gap" tenure). As to why Scott took the reins: "stop-gap because Carter still wasn't ready". And when Scott stood-down: "Forza Phil".

Waterworth’s appointment was worth a little surface scratching (last issue); not so with Scott’s. In the former case, certainly from retro vantage, it’s conspicuous that, suddenly, in 1973, Everton, in a departure from the grandpa chairmen it had known, had installed a young, early 40s, seeming go-getter.

On paper it seems the club was making a pretty radical, for its time, statement. But it's clear now that it was anything but, given that Waterworth gave way three years later. A brief glance at Waterworth's CV from 1976 suggests he had other civic goals - culminating in a knighthood - rather than being bogged-down by Everton’s chairmanship, so it's unlikely he was ever going to stay in-situ. It was probably never Moores' plan anyway, for once WSAG38

Carter joined the board (during Waterworth's reign) it was fait accompli that he would serve what seemed to the minimum three-year directorship (as last issue) before stepping up. Whether that "three year" scenario was a new boardroom rule, or just coincidence as to how things panned from 1967, there was another reason why Carter wasn't ready, until 1978, to steer Everton. * In 1976/77, the final lap of the 20-year race amongst Littlewoods’ top brass, to succeed Moores, was reaching the tape. As highlighted by previous instalments, even by the cursory examinations given, it's arguably impossible to divorce Everton’s demise from Littlewoods decline if you really want to penetrate as to why the club started its post-1970 stagnation. Though pin-stripingly dull, Littlewoods’ movements from the late 60s to-mid-70s had a direct bearing on Everton. So when finally, aged 80, the old fella's ego saw sense and he relinquished his Littlewoods chairmanship after 54 years (disregarding that he barkingly resumed it in 1980) it was big knock-on news for Everton. For Philip Carter (as per last issue) had jockeyed for the Littlewoods No1. since at least 1961 (when Moores turned 65) and was already being stink-eyed by the presumed heir apparent, John Moores Jr. Duly Phil saw off Moores Jr’s challenge, who was unceremoniously ditched by his ruthless arl man. Moores' other lad, Peter, really didn't seem interested. So for years, most of the 70s, it was an open Littlewoods secret that Carter was the heir.

Several coins, then, needed to fall into various Moores' slots between 1976 and 78. Therefore it was necessary to install one final temporary custodian at Goodison, until Littlewoods’ ultimate question was finally sorted. For it was beyond dispute that Everton's next long-term king would be yet another "Littlewoody" (Moores' own term) - thus making the mystery candidate the fourth out of the last five supremos to have had direct Old Hall Street connections. Until such time, it fell to T.H.W. Scott, who’d appeared on Everton’s board in 1970, to look after the shop. Looking like something from a Kitchener World War I poster, it was as removed from the appointment of the young-buck Waterworth as it could get. It was a return to the uber-old-boy-1922-Committee-type-Tory make-up of Everton's board and was simply a brief bonus prize for Scott. Unlike Waterworth's tenure, which at least had a "youth" interest angle, Scott’s reign would barely merit a footnote in Everton history. If it hadn’t been for the managerial intrigue of 1976-77 and the "so near yet so far" Everton torment between January 1977 and May 1978

* The irony which laced the first game post-John Moores' 17-year directorship stung like a rusty razor. August 20th 1977: Everton 1 Nottingham Forest 3. Without realising, Everton effectively blew the title on Day1. However, it should have been evident to the watching, now waiting-to-die 81-year-old Moores, that he'd blown it - and possibly much more besides - before a ball was kicked.

Because he'd cut his nose to spite our face four years earlier by his barely concealed (as per previous issues) manoeuvres to install ABC as Harry Catterick's successor: Anyone But Clough. Gobby Brian had stuck two fingers up to football’s establishment (the FA for denying him the England job; and those who behaved like mini-FA fiefdoms, e.g. Everton’s bone-china boardroom) by sticking his reputation on the line and dragging a no-mark club from the foot of the 2nd Division. After promotion they waltzed into Goodison (with swathes of the Bullens Road empty - more later) like they owned the gaff. They eased into a two-goal lead and won 3.1. We weren’t really in it (ta, though, to respected Wussager @John Black for reminding me that, on paper, we retained a sniff at 2.1 at HT and it wasn't quite as jet as my black memory repaints). Managed by anyone other than Clough, you'd have classed Forest as opening day free-wheelers. But they looked different and were in a title race from the off.

Everton were now decent. The signs were there all spring, since Gordon Lee had arrived. That result, though, more its manner, knackered us and we inevitably dipped at Arsenal on the Tuesday.

Equally, it was no major surprise when we suddenly embarked on the club's longest, then, unbeaten sequence (22 games until Boxing Day). But major damage had occurred in the season’s first 72-hrs and it had B.H. Clough's signature scrawled all over it.

After getting back on our New Year's Eve feet with revenge over Arsenal at Goodison, following a disastrous Christmas double-header, we had one final chance to blow the title race open at Forest on January 2nd. Must win. We were second, five points behind. While we showed much improvement since August, gaining a creditable one-all draw, we knew it wasn't enough. The rest of the season was spent waiting for the inevitable or an unlikely Forest Slump (starring Martin O’Hanks). Everton dazzled at times but Forest had extra bite: the difference between a good team managed by Lee and a belting one steered by Clough. * If Moores carries the can for snubbing Clough in 1973 (and also ignoring the, as previously examined, claims of a young Bobby Robson, a clearly documented part of Everton's ignominiously protracted search for Catterick’s successor), it's an open question as to whether he was solely to blame for the utter cock-up which saw us let Bobby Robson again scandalously slip away - this time right from our grasp - in February 1977. It’s an episode that goes right to the heart of all these pieces so far: 1) how much, between 1965-72, after his first step-down as chairman; and then between 1973-77,

after his second step-down, was John Moores, during a truly critical Everton era, keeping all the rights but none of the responsibilities of the club chairmanship (thus rendering five chairmen out of six as mute puppets on a very long string [albeit happy basking in the kudos of being called "Mr Chairman"] and so making a mockery of the highest club position?; and 2) how much club policy was decided not in Goodison’s boardroom but on the 13th Floor of The Littlewoods Organisation, Old Hall Street? * The programmes for 1976/77 all state that T.H.W. Scott was Everton chairman; that John Moores, 81 in January, was vice-chairman; and that Philip Carter was a director. So here’s Bobby Robson's version of how he didn't succeed Billy Bingham after he’d been jettisoned (with pretty odd timing - i.e. we'd just bought Rioch and McKenzie, won an FA Cup 3rd Rd 48hrs earlier, and 10 days before a League Cup semi): "In 1977 I had gone up to Merseyside to meet the president Sir John Moores and chairman Philip Carter. We agreed what was then a monumental 10-year deal. It was the original offer I couldn't refuse - and I didn't. All I asked was 24 hours grace before the deal became public to tell my chairman John Cobbold. He had been so good that I simply didn't want him to learn second hand. Sir John had given me a rather large cheque as a gesture of goodwill and intent. But within a day I had torn it up and thrown away a fortune because when I opened the Daily Express the next morning I saw a shocking headline screaming back at me.

'Robson Goes To Everton.' How could I accept a job with a club where they had let me down on the very first day?". First off, Robson's recollection that Moores (not yet knighted) wasn't actually Everton chairman was accurate. But no mention of Scott.

But a clear namecheck of Carter as being Everton chairman in 1977, which ironically tallies with Carter's CV entries (e.g. Debretts). However, EFC programmes state that he only became Everton head in 1978 (and Scott is clearly pictured in the prog in October 1977 [Man City] dealing with the cock-up which had forced Everton's capacity down to 35,000 [more later]). So who was chairman: the bloke who faced the press to explain how Goodison had suddenly become so (apparently) unsafe or the one who courted Bobby Robson? Maybe Bingo Bob was mistaken when it came to his memoirs years later and lazily retro-attributed the chairman title to Carter. What doesn't seem a recall error, though, is that Robson did meet Carter. None of the possible explanations to unravel this conundrum reaches a satisfactory conclusion. They all add-up to the same: by the mid-70s Everton's boardroom stunk of, at best complacency, at worst downright arrogance and there's a pretty good chance that Carter made his biggest blunder as Everton "chairman" before he’d even taken office. For balance, you have to reserve that Robson may have gilded that yarn and perhaps Goodison’s hierarchy didn’t leak that Daily Express headline (a newspaper for whom one John WSAG39

Roberts worked, who, at that precise time, had very active ties with senior Everton officials as he began approved work on “Everton - The Official Centenary History” [pub. 1978]). But given the way Moores handled the earlier Robson-Revie-Clough episodes in 1973 (previous issues), you'd have to say Everton had form. * More balance: if the pervading Everton complacency of late 76 and early 77 was borne of the belief, or conviction, as hinted at above, that we’d soon taste success again, based on the fact that it was still "only" seven years since the 1970 title - and spurred by the near-glory of 1975 - then the execs weren’t far wrong. For whether it was due to Moores, Scott, Carter, Rita London (“Ring Reet” the woman who did everything at Everton in the 70s) or Robert Crease of County Road Records or whoever was really in charge, the shell-outs on McKenzie, Rioch, Pejic, Thomas and Wood were indeed ambitious additions to the core of Latchford, Lyons, Dobson and King. But we'd already been allowed to lag behind the well-oiled cross park phenomenon.

Gordon Lee was an obedient, straight-laced servant.

But, as romantic as the initial period of his tenure undoubtedly was, we always lacked the added bite that mavericks like Clough and Robson could instil, both of whom, between them, clutched trophies over the next four seasons that Lee could only dream of.

Over 10 years of conservative executive inertia was biting: when either lame duck chairmen assumed Moores was still in charge; or maybe Moores expected more from his lazy delegates; or maybe he undermined from afar what decisions they did feel brave enough to make; or maybe all the above.

Whatever, we were playing catch-up. And the genuinely hard-lines of the springtimes of 1977 and 78 masked the fact that we lacked that 10pc between silverware and nowhere. * In the middle of the whole period, one of the most under-reported episodes emblematic of institutional complacency - hit home. Again it was hard lines masking lazy myopia. The new Safety of WSAG40

Sports Stadia Act, 1975 became effective in 1976, after having been tossed around Westminster since the second Ibrox disaster (1971 - 66 deaths). Goodison and 26 other stadia (including Anfield, Highbury, Villa, Old Trafford, Maine Road and Wembley) got hammered by the new regs (exits, gangways, crush barriers the whole hit). Most of the others had anticipated the upgrades and they weren't as extensively hit as us. But guess who waited til the last minute to fetch the tool-box? And got served notice in summer 77 that the capacity must suddenly come down from 56 to 35,000? We shored it back up to 38,000 for the Forest opener (with expanses in the Bullens sealed off and reduced capacities in the Enclosure - barrier work) but it was still only 43,000-odd by October and just 48,000 by Boxing Day. We were in a genuine title race, on the longest unbeaten run in Everton history, and Latchford was notching for fun - and thousands got locked out.

Great work! Even by the April derby we were still a thousand short of the new capacity forecast of 53,800. But the biggest embarrassment, especially for a ground with a proud international-hosting reputation like Goodison was in November. We declined the Welsh FA’s request to host their, now legendary, sudden death World Cup qualifier v Scotland because we couldn't even house 50,000.

Salting the wound, the action simply moved over the park instead. Pitiful. All that remained for Bill Scott to do was scandalously fob us a line that "the ground improvements" (sic) were part of the continuing plan for Goodison that John Moores had spoken of back in 1972 (as per previous instalments). Bull. We had no choice but to get capacity back to what it had been!! Then he added that the “expenditure” would mean an end to any future money being "diverted" in order to meet "other uses" so as not to "inhibit" Lee. It was a similar spin to that Moores sounded in 1972, when (paraphrasing) he basically tried to con us by saying “we know you'd rather see money spent on the team not the terraces”. This time, though, it was twice as disingenuous. If anyone’s looking for clues as to why Goodison declined from at least 1972, certainly 1977, then start there with the effective announcement that zip-all would be spent from then on. So, with mucky fibs told, Scott then announced that he was stepping down - "other commitments" - and the stage was finally set for Everton’s boardroom messiah. Phoxy Phil, come on down!

Next Time: Cum on Phil the Noize (authentic Slade spell) GREG MURPHY

If you don’t know...

When Skies are Grey is the longest running Everton fanzine. We have been publishing magazines since 1988 and the next issue is no.169.

WSAG is an independent fanzine. We're here to provide a magazine in which all Evertonians have an equal opportunity to say exactly what they want about this grand old team of ours.

Send us articles, letters or photos. WSAG is not a closed shop, we have many writers both old and new. So please feel free to contribute. Add your voice. WSAG is your forum. We do not editorialise. We do not dictate who is right or wrong, that’s always been for the readers to decide for themselves.

Get involved.

1990 to 1999

Due to the general age of the readers and contributors to WSAG a lot of the nostalgia in these pages tends to be centred around the 1970’s and 80’s. I am a big fan of such nostalgia and enjoy peoples memories of the bygone days, however most of it doesn’t apply to my own experiences of growing up in the 90s. (Bygone days? You cheeky young scamp - Ed and loads of you lot out there in readerland.) Now as I approach 30 I thought it was appropriate to share my own nostalgic view of my youth living in Merseyside and supporting Everton.

Learning ‘the fake’ watching Paul Gascoigne soccer skills.

The gales in 1990 destroying New Brighton outdoor baths Ted Sutton coming to our school to do a PE session and being miffed when he was nicer to the kopites than the blues Peter Beagrie’s motor cycle incident Graffiti wars in school – LFC always easily being changed to EFC Elton Welsby 90 minutes magazine

WSAG42

English clubs returning to Europe – watching Arsenal get mauled by Benfica with their bearded centre forward Isaias Tony Daley looking cool in his cycle shorts The whole 94 World Cup being played on 4 Subbuteo pitches in my mates garage in New Brighton The Regatta 3 in 1 coat The wooden board with fans painted on at Highbury when the North Bank was being rebuilt No black fans being painted onto the above The massive track behind the goal at Stamford Bridge with cars parked there Watching teletext for 90 minutes every Saturday The new Park End 1602 am Pleasure Ireland Baker Days off school

Fantasy Football Free ‘Beth Jordache’ demos Mark ‘Drugs mule’ Ward The Word John Menzies and Woolworths being the only music retailers on the high street Adidas Firebird Trakkie Player Sports in Liscard Ocean Colour Scene being the cooler side of Brit-pop Weller re-inventing himself for a new generation And dressing like a twat Foreign Footy Kits in JJB Reebok Classics

TFI Friday – Its your Letters IRA bomb scares in town London, Warrington and Manchester experiencing much more than a ‘scare’ Marseilles dodgy dealings Championship Manager 93-94 Champ Manager Italia ‘Terry Venables Invites you to be..The Manager’.

The shittest board game ever Great Escapes Dogs of War Roberto Baggio Friday with Ice Cube and Chris Tucker Gazzetta Football Italia Jeremy Goss in front of the Kop The Kop – New site for Netto Johnson Out! Bobby Robson’s Barcelona Ronaldo in the 96-97 season Shirts, shoes and trousers only in night clubs Ben Sherman shirts Cypress Hill

The Chelsea letting you in when you were 15 RJ’s Borrussia Dortmund’s 96-97 kit The Anglo-Italian Cup Tucking your trakkies into your Argyle socks Jim Bett and Mark Hateley being the face of Scottish football for Shoot magazine readers The Celtic side with Di Canio and Cadete ‘Free Deidre Raschid’ graffiti Avoiding the Leasowe Estate at all costs Tranmere coming close to reaching the top flight Queuing outside the ground and paying on the gate Big Dunc. Legend Sheff Wed, Coventry and Notts Forest being established top flight clubs Plastic pitches Craig Short v Ronald Koeman Kickers Jumpers

Watching Match of the Day in Slaters Bar before hitting town The tramp on Mathew Street who wore a santa hat and strummed a tennis racket The 3am ‘huey’ bus back through the tunnel on a Saturday night Not losing derbies Alan McKeown

WSAG43

take it / leave it The bit of the mag that resembles one of those poncey Sunday colour supplements

Dutch black away. We’re less keen on the very basic new England kit and Portugal away which looks a bit odd.

More to come? We hope so.

SUIT DENMARK: If you’ve seen our editor selling the mag on the island recently you’ll have seen that big-mad coat he’s been wearing. Straight from the costume department of Where Eagles Dare claim those around him in the Family Enclosure.

It’s actually from Suit Denmark and he swears he’s never had a warmer match-coat.

EURO 2012 KITS: It’s that time, just before a major tournament when all the new international kits come out. You may have us down as non-kit wearing-too-cool-for-school bastards - and we are - but we love new kits.

Germany away (above) is a firm early favourite. Based on the 1972 classic. We also like the

WSAG44

Of course, its no good now that winter turns to spring.

Thankfully, Weavers Door have just taken stock of Suit’s SS12 range which features a really nice Samson Jacket in four colours.

If you buy your WSAG from there, have a look around next time you’re in.

TENNIS - YOUNG AND OLD: Last year we fell in love with

Denver based husband and wife duo, Tennis, and their debut album Cape Dory. The follow-up written in three months and recorded in three weeks has just been released. More great guitars and summery vocals, we are smitten once more.

FIVE MORE ALBUMS TO LOVE 1. Sonik Kicks - Paul Weller 2. ...Here’s Tom With The Weather - Shack 3. What Color Is Love - Terry Callier 4. Unemployed - Alog 5. The Lion’s Roar - First Aid Kit

THREE NIGHTS OUT 1. John Head at the Ruby Lounge in Manchester. (17th March). Tickets £8 in advance available from Ticketline.

2. Pat Nevin’s Box of Tricks featuring The Loud and WSAG pals, Mercury 13. (23rd March). See separate page in

C30C60C90GO Spring Beats

this issue for all the details. Not to missed this one.

3. Sea Of Bees / Stealing Sheep at Leaf Tea Shop on Bold Street. (15th April). A Heavenly Records double bill brought to you by Harvest Sun.

EH MATE, WHERE DID YOU GET Y’TRAINEES: From Size like everyone else. We’re too old really to be wearing pumps all the time but we still hanker after a lovely pair of wheels.

We like the blue Malmo. Very tidy. Looks just like loads of others I’ve bought previously so the wife claims - but hey I know what I like.

And while we’re at it, have you noticed, even youngsters from this fine City are calling them trainers these days. It’s got to stop.

‘CAPITAL’ by JOHN LANCHESTER: I’ve always been a sucker for the big and epic when it comes to films, tv and literature and in addition love anything in the afore mentioned genres that attempt to reflect historical events within their stories. The much hyped (in literary circles) novel ‘Capital’ by John Lanchester therefore seemed right up my street set as it is in 2007/08 as

the financial markets began to implode and people everywhere began to see their lives change.

It’s a story that has a street called Pepys Road in South London as the fulcrum as Lanchester tells the tales of several of the residents and connected individuals with their own personal trials and tribulations as the world changes significantly due to one of capitalism’s cyclical ‘corrections.’ It is an ambitious and engaging novel with interesting (if a little stereo-typical) characters that does capture elements of multi-cultural Britain at a key turning point in history and I do recommend it.

It doesn’t however quite pull off the hype of it being a definitive ‘state of the nation’ novel so I look forward to someone else succeeding with that task. In Cameron’s Britain there is enough material available let’s be honest.

Can't Take My Eyes Off You The Four Seasons Emmylou - First Aid Kit The Reason For Your Smile Jazzateers Sweet Elaine - Josh Rouse Bruised Arcade - The Pale Fountains That Dangerous Age - Paul Weller Searchlight - Mercury 13 Good Technology - Red Guitars Can Your Kisses Fly - The Lotus Eaters A Spectacle - Can Endlessly - John Foxx Jack In The Box - The Moments Tonight - Saint Etienne Rip It Dub (Tricky Trisco Edit) - Orange Juice RollerCoaster - Ariel Substance - Bocca Juniors I Walk The Earth - King Biscuit Time Poi Et Pas (Original) - 69 Atmosphere - Joy Division Be Happy Children - Paul Weller

WSAG168 April / May 2012

“I’d do anything for this team, these fans and this club. It’s an honour to play for Everton.”

Welcome to the latest issue of When

Skies are Grey. Written and

complied over the past month or so

loving care to Herewith wetender go again, WSAG isall in you the Bluenoses out there. area or some other such nonsense.

Since the last issue there’s been loads ups andnew downs.

Butwith we Here’s of something to start decided to concentrate on the covering just some of the things reaction post semi about as that’s shaped we’ve been talking recently... our season. But if you want to feel better, read the Kharkov piece.

Sums up Evertonia us.

How much would perfectly it cost totokeep Landon Donovan? He’s great, isn’t he? The only sadness of him returning that he was never One thing was has been rammed home going the to stay. like weeks, last timethe a over pastButfew short loanofis better nothing at signing SteventhanPienaar is all. becoming more and more of a necessity. We said last time that we Mayberealise in the summer? didn’t how much we missed him until he left. Now we all know for sure. We love the little guy. And We is love pitch-invaders.

God Great if Steven saysWe so. even love crazy political protests. But the fella who handcuffed himself to the post during the Fulham game was all The semi. Jesus wept. What a pointless. And he was a kopite. The happened?

They weren’t even in it. crowd reaction was interesting If it wasn’t for our inbuilt pessimism considering there are those talking no one would have into seen it ground. coming. of bringing protests the As it was Blues everywhere were recalling 1986 and praying that lightning wouldn’t strike twice. It did. thetheproblem.

We’veMaybe fallen inthat’s love with FA Cup Maybe all lack something? all overwe again.

Our cup run has been fantastic. Just what the club needed.

Just what Of course, and naturally, therewe is all needed.

Of has course there’s plenty one man who come under the still to do but it’s great to be inbeen this spotlight.

Moyes has never position and dreaming of what might cavalier. His teams always set out be.defend Revel infirst. it. You may say he’s to negative. But we (when I say we, I mean him and the players) have to Of course that games lot finally to learn to play likemade theseit or Wembley.

It’s maybe a measure of we will never progress. their new status that they had to plan for travelling like it was a crusade to the Holy Land. It’s only in London, And let’s face it we were playing a chaps.

Liverpool team which has Jay Spearing (see in its engine Made it all theleft) funnier when the room.

And loads trains fucked up. of other hanks they’ve spunked millions on. We should have won and I guess that’s what makes it so hard to take.

When are we going to play them not the ‘derby’?

In all this, we must tip our hats to Nikica Jelovic. He is fuckin’ mustard. It’s fair to say there were ow we’ve missed Steven Pienaar. mixed reports coming down from Didn’t fully realise it at the time but Scotland from theon offthe he as soon asbut healmost stepped back has looked a quality buy.

He is the pitch it was clear for all to see. striker we’ve been crying out for andMoyes if he has carries likeplayers this hero As said, on some suit status is guaranteed. some clubs.

Let’s Cool. hope Steven realises that and a permanent move can be arranged.

Cuntwatch. Did you see what Dalglish said about Roy Hodgson?

Great manager blah.

Bet Neville Southall blah has ablah book coming out. anyone saying is goingthat to tell it how it you Ifweren’t when you was its gotaround to be our werethen stalking thefavourite Anfield Binman.

And while these that books can stands telling everyone you’d get over-cautious take tempered his job if itbycame available. lawyers the factGood that he Sneakyarse. tocalled see Mike that Walker ‘one of the Chuckle Brothers’ other phoney Rafa doing the same on Radio Merseyside recently bodes to you. well.

More cuntwatch. Royston Drenthe, Denis Stracqualursi. say it what gives?

We haveCan’t to assume properly. Certainly can’t spell it but that he doesn’t give a fuck. he has played a large part in the Probably never wanted to be here Club’s recent resurgence in the first atplace. shame particularly home.It’sNoa one is because there’s footballer in pretending he’s a agreat footballer there somewhere albeit one who but I’d rather have him playing seems tothan always his cock in upfront that have ponytailed cunt his hand. over there.He won’t be missed when all is said and done.

We’re obsessed And justbecoming as this issue is being with put Kenny’s coat.

No matter the to bed with misery writtenwhat all over weather, he’s there all zipped up in a its face we go to Old Trafford and tight bubble-jacket, sweating his score 4. We didn’t win. But we had bollocks off. Just like last time, if you a go. More so than we’ve done for remember. years there and that’s pleasing.

Just when thought theyou season Where’s Raywe Kirwan when need was over. him?

Finally, hat’s this issue to Finally, off to is thededicated Club for its new policy.

A Alex kids Ennisseason-ticketing (pic with Big Bob) who fiver get inrecently, all next season. has todied aged You 76, can’t knock it. peacefully after a long illness. A lifelong Evertonian and father of a There’s of things the Clubour do family aoflotBlues including better but its only fair that when they Editor, Graham.

WSAG’s get things right give Ennis them condolences gothat to we all the due credit.

Well in. family.

onward evertonians

In the 6 weeks or so since WSAG 167 hit the newsstands, the Toffees continued their revival in the league, reaching the customary top half placing that’s become the norm, and marched on triumphantly to Wembley...

Here’s where the story ends.

It’s approximately 72 hours since the team collapsed in the second half of the semi and feelings are still raw. Yet again when push came to shove, in a big match against our lovely neighbours, we bottled it and like everyone else I’m fuckin sick of it.

It’s one thing getting had off by star struck officials a la the 77 semi and the 84 milk cup final, but somehow it always feels worse when we sign our own death warrant, and like 1986 this one seems all too self inflicted.

I’ve long felt that we as a club, from board members, staff, players and supporters have developed an almighty complex about that shower over the park.

As a supporter of almost 40 years standing, I’ve known nothing, outside of a couple of seasons, but Liverpool dominance, (even when they’re shit, we always have to go one better) and whoever is in charge, and whoever pulls on the royal blue seems to be affected by the same malaise.

Some managers like Howard Kendall have managed to put silver wear on the table, but have still had ropey records against the shite. Joe Royle meanwhile had a great derby record, but never managed to finish above them in the league. This fella meanwhile seems to be terrified by them, and whatever David Moyes has achieved at Goodison, and despite what his detractors would have you believe, it’s a lot, I fear he’ll be forever remembered as being a manager who continually let us down on the big stage.

The main reason why Saturday was so galling was that it was so inevitable, yet so preventable.

Going into the game we were flying, they were all over the place. One of the worst Liverpool teams in living memory, with a third choice goalkeeper and half the backroom fired on the Friday and we allowed ourselves to worry about them instead of seizing the moment.

Liverpool were always going to be up for it and in Gerrard and Suarez they have 2 players who can hurt any team in the world. But at the end of the day, this is not the Liverpool of Souness, Dalglish and Rush. This is the Liverpool of Jordan Henderson and Stuart Downing.

From the off, Everton looked scared of taking the initiative, everything looked like we were waiting to see what they did. Despite all of that we were marginally the better team right up to the fateful 62nd minute when Sylvain Distin got caught in about 6 minds. Not that you’d’ve known it at halftime as in the concourses all that seemed to be talked about was how Liverpool were bound to equalise and how it was all like 1986. In the dressing room meanwhile, Moyes appears to have told the players to “keep it tight”, when really a second goal was what was needed.

The worst thing about the day was how; indeed we all reacted after THAT back pass. The players visibly panicked, Moyes did that shit, never worked yet, Fellaini for Cahill switch, we fans stopped getting behind the team and sat back and waited for the inevitable, whilst Liverpool got on with trying to win the game. Not that they were any good.

In the final analysis, its clear the blame will end up at the door of David Moyes and while he can’t legislate for ridiculous back passes, stupid fouls and shit marking, he can be held accountable for seemingly adopting such a negative outlook for such an important game.

Somewhat understandably, given the imbalance of resources in the Premier league, David Moyes will often highlight the situation, if only to keep expectations in check whenever we’re up against one of the monsters of rock.

However in a one off cuptie, that doesn’t wash and while he was busy telling the world how we were the underdogs against Liverpool, you hoped he’d be saying something else to his players.

That didn’t appear to be the case and once the reds equalised, nobody looked like they believed we could go on and win. Fuck we even ended up making Andy Carroll look good.

That’s what gets everyones goat. Liverpool have infinitely more resources than Everton but they’ve also got a very average team and whilst it’s great beating City, Chelsea and Tottenham, you’ll get no thanks if you keep rolling over against the shite.

Whatever happens now in the dregs of this season, the overriding emotion will be disappointment and nobody would be surprised if David Moyes ups and leaves in the summer. For an increasing number of fans that day won’t come soon enough. However as a confirmed David Moyes fan, I fear that things could get very messy.

Whatever David Moyes’ faults he’s undoubtedly raised expectations and allowed us to compete.

Relegation under Moyes is unthinkable and he has undoubtedly worked wonders in transfer market with the thin end of fuck all. He is however painfully cautious and you do wonder if we’ll ever win a cup under his tutelage. I do believe that in the clubs current financial situation there is no one better to ensure the club continues to do what it’s doing and until there’s movement above nothing will change.

Whatever happens, I’d hate for Moyes to become a hate figure outside of the internet forums? If he does go, it’ll be because he feels he can’t keep turning loaves into fishes and hopefully

then we’ll find that elusive hungry young manager who will take us into the top 4 and win cups with fuck all AND play boss football.

*********************

T

he arguments about who’s got the most local support continue to rage but one thing that is indisputable concerns the makeup of the two clubs respective match going support.

The pain of defeat was somewhat lessened by the fact we hardly saw any reds either en route or on our return from Wembley. Four separate service station stops on the M6 and M1 saw a conservative estimate of 4 Evertonians to every Liverpudlian. Maybe that was just our experience but I’ll wager it was a different story on the M4.

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A

hearty pat on the back once again to the Evertonians who impeccably observed the minutes silence for Hillsborough. It’s indisputable that a lot of people were uneasy about the scheduling of the silence, but once again Blues can be proud that they were able to put differences to one side for a just cause.

Commiserations also to the small group of reds who were quite frankly praying for someone to disrupt the silence so they could point out what bitter scum we all are.

*********************

B

y the way, those Bitter, twisted and proud t-shirts that some blues were wearing, minty as fuck.

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I

’m assured he does do other stuff, but is anybody else getting fuckin pissed off with the so called Walton MP Steve Rotheram. In recent months he’s campaigned on behalf of the Hillsborough families (fair enough), the regeneration of Anfield with particular emphasis on their new proposed stadium, for the family of that red kid who got killed in Walton Vale and yesterday he was raising questions in the house about Virgin trains arrangements on cup final day. Funnily enough I don’t remember seeing his Ed Stewart type grid that much during the whole Luis Suarez racism debacle.

The question needs to be asked, does this fella represent the people of Walton or just Liverpool FC and their fans?

5 Things we learnt from watching Everton since last time....

1. Cautious Moyes A theme of the month has been the caution shown by our manager. After 10 years we should know by now that DM isn’t going to be gung ho and attack teams. Quite the opposite, DM is a reactive tactician (and a very good one at that) who is adept at neutralising opposition dangermen and setting teams up built on shape, containment and an ability to withstand pressure. The Spurs win last month was a classic example with Coleman tracking Bale from one flank to the other and in doing so eliminated the Welshman from the contest - a massive factor in us disrupting Spurs rhythm and taking 3 points. The strategy can be split into two phases, phase one pressing higher upfield looking to force opponents into mistakes and get a goal advantage. Phase two is basically ‘what we have we hold’. There were few people questioning Moyes methods after this game or after similar wins & clean sheets against Chelsea, Man City and Swansea when we had on average just 35% of the ball in each game.

2. Wembley Deconstruction Of course the derby showed the risk to this defensive mindset. The strategy was largely the same but with two key differences. In the above games we were basically faultless with no individual mistakes; at Wembley we gifted 2 goals to the opposition. In the above games and since January in general we have been able to supplement the graft and dogged endeavour with some subtlety to our play provided by either Pienaar, Donovan or Drenthe. At Wembley none were available and we struggled massively to create anything with our goal coming from an up and under followed by a mistake by the odious ‘Carra’. Our attacking options from the flanks on the day consisted of Osman (one assist this season) and the unproven Gueye, with Coleman (two assists in 50 games) as backup. Liverpool had £35m of ‘talent’ on the flanks and could afford to bring on an Argentine international and Bellamy - who instantly created the winner – from the bench.

3. Jelavic Our Croatian striker has been banging in goals ‘for fun’ since his arrival from Ibrox with 6 goals to his credit already. His physique makes him ideal to the play the role of lone striker - he is as adept at winning aerial duels as he is picking up free kicks in dangerous positions. His signature move from the bulk of goals he has plundered thus far is making two runs, one to drag his marker near post and then putting on the brakes and angling his run centrally to meet crosses with a cool slot with his right foot. The recurring issue since Yak’s debut season is that we’ve lacked someone like this to turn effort and hard work into goals. To pick the Croat up for the relatively small fee seems like great business.

4. First half of season syndrome Points wise we are on track to comfortably improve our points tally in the second half of the season from the first half for the 4th season on the spin. Why does this happen? For me there are two key issues: transfer windows (lack of cash) and fitness.

The departture of Gravvesen in the January window in 2005 resultted in our p points tally going down n from 2.1 pe er game pre e Christmass to 1.1 post Christmas s whilst mom mentum wisse the creattive void lefft

by Arteta’s departure on o deadline e day last ye ear was only y reversed with the January win ndow recruitment of Piienaar.

Secondly, the t clubs re eputation iss based on being one of the - if not n the fittest sides in the division d with h Moyes ‘A Army Boot Camp’ and a the infamous ‘H Horse Shoe e’ training se essions. If we w take a lo ook at the data, d the goals we concede c in the last 15 minutes of games over the la ast four seasons go oes down 44% 4 in the second half of the season from the first half. Our superior fitne ess means we were capable c of withstanding w g heavy pressure. A hefty 37% % of our goa als this sea ason have come c in the e last 15 minutes of games which is a leag gue high. Iff you look back b over th he last 4 years we have h outsco ored the opposition by 69 to 36 goals g in the e last 15 minutes of games also o.

The whole dynamic could c of cou urse be ove er emphasiised. Most sides outside the top places are e generally in ately show the picture nconsistent and perhaps splitting the season n in half doe esn’t accura e.

When looking at pointts per game e per month h during the e Moyes re eign, on ave erage Augu ust and Mayy are the join nt worst mo onths in term ms of pointss per game, whilst in November N a and December we pickk up more points p than March and d April. Christmas C te ends to be e when we get our act togetherr, culminating g in Februarry which is the t stand out o month in n the Moyess regime, picking up 1.8 points per game on avverage.

5. Summ mer

Appro oaching

With the se eason draw wing to a clo ose you wo ould imagine e DM and his h army off 200+ scou uts will have e already cra anked up th heir scout report r bookks and targ gets will be e finalised. Pienaar is crucial and d hopefully we w can nab him on a permanent p b basis but th he price wou uld have to be right. Victor V Mosess is a player I’ve felt forr a year or so now wo ould be idea al for us an nd would co ommand les ss wages in n comparison n. Southampton’s Adam m Lallana iss another yo ounger midfielder with a creative spark and a boyhood bllue to boot who would d be a great addition. Ageing A squ uad membe ers Neville and a Cahill – whilst grea at servants to the club – are provviding less and less th hese days a and whilst both will be e retained forr at least one o more ye ear, neither can be ass sured starte ers if we want to kick on next yearr.

Like Mosess, Clint Dem mpsey’s dea al expires next season; the US sta ar basically does what Cahill used d to do but would w appea ar a long sho ot given hiss plethora off suitors.

Read more m http://theexecution nersbong.w wordpress.com

Reg. Charity 1144485

www.theoliverkingfoundation.co.uk

Oliver King attended King David Primary school and started at King David High School in September 2010. He was a keen sportsman who excelled in football, swimming, athletics and many other sports. Oliver passed away suddenly in March 2011, aged 12, from Sudden Arrhythmic Death Syndrome (SADS).

This condition usually affects people between the ages of 12 and 35. The Government recognises that 12 young people each week die from SADS but it is believed that the true figure is around 16‐19 people each week and could be higher as the condition is g p p g often misdiagnosed. The recent events involving Muamba have only served to highlight the importance of bringing this condition into the public eye.

Muamba’s situation has also highlighted the importance of defibrillators. Without a defibrillator on the pitch side, Muamba may not have been so lucky. The Foundation believes that all athletes not just professionals should have access to defibrillators believes that all athletes, not just professionals, should have access to defibrillators when training and competing in their chosen sports.

With these issues in mind, we have set up an e‐petition calling on the Government to help the Foundation achieve it’s 3 main aims: 1. To help raise awareness of the condition as it can be controlled and monitored if 1 To help raise awareness of the condition as it can be controlled and monitored if detected. Raising awareness is of vital importance as young people with the condition do not usually show symptoms.

2. To places defibrillators in all public buildings, including schools and sports centres, and to provide staff with the relevant training.

3. To set up a screening programme, which would allow all young people between 12 and 35 to have their hearts checked through a simple ECG. d h h h h k d h h l In order for this issue to be carried forward to the House of Commons we are required to collect 100,000 signatures. Oliver loved Everton. We are asking you as fellow Evertonians to help us save lives so that something positive can come out of the loss of such a beautiful young man. Please sign the e‐petition: http://epetitions.direct.gov.uk/petitions/29399 You can also find out more about the work we do through our website: www.theoliverkingfoundation.co.uk or follow us on twitter: @TheOKFoundation

Everton & Me In the last issue, Sue Townsend (if that's your real name...) posed the question "What would it be like to support Everton if you were blind?â&#x20AC;?

Some of you may well be aware that Steve Binns, Community Historian and expert on all things Liverpool (of the non-kopite variety) is a fanatical Evertonian. Steve has been blind since birth and has been accompanying my grandad to the match for almost as long as I can remember.

It is worth noting that my grandad is now 82, so they make an interesting pair wandering up Goodison Rd on a match day - Steve has oft been heard to state that it is most definitely a case of 'the blind leading the blind'. Their personal best has been to make it to the ground with only four faults - this was in the days when we used to walk through the cemetery from the Clarence, our pub of choice in years gone by.

After reading the article in the last issue, I asked Steve if he would be interested in sharing some of his experiences as a blind Everton fan: "I went to my first match in September 1962 - a 3-2 win. My dad and my Uncle Joe took me in to the stands in case I got squashed and it was 23 years until I went into the stands again.

My dad was a Blue so anything else for me was out of the question. I have three brothers who all 'went red' but have not been to a match since Harold Wilson was Premier for the first time.

I arrived early in the world in October of 1952 this was the official reason I lost my sight, but the real reason was much more serious; Everton were sixteenth in Division 2. My dad was supposed to commentate for me at the match, but there were three problems with this: he did not know the names of any of the players in the away team, he got too excited when Everton had the ball, and after the first minute he got his pipe going - the old St Bruno, and forgot I was there.

From an early age I simply listened to the sounds around me.

In these days no radio coverage of matches existed, but it didn't matter because I was there. I remember an away match at Molyneux there were four of us and none of us could see.

We didn't actually find out the score until we were leaving the ground.

I carried on going to the game in to the 1970's with my dad, when he said he could no longer cope with Terry Darracott and George Telfer. On the day he took ill for the last time we had a boring 0-0 against Villa and the last thing he said to me was "It's going to be a long season son".

A few years ago I was speaking at a club where nearly all of the people in attendance had lost their sight in later life. At the end of the talk a gentleman stood up and said that he "couldn't see the point of going to a football match if he couldn't see it". I can truthfully say that this has never crossed my mind, but by the tension in the room, it would seem that most of the folks agreed with him. I suggested that having attended many, many home games during my Everton watching career, my blindness was very much an advantage in some instances....

My best ever match was Bayern Munich in 1985, but I have never actually heard the game due to my earphone breaking in the first minute. My worst ever game was Charlton in the Members' Cup - grown men cried that night.

For the last twenty years I have been going to the match with my hero, Billy Green - we are each other's carers. I love the whole day, from sitting in our spec in the Springfield before the game, walking to the ground, the smells of food, the shouts of people selling stuff, to the forty five steps leading to my seat in the Upper Gwladys Street (obstructed view of course).

Everton have given me some of the best and worst days of my life. Out of the worst ten days of my life, LFC have been responsible for nine of them. The tenth? I'll leave that to your imagination".

As an Evertonian, one thing we all need to have is a sense of humour, and Steve is no exception, particularly in light of some of the experiences he has had which are not directly related to the match itself. A few years ago my grandad and Steve were on their way to the ground as normal when my grandad realised he hadn't picked up a copy of When Skies Are Grey on the way. He told Steve to hang fire whilst he doubled back to get it, and managed to catch the sellers before they too made their way to the ground. Aware that time was getting on he made his way back quickly and got to his seat just as Z cars started.

It was at this point that he realised he had left Steve waiting for him on Goodison Rd somewhere...

Nikki Redmond and Steve Binns MBE

NOTHING EVER LASTS FOREVER

So once again against them, when it really counted, we blew it.

There are so many desperately disappointing aspects of the SemiFinal defeat but once again as Evertonians we have to deal with heartache and the torturous thought of if it couldn’t happen last week at Wembley, whether our day ever really will come?

Me, I felt most sorry for the younger brigade of Evertonians who out of anyone really deserved some Everton glory and in particular some high profile success against a Liverpool side who over the last ten years (more later) despite being well below the standard of years gone by, have still beaten us a hell of a lot more than we’ve beaten them. My generation had to live with the LFC of the seventies and early eighties granted but we had the mid eighties glorious Kendall years, just as our fathers had the sixties, whereas anyone under 21 has had jack, being too young to really appreciate the one off joy of ’95.

You could speculate at length about whether psychologically both players and supporters had it in them to see us over the finishing line? That maybe the weight of history and of past disasters bore on us too heavily and faced with the enemy lying metaphorically with jugular exposed we couldn’t go in for the kill? It’s a theory with perhaps a degree of plausibility and could well be true. What I do know as I sat stunned in my seat and looked around when Carroll scored is that for so many it must have been one of their biggest blows following Everton they had experienced, given where we were at half-time and given what was at stake.

And in the aftermath of Saturday afternoon as we tried to make some sense of it all, in pubs and trains and cars, it was I am sure tempting to see no hope, that if we couldn’t do it then we would never do it.

That is perfectly understandable and again logical up to a point.

So near and yet so bloody far once again and in an era where money determines football success so comprehensively then given our paucity of resources, how could we ever hope to get close to that elusive silverware?

For me however there are two factors that gave me comfort in the midst of the agony.

Firstly if anyone studies history of any sort but professional football will do, it is that you cannot predict the future and that often the most unpredictable things end up happening.

If you had told a Man City fan sat with head in hands at Wembley in 1999 as they went behind 2-0 in a first division play-off final to Gillingham that not only would they win and get promoted but in just over ten years they would be the fighting for the Premier League and in the Champions League then they would have had you sectioned. I know money intervened big style but you see the point. Who knows what is round the corner for Everton? Of course yes it could be bad but it could also be good as well.

And that leads to the second point which is all about relativity. If you’d offered me ten years ago in March 2002 as we crashed out to Boro in the Cup Quarter Final with our seventh relegation battle in nine years looming that the next ten years could be the way they have been for Everton then I would have taken it 100%.

Having lived through those years and gone the match home and away expecting in many cases most weeks to get beat but still going cos it is what you do and who you are, the period we have had over the last ten years under David Moyes has been something that I am very grateful for.

Now some supporters including those who seem to frequent internet message boards rather too much would accuse me of accepting second best and of belittling the club’s motto. Fair enough, football is a game of opinions and I think it’s great that people are able to get hold of such quality narcotics to think that given the resources Moyes has had we should be in the Champions League every season and that the club’s motto is a millstone to hang round everyone’s neck despite the periods of lack of success in the club’s history being as plentiful as those with success.

The reality is that David Moyes over the last ten years has given Evertonians their pride back, he has restored us to being a significant competitive presence in the Premier League, he has given us days and nights we will never forget and for that, he will always have my gratitude, derby semifinal defeats or not. The question now however for him and for all of us is; what now?

Having done all of the above and by using money wisely, by motivating the team, by developing a tight team spirit, by making some key individual signings, by employing more modern football science and by being devoted to the job he has got us to where we are now, has he got what it takes mentally to change further and to evolve as a Manager? I wouldn’t begrudge him if he concluded he hadn’t and if despite what I think is his burning desire to win something with Everton; he concluded it just wasn’t going to be.

What I saw in the Sunderland replay however was signs of an Everton team that could evolve and that could get us to where we want to go but I believe for that to be the norm rather than the exception that Moyes himself needs to recognise how he needs to change to make that next step.

Certainly in the semi, a degree of risk taking on the part of the manager be it via substitutions (I’m not talking Seamus Coleman here obviously) or more expansive tactics might have enabled the aforementioned red shite jugular to have been opened up irreparably.

As said whether he can make that change or whether he has the heart for it with Everton now, I don’t know. As for us, well it is a cliché but we just have to keep on keeping on don’t we? We are Evertonians and as gutted and as downhearted as we are, throwing in the towel would make us just like so many fickle football fans and that’s what we are not. As I went to Wembley I was proud of much of our support. I was proud to be an Evertonian as we kept the Hillsborough minute’s silence impeccably and I was proud of the passion and vibrancy of our following. We don’t support Everton FC because we are glory hunters and knowing the reason why so many Liverpool fans started supporting their team and seeing some of them from Northern Ireland, China and the South of England on the way to Wembley comforted me.

As that Kopite Ian Mc sang, ‘nothing lasts forever’ and that applies to bad things as well as good. The foundation of the last ten years is there now and if Moyes after self-reflection, or the club (if he leaves) make the right decisions then there is no reason why this can’t be a prelude to finally getting our hands on some silverware.

And either way, it’s only a bloody game of football after all…..

Kieron

Thank you to everyone who has written things, who have bought mags, or tweeted and liked, or simply offered some words of encouragement.

WSAG is a genuine forum for Evertonians.

We always try to print most of what we get sent. The floor is yours if you want to write something yourself. Loads have in the twenty or so years we’ve been standing on the island.

See you next season

“Hey there Mister Blue...”

Some Moores or less of modern Evertonia: No. 7 (of 14-ish) - Cum on Phil the Noize!

Love a good apoplectic (or is it apocalyptic?) tale, me. Handy in pub quizzes and that, for knowing obscure facts or even for personal safety. Like knowing Bob Holness played sax on Baker Street.

Or never to have a Yucca plant because its spider lays eggs in your ears. Or that "Kidney Thieves" operate in Concert Square (they ply you with Jagerbombs). And that Bryan Hamilton was a medical science breakthrough in 1977 by benefiting from a new hip fashioned from hand tissue. And my alltime fave about Joanna Lumley's...gah, no space! Oh well, on with the yarn about how, after having single-handedly rescued an ailing Littlewoods Organisation in the mid-70s, its lauded “chief exec”, ahem, was duly given his great reward - namely the Everton chairmanship, a role in which he’d obviously repeat his corporate genius to steer the Blues to the top of European footy's elite. *renews legal insurance* • Read any account of how Phil Carter became Everton chairman in 1978, three years after joining the board (as had become commonplace since the late-60s, all it took to become Everton supremo then was to serve a 36-month probation as a director, regardless of whether it should have been already obvious that such a frequent chop-andchange strategy was stymying our development) and it will invariably hint that our current life president did so on the back of executive glory at Littlewoods. So, being an uncynical soul, I won’t dispute it. If it seems like I’m dodging a lawsuit here - honest, it’s not that I’m conscious of not wanting to be the fella that brings WSAG to its knees. No, I’m just genuinely happy to accept such received wisdom. And why not? It’s not like I’m some sort of saddo saddled with an unhealthily absorbed nerd-study of the screamingly dull subject of the corporate fortunes (or otherwise) of one of Liverpool’s foremost 20th century businesses - anecdotes about which I’ve been known to trot out with clarity, despite an eight pint intake, so truly signaling the nadir of my life. No, I’m a fun fella really and not a bit interested in disputing Phil Carter’s exec-prowess at Old Hall Street. He was a genius. Let that stand. But just

one question: when, exactly, did he pull-off this corporate magic - the truth of which has gone unchallenged in casually repeated CVs describing Pip’s pre-Everton history - and all of which hint that he was the obvious saviour-elect to revitalise our mid-70s fortunes, being perfectly-positioned to capitalise on the John Moores “glory years” between 1960 and 77 and so catapult us into the stratosphere? More later. But not that I’m quibbling.

• Laid out in a table, (see left) Everton’s position in terms of the number of trophies won, not the quality - in the 17 years that John Moores was an Everton director might seem decent enough to younger eyes who’ve grown accustomed to seeing us below Liverpool and United and latterly City and Spurs. It might also seem positive that we outranked Arsenal and Chelsea. And at least we’re among the clutch of usual suspects - Leeds apart that are still around the top of the Premier League most years. Furthermore, if you measured those rankings by title wins, rather then by the quantity of trophies won, then we’d be fourth on that list.

These, though, were reckoned as Everton “glory years”, certainly in the first decade of that 17-year stretch. And it can’t be denied that the 60s (along with the late 20s to late 30s, and the mid-80s) must go down as a golden period for the club; and you certainly won’t get me decrying the cherished place that the 63-70 period has in Evertonia - for I was breastfed on all that. But it should have delivered more. And perhaps the “glorious” legacy John Moores left us, when he finally stepped-down after 17years as Everton director in 1977 (including two stints as chairman - 196065 and 1972/3) merits some perspective, especially when measured

against the name that seems to hold a psychological grip over every layer of Everton...Liverpool FC.

• It’s worth bearing in mind that when John Moores took control of Everton, our brethren had been stuck in the Second Division for six years. They’d stay for another two. Fair enough, they’d won as many league titles as Everton by then (five) and indeed more recently (1947) and were “only” behind us in glory terms by our two FA Cups to their none. So when Everton glided to the title in 1962/63, in Moores’ third year on the board and as chairman, in Liverpool’s first season up, we’d had an eight year start on them. Liverpool weren’t yet “Liverpool”. Even Man Utd weren’t yet “Man Utd” (although the Munich disaster had happened pretty recently and, somewhere between that and George Best “being George Best”, the modern Old Trafford phenomenon was born). Arsenal, after decades of prowess, had reacted badly to a judy being on the throne and decided to mourn the old king for near 20 years. So that left Tottenham as the only realistic threat to a John Moores-inspired trophy-hoover at Goodison. And duly, in 63, Everton fought “the mighty Spurs” (two league titles to their name to this day) and smacked them (we’d do it again 22 years later; and again in a glorious FA Cup semi final 12 years after that - in fact, next time Everton threaten to win something I’ll be content to see Spurs facing us - for history suggests only one winner). But then, in 1964, there appeared New Liverpool. What’s to fear?

• By 1955, Evertonians could have been forgiven for thinking that Liverpool had some sort of psychhold over us. We’d lost an FA Cup semi to them in 1950. Then in 1955 they came to Goodison for another FA Cup tie, with us in the first division and them lying 14th in the old second division FOURTEENTH - and they won. Four nil. But by 1963 such fear had surely been slain. Liverpool

had disgraced themselves by spending eight years in their pit and, although now promoted, were in the shadow of Everton’s imperious champions, who were playing in a stadium that was provably regarded as the best English club ground, some 20,000 in capacity above Anfield, and what’s more we were backed by a multi-millionaire.

And, despite Liverpool’s early adrenaline in only their second season back-up, they would obviously be no match for the champions, who would surely reclaim the crown, especially after we’d over-hauled Spurs again and were back on top at the end of March. The outcome was as predictable as a Luis Suarez dive (though I note a few growing winces towards one Nikica Jelavic...). Everton caved to Liverpool when it mattered. Again. That was the 60s cross-park signal to John Moores: game on.

• So Liverpool had caught us up to make it six titles apiece. And, before we next lifted a trophy, in May 1966, they’d claimed two more pots (their first FA Cup in 1965 and their seventh title on April 16th 1966). Yeah, it was hard-lines us losing our most influential player to a career-ending spell in choke for “crimes” committed at another club - but I guess that’s when “yer mega-rich owners” (© 606) come to the rescue • So, after an eight-year head-start, the John Moores-steered Everton saw the serial Second Division languishers of Liverpool catch us up by 1964, overtake us by 1966 in terms of title wins, and then institute a pattern of finishing above us 12 times in the 15 seasons that we competed in the same league whilst the Littlewoods’ king dominated our boardroom. Despite that we leveled the league titles tally in 1970, we barely capitalised on Liverpool’s trophy drought between 1966 and 73. There are countless reasons to be cited as to why. But very few, if any, point to one of the biggest things to influence Everton’s progress: the death of John Moores’ wife in 1965, an event which knocked him sideways. It was a personal tragedy which, as previous issues have microexamined, was not only the singular cause of his first stand-down as chairman (1965 to 72) but also of the club lurching by default into prolonged periods of inertia and then complacency (coupled with a short-sighted economic policy which dictated decisions that the club is still paying dearly for today), punctuated only by Harry Catterick’s sterling efforts between 1968-70 to defy the odds being gradually stacked against him by an increasingly chaotic and myopic Everton boardroom, which was happy to bask in a glory that it shamefully strangled at birth, presumably on

the complacent basis that miracles like 1970 would just keep happening.

• As previously examined, the reasons why Everton were never gonna kick-on from 1970 were set in place years earlier. And if the gloss of 1970 prevented Moores, the directors, the litany of stopgap, directionless and occasionally clueless chairmen, between 1965 and 1978, from recognising the downward trajectory that the club was inexorably fixated on, then the realities, by 1977 and 1978, should surely have been stark enough to have been flashed up on the old Park End scoreboard. When it worked.

• Steered by Moores and an ever-increasing coterie of his Littlewoods buddies - when they weren’t overseeing the beginnings of the demise of a company that had enjoyed unbridled prosperity from 1923-70 (the year when things first went stinky), Everton, by 1977, had fallen three league titles, one European Cup and two UEFA cups behind Liverpool. The “superiority” of having won one more FA Cup was small dignity. The hoodoohangover from that title capitulation to Liverpool in 1964 had continued as we’d lost another two FA Cup semi finals to them (1971 and 77) - in fact we hadn’t even beaten them in any fixture since 1971 - and even though we’d been the only sustained challengers to Derby County’s lame coronation as champions in 1975, we still somehow fashioned a scenario where we eventually finished behind the other shower. And then, finally, after 12 years of merely casting an eye over the club and no more a period of seven different Everton chairmanships, and after his 17 years of sitting on our board in various capacities but always controlling the purse

while we slid further and further behind in Liverpool’s slipstream, and at the grand age of 81, John Moores finally, finally quit Everton’s boardroom. He was also stepping down as Littlewoods’ head-honcho and the synchronicity of both events had as much to do with his age as a confident belief that his company was returning to stability and that he’d finally found a long-term solution to head-up matters at Everton.

• That both Littlewoods and Everton were dangerously linked in Moores’ head is undeniable.

That Everton’s affairs were far too much at the mercy of the fortunes of his business was also irrefutable. And the dominating factor at both ends of Moores’ empire - namely his hideous ego (as previously examined) - was the key to his being perceived to be simultaneously relinquishing the reins at both Old Hall Street and Goodison in 1977. For in each case he merely installed a puppet that he could control, whilst still keeping both organisations (with their respective personnel still crippled by fear of “Mr John”) in his iron, til death I won’t part, grip.

• Everton chairman Philip Carter: 1978-91 (part one). There was just one glitch to John Moores’ “final solution” in finding a long-term successor at Everton. While the anointed son, an undoubted boyhood Evertonian, despite Glaswegian birth, surely wanted the kudos, it’s pretty clear that he also wanted another throne. At Littlewoods. But one into two wouldn’t go for Philip Carter who, aged 50, was in his prime. He’d craved Littlewoods’ chairmanship since his early 30s, was even viewed with jealousy by John Moores’ longtime assumed successor (his eldest son, John Jr) and was the only candidate in the race to succeed the ageing millionaire for years, especially after the old fella shoved his biological heir out of the way, to seemingly create a Carter clearway.

Unfortunately, though, Phil never got that prize - something which has always been coyly circumvented in CVs of Carter casually dotted around - and it’s perhaps the case that, sometime around 1976 and 77, John Moores had already decided that the silver-grey stallion, Phoxy Phil, would fall at the final fence. Just that Moores forgot to tell him - as was his wont.

• Something had to explain the oddly short chairmanship of

Carter’s predecessor, T.H.W. Scott, who, despite his position, was curiously not part of the Mooresn-Carter combined cock-up which saw Bobby Robson slip from Everton’s grasp as we sought a new manager in 1977 (as per previous installments). Scott said he stepped-down to pursue other business. If true, then that’s yet another damning indication of how little commitment the 12-year rolling series of Everton chairmen had in pursuing any sort of focused vision for the club (although it’s fair to exonerate E. Holland Hughes, 1965-67, because death was a decent excuse for stepping down; and also Georgie Watts, 1970-72, on the grounds of sheer incompetence which resulted in him being the only Everton chairman to be publicly sacked). However, if Scott’s “other business” claim was just a facesaver, and really he was only ever a stop-gap chairman (or maybe he, too, was jettisoned by Moores but not as publicly as Watts six years earlier?), then it at least explains his brief stay in the big seat. Either way, not good. Again. But at least Scott would be the last of Everton’s 1965-78 pass-the-parcel chairmen.

• “You should have written a book,” said a mate, about these pieces, once he’d sussed that two seasons’ worth will eventually pan-out at about 40,000 words. “I would, if it wasn’t for the truth that the dust-cover would be stamped ‘straight to Oxfam’”. Because really, this series can only be fanzine feed (though a damn fine one with its silver jubilee coming up next season!), because who really needs to wade through esoteric guff about Littlewoods except for that vexed sub-group of Evertonians (that’s you and me bud!) who keep repeatedly asking, when faced with the mess the club is currently in: “How did we get here?” (watching the days go by)? And, like I’ve been examining since the start of this season, I don’t pretend to have definitive answers - far from it - but I reckon it might just be the case that the roots of our mess stretch back farther than some reckon and that, for far too long, Everton were controlled by an ageing ego-maniac who finally only “let go coz he loved the club” at 97-years of age (and dead), just as the Premier League was getting into gear, thus plunging us into all sorts of chaos at the worst possible time as the original Sky “MoneyExpress” shot through Platform Everton without stopping. That same fella who was never really able to get to grips with the post 1970 (when he was already 74) business era, who arrogantly foisted upon Everton a series of company hirelings who were also equally culpable of still being mentally tuned into the 1950s by the turn of the 1970s, many of whom collectively oversaw the start of Littlewoods’ series of spectacularly missed open goals (not that I’m saying Carter was one of them, like). For example, as per last issue,

Littlewoods, despite decades of having the betting field to themselves as regards the typical family scenario of “well, on Saturday night we used to excitedly gather round the radio or telly to listen to a load of results and numbers, dreaming of a changed life”, then completely missed the screaming-to-be-scored tap-in sitter known as the National Lottery; despite its sheer inevitability being flagged as early as 1934, then 1956, then 1976 and pretty much every year from 1980 to its final “justgerronwithit” launch in 1994 (which would have secured employment for thousands in Liverpool and spared those poor sods who gave the best part of their lives to the Pools - and yeah, were well paid - only to see its fortunes nosedive overnight thanks to cluelessness of the suits in Old Hall Street). Everyone makes mistakes, I guess.

So perhaps Littlewoods deserves recognition for at least seeing some commercial sense - given that it already had several catalogue businesses and loads of high street stores - when it started a new innovation called, drumroll...a “catalogue shop”.

Ace. Unfortunately, by the time Littlewoods got around to it, in 1985, with their Index Stores, its rival, Argos, had been at it since 1973. And guess which one is now defunct? Doh! So let’s see, the mid-70s hey? That would roughly have been around when Phil Carter (who started in 1944 in Littlewoods’ catalogues before switching to its, er, stores side [hmm, so that’s catalogues+stores] and had been a company board director since 1965) was amongst those exec brains working their Old Hall Street magic. But, like I say, who am I to comment? *reconsults legal insurance*

• Just a thought, though, because if Everton were set to reap the benefit of Phil Carter’s visionary genius when he became our chairman in 1978, after apparently working wonders to steer Littlewoods’ listing post-1970 ship just enough to give John Moores the confidence to step-aside, then why didn’t he get the Littlewoods’ chairmanship prize when the old fella left Old Hall Street in 1977? And why do most Carter CVs state that he was Littlewoods’ CEO when no such position existed at the company back then? And why did Phil quit the bizz just a few years later seemingly at the peak of his powers? Odd. Well, perhaps not. For maybe it has to be conceded that John Moores, despite telling his eldest lad to do one, really was a blood-thicker-than-water type after all and would never have considered giving the chairmanship to an outsider, no matter how close Carter was. Because, although Moores’ other lad, Peter, really didn’t want the role, there was some family hope in the shape of his nephew, Nigel. But not only did Nigel Moores suddenly quit the board in late 1976, perhaps putting a spanner into his uncle’s planning, but he then launched himself into his coffin from behind his steering

wheel the following spring. So, with Nigel on a different race-track, maybe the big prize could have fallen into Phil’s lap after all? Except that Peter Moores, probably on a guilt-ticket, then finally came to the family rescue even though he really didn’t want the job. So, instead of getting the big seat, Carter became “managing director” (sic).

And it was obvious within 12 months, by 1978, that he wouldn’t be getting the main throne any time soon. So Phil got the silver medal - Everton’s chairmanship. Better luck with the Littlewoods’ gold next time, Phil. And indeed that “next time” duly arrived three years later when Peter Moores’ obvious reluctance to be Littlewoods chairman was too painfully clear - given that he was never there and the company was back in chaos and John Moores scandalously ridiculed his son in public before shoving him aside. Surely it was Phil’s time now? Er, no. Because the old geezer himself, now 84, gave it another ego-crack. Better luck next time, Phil - still only 53. Still, at least the John-nPhil show was back. For a bit. Until the unfolding of a painful episode that is beautifully painted between the crafty lines of Moores’ official biography.

• Sometime around 1982 it was discovered that Littlewoods’ catalogue figures were down by a few million - y’know nothing big - and the old geezer went ape. Then he spotted that the new catalogue had gone out on a Monday, not a Friday as always, thus losing three lucrative days over the first weekend. Cue the biography describing the meeting between John Moores and Phil Carter at the old man’s gaff: “The impact of a new catalogue is immediate and some of it had been lost, together with the extra business it would have generated. John never missed a detail. After Philip Carter’s departure...” and it didn’t just refer to him reversing his motor down Moores’ driveway. It wasn’t long before Littlewoods’ chairmanship was again up for grabs (go figure) - well, the old timer’s ego was 86 by now - but, sorry Phil, obviously it would go to a family member again. Or perhaps not. Because a complete outsider, called John Clement, arrived from Unigate which meant that Phil, still clinging on as MD, had again been bypassed. But, hey, at least a CBE arrived in the post that same year. Amazing what strings can be pulled to soften career-ending blows. So Moores’ had been disposed to giving the big job to a nonblood all along hey! Just not to Phil. Hard lines, mate. So he quit. And then a final footnote: the new chairman, Clement, hired a big-hitter from Plessey, one Desmond Pitcher. And Pitcher had one demand: he insisted on being called “Chief Executive” not merely “Managing Director”, so a new title was created. Odd that, seeing as though Phil Carter’s CVs all state he’d been Littlewoods’ CEO. Maybe that grand title was retrospectively

applied. Fitting, I guess, given that he indisputably saved the firm. And anyway, what’s in a title?

• So, sorry for that detour into the arcane world of yesteryear Littlewoods’ pantomimes. I just thought that maybe the faithful Blues who read this series might appreciate knowing the extent of the executive prowess we benefited from when Phil Carter took Everton’s chair in 1978; a figure who would not only ensure that John Moores’ bidding as controller of Everton - would be served for a good long while but would also follow in the overachieving footsteps of earlier Littlewoods-cumEverton visionaries. Y’know, like Georgie Watts.

No, John Moores needn’t have feared when he placed Phil in charge. He’d got his man where he wanted for the long haul. His 13-year Everton headache was over. And with the great traditions of the previous 17 Moores-era years to uphold such as completely ceding local superiority to Liverpool and developing a psychological blindspot where they were concerned, oh and remodelling Goodison on a cutprice basis leaving near insurmountable hurdles for future boards to negotiate, oh and announcing through interim puppets that no more would be spent on the stadium anyway, oh and ensuring that Everton remained a conservative stronghold free of new managerial renegades like Brian Clough, oh and screwing up the deal to get Bobby Robson.

Yes, John Moores could feel confident that his legacy would be in safe hands with his genius Littlewoody protege, Phil Carter, in charge.

• But, in the interests of balance, Carter, like Moores, would also preside over an indisputably glorious period at Everton. And, like his mentor’s earlier guardianship, Carter’s Everton reign can be viewed both positively and negatively. But that can wait til August. I need a beach to contemplate yet another great legacy from the Moores directorship years. One that he partly inherited then fashioned into an art-form, before bequeathing to us seemingly for all time. Namely our choking to that lot over there “when it matters”. Consistency, hey?

The greatest Moores legacy of all.

Next time: Can You Phil the Force?

GREG MURPHY

Speke No More 21 years ago a fresh faced young man by the name of John McAllister decided to create an Everton fanzine to sell outside the games when he made his trip over with the Northern Irish Everton Supporters club from The Harbour airport in Belfast to Speke airport in Liverpool.

Two years later he handed over the reins to me and now the journey is about to end. Issue 117 of Speke from the Harbour will be the final issue.

The 90’s were a time when the fans needed a voice and didn’t just want to read the club’s propaganda. Of course Everton already had the by now well established and highly regarded WSAG so was there room for another fanzine?

Well there was only one way to find out. ‘Speke’ took a deliberately different approach to that of WSAG. WSAG was always the cool older brother, discussing music and fashion and tackling some of the real gritty issues like racism full on.

Speke, whilst not exactly glossing over such issues, chose a lighter tone and the writers wrote what they knew about (and anyone who has seen my dress sense would be able to confirm that fact). I always felt that this meant that the two magazines complimented each other. There are Blues who buy both (Some buy all three along with George Orr’s Blueblood) and there are others who just buy one.

It’s never really bothered me or the WSAG lads.

Horses for courses and all that.

Those early days of the mag involved pritt sticks and photocopiers and were a very manual process. Internet and email were still a few years away from being widely used and some of the early issues even had pieces written on typewriters! (Ask you grand-parents kids). As the years passed by the quality of the paper improved, the design improved and we even saw the introduction of colour. The one thing that remained constant however was that it was a platform for all Blues to air their views.

Selling the bloody thing was always a pain in the arse.

From getting mates interested in actually standing outside the ground instead of being in the pub to having to contend with

the elements when actually doing the job was always challenging.

However the banter (I don’t like that word but I can’t think of a better one) with the WSAG boys was always good. In the early days I stood for many years by St. Luke’s alongside Frank who was a grumpy bastard but always made me laugh and the last couple of years I got to hear some cracking stories and jokes of varying quality from Mark when he took over from Frank.

I think that in the early days the question we were most asked when selling outside the ground was “Is that not When Skies are Grey?” which I always struggled to answer.

The correct response is “Yes, it’s not When Skies are Grey” but time is short when you’re on your way into the ground and so sometimes I just answered “No”. I would of course then try to launch into a sales pitch for Speke. I think that I finally realised that we’d arrived when we eventually stopped getting asked that question a couple of years later.

Highlights of the past 21 years of doing the mag other than meeting and getting to know some cracking Blues (And a few knobheads too) have included getting a condescending letter off Bill Kenwright who took umbrage at an article and also getting a chance to chat to players, some of them childhood heroes like Bob Latchford. I would add that the ex pro’s are always a lot more humble and happy to chat than current players but perhaps that’s understandable. We’ve also had a few jollies to London, a trip to Sky Sports and numerous other appearances on TV and radio. We’ve never quite managed to crack the art of getting paid for doing any of this stuff but that’s suited us because it’s never been about the money. Had we put as much effort into something commercial I’m sure we’d have all retired with our riches by now.

We’ve really enjoyed doing Speke over the years and would like to thank all those who have supported us but the world has changed a lot since we started and especially over the last decade. The advent of smart phones, high speed broadband and the thirst to have instant information have seen the popularity of the humble fanzine slip. We’ll probably continue to publish the odd article on our Facebook page and contribute to some of the other Everton websites but the paper copy will sadly bow out after the final game of the season.

I really do hope that the excellent WSAG keeps the flag flying for Everton fanzines in the future.

What’s that expression? - Keep on keepin’ on.

Mark Staniford

DISPLACED CHILDHOOD My story begins last season, the day we visited the Emirates to be precise. Our agreed meeting point was the Jolly Miller so I put in a holiday request for two days off in anticipation of a heavy drinking session. However I was advised that the Wednesday was unavailable even though there was nobody else off which was highly unusual (and significant as it turns out), so I faced the prospect of returning to work tired, hungover, and probably disappointed with the result.

Undeterred, I purchased my obligatory crate of lager and made my way to the pub. Once there I was informed that my cousin had taken the final seat on the minibus, something which, had it been made clear to me earlier would have jeopardised my participation as he can be quite difficult to control, not a great start.

So our journey began but the minibus wasn’t the greatest by any stretch of the imagination and weirdly, the middle seat at the back was actually a toilet meaning that if you needed to use it you would have to piss (hopefully just piss) in front of everyone on the bus with only the toilet seat to protect your modesty from oncoming Eddie Stobarts. Unfortunately, due to alcohol and the drivers reluctance to stop I was forced to be the first to use the 'facilities', not a pleasant experience with fifteen men watching, well not just watching, it was like a scene from the Shawshank redemption, I had to fight for my honour which was quite unnerving!.

As usual we had a great laugh and a good drinking session followed by a defeat (albeit a narrow one) but as we returned to the minibus one of the lads who I didn’t know personally was sat at the back and drunkenly uttered the immortal phrase "I’m not going to lie to you lads, I’ve shit myself a little bit), marvellous. On the upside I managed to keep our kid in check which is quite an achievement.

The journey home was long (and smelly) and any chance of forty winks was scuppered by Phil using his loudhailer to constantly inform us that funky box was open until "7am one pound shots", the pain in the arse. I finally arrived home at 3:30am dreading the thought of work;

little did I know what was to follow.

I walked into work feeling less than 100% to the news that there was to be an important announcement later in the day, and it began to dawn on me that my time there may be about to end and indeed, one of the directors broke the news to us that we were to be displaced (as they put it) as our department was to be outsourced to India. Although there had been rumours flying round for a while for a while, it was still a shock to the system after almost eighteen years of service.

I decided to leave during the first wave of redundancies in the July as we were to receive three months paid 'gardening leave' and I rather fancied the summer off. We were given all the necessary information including our redundancy guide entitled "so you’re getting fucked off?" (well it may as well have been) and on a lovely warm day I bid farewell to my colleagues ready for a new chapter in my life.

My gardening leave was marvellous, I had the best time. For the first two months I was hardly at home, finding various, often drink related activities to keep me occupied including a new found fondness for cricket with Lancashire playing some games in Liverpool. We went to Birkdale first to see the opening day of the game against Nottingham on a glorious summers day, drinking, relaxing and sunbathing. We loved it so much we even went to Colwyn Bay to see the one day game against Glamorgan (with a massive hangover after the QPR debacle) and thoroughly enjoyed it, only just catching the last train home following a rousing chorus of "if you know your history" along the promenade much to the bemusement of late night dog walkers.

We also had a few impromptu farewell parties the highlight being the all day one where people were able to confess their true feelings for each other, good or bad. My Everton mad exiled former colleague and good friend even came back for that one, and, after a few too many, confessed the crush he had on his teamleader, a woman twenty years older whom he had known since his childhood.

Upon learning this she said "but I’ve known you since you were two" "so you’ve seen me naked?" he enquired "no" she confessed, "oh right (long, thoughtful pause followed by) would you like to?"

That was my signal to usher him away, he has been teased about it ever since, much to his embarrassment.

It wasn’t all alcohol related though, I also visited the new museum which was very interesting (especially the WSAG section of course), and I realised that a friend of mine who we formerly named Jurgen due to his resemblance to the former Spurs and Germany star was actually the blonde Ringo Starr (a fact that even he could not deny).

Holidays, day trips, weekends away, I didn’t want it to end but I spent so much money in the first eight weeks or so that, reluctantly, I would have to tighten my belt somewhat.

I would start with small savings, like not giving money to beggars between my mums home and Rocky Lane near where I reside, although one had limited success with me, after I informed him I was not about to give him anything he took mild exception declaring "Ah lad I don’t want any cash an tha" (or words to that effect), "so what do you want" I enquired. He rubbed his tobacco stained stubble thoughtfully as if he was about to give me some sort of quote then declared "ye avent got fourteen pee av yer?” unbelievable. I gave him twenty pence as I am so generous "keep the change you (quite literally) filthy animal" is what I didn’t say as I handed it over.

I was aware that bigger sacrifices would have to be made and I began staying in watching daytime television, which is soul destroying. The final straw came when I started answering the TV back "isn’t it disappointing when you stop noticing your plug in?" the lady on the air freshener advert politely enquired, " oh yeah fucking devastating" I, for some reason, replied.

At that point I stood up, wiped all the crisp crumbs off myself, scrubbed various foodstains from my tracksuit bottoms, got a bath and went online to look, reluctantly, for employment.

As luck would have it I managed to secure new employment straight away so I think I made the correct decision to leave when I did but if I’m not kept on for any reason at least I can have some time off again to watch Lancashire, and, more importantly be free to watch my beloved blues.

Finally, can I just wish my good friend and fellow blue Gary all the very best on the opening of his pub The Old Bank on Aigburth Rd. From Gwladys the statue, to Dixie corner it’s the best Everton pub outside of Walton, call in and say The Man In Black sent you so I get a free pint or two!

FOR AUNT LIZ, ANOTHER BLUE TAKEN AWAY AT A CRIMINALLY YOUNG AGE. The Man In Black

Who Says Your Playing Days Are The Best Days Of Your Career

EL CLASICO

opportunity before married life takes over, so arrangements were made and thanks to the uncertainty of the Department for Education and the disconcertingly vague planning of La Liga games, the only weekend available was the last before the wedding.

Being as it is, the morning of the semi, derbies are obviously on my mind.

When I met Johan Cruyff at the airport I knew it was the right decision.

For a variety of reasons, mainly my getting married last week, I am not at Wembley, but sat here writing and nervously awaiting team news and wishing for all the world I was in the sunshine at the stadium... But, given what I have been up to the last couple of weeks, it will hopefully be a sacrifice worth making.

I first noticed him at the easyjet Speedy Boarding desk and took a quick photo, amazed that nobody else seemed bothered that one of the giants of World Football history was in their presence. After checking in, I thankfully had a copy of Graham Hunter’s excellent Barca on hand for him to sign, I explained that he was one of my heroes and what I was doing that weekend and he politely went on his way and after giving me the autograph, he was on his way. The fact that I then saw him again in the queue for security, on the bus to the plane, on my flight and getting his bags at the airport made the whole experience all the more surreal.

Plenty of others will write about today’s game, I am instead going to concentrate on a foreign issue. By the time you read this we will have had the second La Liga match between Barca and Real Madrid, and know the finalists of the Champions League, which might include at least one of those great opposites. However, my final offering to you for this season at least, focuses on the rivalry between the two cities as well as the football clubs, as I was lucky enough to experience both over the Easter holidays.

As part of my preparations for the wedding I had first planned a weekend away with my best man.

After toying with the intriguing prospect of a PSG match, we settled for Barcelona. I wrote in WSAG years ago about a trip to a friendly game at Camp Nou (Mes Que un Club, in a summer issue from 2006) and had yearned for a return visit to another game. This seemed the last real

This is a guy much revered in these pages for his class and coolness but who also played a huge part in my childhood when I watched film of him doing the turn, scoring the ‘ghost goal’, taking that penalty... I read about him and how he had changed the game and the various escapades during his career... and watched him coach the Barcelona dream team mk I. And here he was turning up on my stag weekend.

The first twenty four hours was a whirl of tapas, brandy, meeting an Evertonian by the 4 gats, performance art at the Fundacio Antoni Tapies, pintxos, Gaudi, and an hour long queue for the tickets for the game. The best man and I then sat outside a bar downing two pint glasses of Estrella having a heart to heart about life and how it was about to change for me (getting married, not just seeing the game) and then the team news filtered through that Messi was playing, something of a surprise given midweek fixtures, which made things even better.

Atletic Bilbao were something of a disappointment given their recent displays against Man United, but Barca themselves did more than enough to warrant the victory, with a great goal by Iniesta and a penalty from Messi plus a disallowed trademark lob and another goal chalked off. I was most impressed by a 100ft high banner praising Messi’s recent achievement

of becoming their all-time top scorer and the performances of Busquets and dare I say it, Mascherano, no longer showing Kopite behaviour but instead, class.

The end of the match when they play that song, El Cant de Barca, was even more memorable, and the fact it was past midnight when we got out of the stadium didn’t matter. It was the perfect experience to end my life as a bachelor.

The rest of the trip involved more beer, good food, a couple of hours in the MACBA after a scary walk through El Born, a Palm Sunday parade featuring a statue of Jesus on his donkey, and a delay coming home due to French air traffic controllers striking, my best man having to wait fourteen hours for his flight home.

Back at the airport I myself walked out of arrivals to see Seamus Coleman sat waiting for some family, quietly reading the Irish Independent and being a very polite young man when I approached him just as I had Cruyff in the same spot a couple of days earlier, to ask for a signature.

Thankfully, those Cruyff to Liverpool as Director of Football rumours seem to have died down today; given the outcome of the match earlier that would have just been too much to take.

So despite being an honorary Antimadridista , a couple of days after our simply perfect wedding day we embarked upon a mini-moon to the capital and I didn’t really know what to expect.

Having been to Barcelona four times and enjoyed such a wonderful experience each time, I was concerned Madrid might not quite have lived up to expectations, but thankfully it did, and then some.

The difference between the two cities is quite clear, but difficult to explain. The nature of their rivalry and the city centres themselves would prompt similarities between Liverpool and Manchester, the lively, bustling, underdog port

and the more money-minded, economic metropolis, though the architecture of Madrid reminded me more of London or Paris.

We discovered on our first evening that it is a beautiful city and the people were wonderful, full of kindness at our news (one bar waitress downed double whiskies with us to celebrate) and a waiter who looked remarkably like Danny DeVito gave me marriage advice (in Spanish so I had no chance of understanding him) before watching an exciting 0-0 draw for Real in a bar where the walls were covered with legs of Serrano ham.

The next day the honeymoon got even better when we went to see Picasso’s Guernica, which brought tears to my eyes, and then the news filtered through that the Blues had got themselves ready for Wembley nicely with a fantastic 4-0 victory against Sunderland. To celebrate we had a fantastic meal at an Argentinian steak house, where you cooked your own steak to your liking.

To follow a family tradition – my dad took my mum to Wembley on their own honeymoon in September 1973 to see England win 7-0 – on our final day I dragged her to the Estadio Santiago Bernabeu. More imposing than Camp Nou, but hidden in a business district on a busy intersection, the tour started in the top corner and the blue of the seats made it feel a bit like home.

The museum was impressive, I was most interested in past idols I have read about such as Di Stefano, Puskas, Butragueno, Hugo Sanchez, rather than the modern day Galacticos, and the access to different areas of the stadium was comprehensive. My favourite bit was probably a display case of twenty or so shirts that had been worn by Maradona, van Basten, Platini, Best and Pele against Madrid, including one from my mate Cruyff, who therefore made it on to both my stag and my honeymoon.

In terms of the cities, they are very difficult to differentiate between; my heart would say Barcelona due to the football but my head Madrid due to the buildings, lifestyle and overall ambience. I would wholeheartedly recommend experiencing both cultures before you make your own mind up.

very little about Franco, have half read Homage to Catalonia and watched Pan’s Labyrinth a few years ago, so only have a basic understanding of the civil war in the Land of the Rabbits. I do know the basics about Sunyol (Barca president) being killed in 1936, di Stefano’s transfer and Figo’s pig’s head too, but I want to find out a lot more. Still, I already recognise that Catalunya versus Castilla holds much more importance than a United Liverpool game or Rangers Celtic, and is certainly a more enticing proposition than another disappointing Merseyside derby defeat at the moment.

Of course, be careful if you do – I have heard lots of bad stories about the Ramblas and certainly felt much safer in Madrid, regardless of recent riots in both cities that went largely unreported over here, presumably due to fears of repercussions. The fact is that in Spain currently Alfonso Albeniz there are more than 5 million unemployed, including half of the 16 to 24 year olds, and there are plenty of beggars on the streets but it didn’t seem to have affected the happiness of the people we met in either city.

As we approach the end of the season, we always Madrilenos seem a bit more open start thinking about our subscriptions for next season. minded, though, perhaps because We had hoped to keep our subs rates at the same “Barcelona is not a small city by any level as 2012/13 but the scale of the price rise in measurement, but Madrid remains postage rates means we can’t long term - especially the heart of Spain”.

WSAGsubs

for those sent abroad.

However, in terms of stadia, overall there was a ‘cool’ness about the Real experience which made it less special than the Barcelona visit, but that is probably also partly down to my affection for the Blaugrana. And therefore I will obviously be hoping that Barca overcome the current leaders in upcoming games.

Sky’s coverage, the global support for both clubs and their joint domination of the league and Champions’ league mean that every game between the two is surrounded by hyperbole. But, who wins really is a big deal to Spain, especially when you are made aware of the political links which underpin the two. I know

So our rates are: uk : £20.50 europe: £29.50 rest of the world: £37.10 The rises only cover the increase in postage. There is no increase for WSAG. You can order through our online shop www.freewebstore.org/wsag All transactions are done through paypal and are secure. Or the good old fashioned way by sending a cheque or postal order to WSAG, PO Box 135, 12 Liverpool, L9 7WP Any queries please email us at whenskiesaregrey@btinternet.com

Monday has come around again, I see the same old faces, the same old places, Always watching me........

1) Bill Kenwright.

I sat at home on Monday evening, April 16th, chilling after surviving the day in work. This Monday had been the day from hell. The pain from the Wembley debacle was still very raw and my loveable Red colleagues, who had been nowhere near Wembley at the weekend, had turned the knife at every single opportunity. Still, I was safe now, in my own little haven at home, or so I thought. I turned the TV on and then up pops old Billy Liar on Corrie. I sunk down into the chair cringing like I'd never cringed before. Just like after the semi final on Saturday my phone suddenly became red hot.

Humiliating, piss taking texts flying in from kopites everywhere, further adding to my aching depression.

Kenwright is making a laughing stock of us all over again I raged. His timing is just impeccable. I turned my phone off and went out for a walk, hating Kenwright just that little bit more with each passing footstep.

The man is a loyal Evertonian, I'm not doubting that.

However, he is totally out of his depth in trying to run OUR club (not his). I haven't attended any of the AGM's but my fellow Blues who have attended in the past have told me that his behaviour at these forums borders on arrogance in the extreme. He refuses to answer the 'difficult' questions, fails to admit his mistakes and hides behind the various 'names' he classes as Investors.

The Kings Dock, Kirkby, NTL Deal, Rooney Sale, Fortress Fund, Investors lying in wait in Manchester bedsits... the list of fiascos is endless. Why has nobody bought Everton?

I'm not looking for us to become the next Man City, just for some transparency around the strategic direction that the club is heading. Is it for sale? Do we have a strategy? Is Kenwright wanting to stay at the helm of the club, sale or not? For me, the man has to go NOW before he kills this club. Go and have a pint in the Rovers Bill, and a plate of Betty's hotpot. You kid yourself that most Evertonians are behind you and that it is only splinter groups such as the Blue Union who are against. Smell the coffee - apathy is spreading through our football club like a raging cancer. Season ticket sales will be down further next year. Properly ran clubs such as the mighty Stoke and trophy laden Sunderland are overtaking us. This is happening before our very eyes, and Kenwright is doing nothing to stop the demise.

2) David Moyes To describe David Moyes as a Devil is harsh, I admit. Back in March 2002, I was at the Riverside watching Paul Ince dance in front of us as Boro had just gone 3-0 up in the 1st half of the quarter final of the FA Cup. Gascoigne was running round like a headless chicken, crying his eyes out, chin(s) on his chest like a sulking school kid. That was a bad, bad day but at least proved to be a bit of a watershed. Kenwright finally acted, got shut of Smith, Knox and his baseball bat and a few days later brought in this young, ambitious, hungry young Scot called David Moyes.

I hadn't heard much about Moyes, except he was a bit of a disciplinarian who wouldn't take any crap. He also

The Devils in the Royal Blue Sea made all the right noises, the peoples club etc and Evertonians took to him straight away. Out went Gazza's / Ginola's etc and Moyes began to mould own young team, a breath of fresh air compared to dullard that was Walter 'disappointing' Smith.

the the his the

Fast forward back to today and what have we got to show for it? I was too young for Rotterdam so Yes, Moyes helped me realise my ambition to watch Everton in Europe. The memories of Nuremburg and Villareal will live with me forever. I got to an FA Cup final and saw us get beat by Chelsea. What else? NOTHING. I don't want to look back in a further 10 years and say exactly the same thing.

I'm sick of us playing against the top sides and getting spanked, beaten before we start. At half time at Wembley, we were 1-0 up and had nothing to beat. In the 2nd half, the team came out petrified. Why? Moyes will never be able to take us to the next level because he can't grow a pair of balls.

We sat back 2nd half and the inevitable happened, we surrendered like meek little lambs. The crowd could sense it. You could feel the tension in the Everton end, even when we were a goal up. Some of his tactics border on the insane. Swapping Cahill and Fellaini?

Moyes bottled it and the team froze.

Yes, he has done OK within his budget. He's not shy of telling us either that he has no money. His body language stinks at times when things don't go his way.

I'm sick and tired of getting patronised by other clubs/fans, little old Everton punching above their weight. This stems from Moyes and Kenwright who continually put us down.

We're one of the most famous, biggest clubs in England, founder members of the football league, yet Moyes and Kenwright act like we shouldn't even be in the top flight.

Moyes needs to be moved on, or as most likely, move on himself. People always counter this by asking who can replace Moyes and he is the best we can get. No he isn't. Look about 30 mins down the road. There is a young Spaniard at Wigan who is doing wonders down there. He doesn't hide behind having no money. He tells it how it is. He fires his teams up and amazingly has the temerity to get results against the top 4, even away from home, playing some excellent football! Let's give Martinez the stage he deserves. Forget the likes of Lambert, Brendan Rogers, Mark 'integrity' Hughes and co., Martinez has worked miracles for a few years now.

I want better for our club. Saturday afternoon's at Shopping centres or DIY stores ain't for me. Everton is my true passion in life and what my weekend is all about. We had a taste of glory in the 80s and we can get it/need it again. It's time for change at this club. The demise must stop.

Phil Lynch

HAVE YOU GOT A LITTLE PRESENT FOR ME? With the 2012 European Championship due to be held Poland and The Ukraine in the summer, we thought now would be a good time to relate the tale of when four Evertonians made the trip to the north east of The Ukraine in Oct 2007.

It’s Friday 31st August 2007 and I’m driving home to watch the Europa League qualifying round draw, grinning like someone who shouldn’t be allowed out alone, never mind gettin behind the wheel of a car.

But I didn’t care what I looked like, because my team, Everton, were in the bag after finishing sixth last season. I knew the route home off by heart and after about 20 seconds started daydreaming of all the exotic European cities that awaited us. Was it to be a sunny one? Spain or Italy or the culture of Bratislava, or even a good old favourite in Holland or Germany. My head was that far up in the clouds, I didn’t realize I was late gettin out the car, when my dreams were cruelly shattered by me lad. ”Dad, we’ve drew some team from The Ukraine” he shouted from the front door. Fuckin typical I thought as I shut the car door, went into the house and switched on the computer. Over the next four days I was stuck in the pc chair tryin to suss out how the fuck we were gonna get there.

Being a bit of a geek, I’d made a list of potential opponents into categories that ranged from easy (Belgium, Holland, etc) not bad (Poland, Czech, Slovakia)and fuckin nightmare (anywhere east of Warsaw). I knew before I looked that. Metalist Kharkov was in the last cat and I wasn’t let down. Kharkov was 300 miles east of Kiev and about 400 miles south of Moscow. I knew early on that this wasn’t goin to be a doddle to sort out. The only good news was we were away for the second leg which gave us a bit more time. I spent so much time trawling the internet for

flights, hotels, ground capacity etc that by Monday night I had bed sores on my arse.

Ideally, there would be four of us goin, flyin out Weds morn and return Fri night, but after a few phone calls and texts to the team, only three were up for it, all of us in our mid forties. I’ve known Allmo and Marcus for more than 25 years and we’ve been to zillions of away grounds together and even the odd European jaunt. They are both good, solid dependable mates with a common love of the Blues, but with completely different personalities. Marcus is a quietish lad who gets louder the more he drinks, but because he’s also our undisputed top bevvier, it takes up to seven pints before he topples off the fence and gives his true opinion on things. Allmo is one of them lads, who if you didn’t know him, you would think was a right loon, but you’d only be half right. When he’s sober, he’s funny and acts up to his loon image, gettin more raucous till he reaches his peak roundabout 8 pints and then goes all sensible and paranoid with us. If you ever see them out on a session together, try and catch the middle two hours when they are both at their opta index best, and I can guarantee you a giggle.

We were still struggling to find someone to make up the four ball when my godson phoned me and said his mate Craig fancied it and could he go with us. He was only 26 and a foreign trip was virgin territory for him. We had met him before and he seemed a good lad, but might need a bit of looking after, so we decided to give him the green light and started to plan the escapade.

The obvious route was through Kiev, but once there, it either a 6 hour train journey or 300 miles by a dodgy road and I did not fancy any of them. Looking at the other options, the only direct flight from western Europe was thru Vienna with Air Austria at £450, so that was a no no for a start. Moscow was coming up cheaper than Kiev, so we booked with Air Brussels from

Brum via Belgium. Leaving Wed 06-00, returning Fri 20-00.

day of the game, cos they weren’t sure what time they were chugging into town.

That was the easy bit sorted. Trying to find a flight from Moscow to Kharkov was the nightmare. The only one I could find with decent times and no frills prices were on an American website.

We set off on the Wednesday morning about 2 o’clock aiming to be parked up before 4. The lads had a couple of beers on the cruise down the M6 and I made do with a flask of tea and a few joints. We arrived on time and confidently made our way to the departures area. But that confidence soon drained out of us when we looked at the screen and saw that our flight had been cancelled. This had never happened to us before and although our arses were going, we tried to stay positive. The next Brussels flight was an hour later, so we went over to that check-in desk, and told the girl our situation. She checked her list for our names, and when she told us we weren’t on that one either, we all went the colour of boiled shite. She tried to calm us down by telling us that it was because of connection problems, and they would explain at the enquiry counter. And she was spot on; we were flying with Swiss Air through Zurich. We were due to land in Domo about 2 hours later, this actually worked in our favour, turning 7 hours in Moscow into 5. After a collective “thank fuck for that “we went in search of some brekky.

Because they did not issue E tickets and they only recognised zip codes, I would struggle to give them a delivery address. So I decided that it would be easier to phone them up, and got their number from the internet. The woman was amazed and thought that we should have been sectioned when I explained everything, but she was really friendly and helpful, and promised me that I would receive the tickets within the week.

Next step was to find a des res for a couple of nights.

According to Wikipedia, Kharkov was the 2nd biggest city after Kiev with a population of about 1,500,000. Located in the north east it had a long industrial history, specialising in machinery, but not much history in building hotels. I had looked on a few sites and sent out 3 or 4 e-mails, but had still not found anywhere 3 or 4 days after the draw was made. It was looking a bit dodge, until the Tuesday morning, when surprisingly I got 2 e-mails offering me 2 rooms because of a cancelation, and after a quick browse snapped I up what I thought was a good deal. We all had a little chuckle a few days later when we found out blue kipper had jibbed their 2 night jaunt and were just doing a day return, and we had ended up getting their beds.

Now that our kip was sorted I could relax and look forward to going. I was feeling quite chuffed with myself for getting it at a decent price as well... But not for long.

I was out having a bevy, boring a few non goers with details of our adventure when one of them mentioned that Moscow had 3 major airports, and added that if we weren’t flying in and out of the same one we would need a visa. I knew instinctively that we would be lashing out £50 each to the embassy and I was right. We were flying into Domodedovo and flying out of Vnukovo. They were a similar distance apart as Heathrow and Gatwick so we would have to add a taxi ride to our itinerary. We sent our passports and details of travel and accommodation to London and got them back about a week later with nice shiny visas inside. The post from Atlanta had arrived as promised so we were ready to rock and roll.

I’d heard from an old mate, Dicko, and him and Mark from Kirkdale and a few other veterans were flying to Kiev and hiring a car for the 300 mile trek on a road that had a surface that was similar to the moon. We agreed to meet on the

It was while we were having a bacon butty and a few pints that Craig committed a crime that will haunt him for the rest of his life, he opened his bag, and proudly took out his face painting kit.

Us 3 oldies almost choked on our Danish and gave him the sort of look that said “I don’t think so lad.”

When Marcus muttered something about juggling balls and jester hats, poor Craig looked like a shoplifter, who had been caught with some sausages hidden under his coat. For fucks sake, this lad wasn’t just wet behind the ears he had a full waterfall cascading down on him. After an awkward silence we must have started to feel a bit sorry for him, and convinced him with the old chestnut ‘what happens on tour stays on tour’.

Knowing quite well all 3 of us were lying like fuck, and couldn’t wait to tell the lads when we met them. He took the hint, and by the time we boarded the flight, the brush set was hidden away amongst his socks and undies.

We had an hour in Zurich to get from one terminal to another, and as it wasn’t far, the connection went well and we landed in Moscow about 3:30 local time. Because we had hand luggage only it was straight into the chaos that was passport control, it was just a free for all and we had to fight our way forward to flash them our shiny new visas. Once through, we made our way up the steps to the main concourse. On the walls, both sides, there were signs warning about dodgy taxi drivers and no go areas. And at the top, various spivs were hanging over the wall, looking to trouser a rouble or two from gullible tourists. It was quite scary, and we quickly

realised that we’d have to be on our toes from now on. We edged over to the official taxi desk, paid our fare, and were introduced to our driver for the 35 min drive.

It’s quite well known that a London cabbie once won Mastermind but we didn’t get the Moscow equivalent. In fact, he was nothing like the friendly, witty and caring drivers we are used to back home. He was more like the strong, silent type, and didn’t look in the mood for small talk.

Even though we were in a newish saloon, there was a mad variety of vehicles and it was just like the Wacky Races, in fact I’m sure we overtook Rufus Roughcut and The Mad Professor on the way. The route was similar to the M25 and did not give a good first impression of Moscow. The journey was lined with high walls and tenement blocks, and with the weather being a bit grim, didn’t make the city very appealing. Our chauffer was true to his image, and didn’t even blink, never mind speak as he weaved his way through the traffic.

I’m sure you’ve twigged by now, that I do like a smoke or two, and when following the lads in Europe, always stick with the same method to sneak a little chunk through with me. I tuck it in the waistband of my boxies, thinking that if I see dogs or trouble in front of me, I can easily sling it. Today had been the same as usual but in Vnukovo I got caught out, and before I knew it, I was standing in a glass cylindrical cubicle with foot signs about 18 inches apart.

As I parted my trainees I thought about the consequences of getting caught, I’d seen Midnight Express and didn’t fancy being a kitchen bitch in eastern block nick. With a quick shuzz one section swished round in front of me and then back again, taking what I thought was some kind of x-ray. I was just stood waiting for the alarms to go crazy, and at that point I was touching cloth and could almost smell the Fairy Liquid. But amazingly, when the door opened, there were no bells, and I strolled straight to the bar for a much needed lotion. I didn’t know what they were lookin for, but thank fuck it wasn’t my gear.

After a few pints we were ready for the 70 mins flight to The Ukraine. Luckily, none of us knew the crash history of the former Soviet Airlines, because it wasn’t too clever. Allmo is a bit of a drama queen when it comes to flyin and he first started gettin worried when they handed us goggles and a bomber jacket at the boarding gate. Then he saw what we were flyin in and his arse really went. It was a nasty green colour with twin props, and looked like an aircraft that B.A. would have part-exed about twenty years ago.

Vnukovo was a smallish airport, undergoing modernisation and was about 80% finished. We checked in, and made our way to passport control. Us old arses breezed through, but the woman checking Craig’s didn’t look convinced by his photo, and started shaking her head and stroking her hairy chin. She turned round to ask her colleague, and she did exactly the same. The first one picked up a handset, and 30 seconds later a figure looking like a henchman from the latest Bond movie came out of his office. He had one eye in the middle of his head, and you just knew his name was Boris or Egor. He had a quick word with the women and came over to us, we half expected him to say ‘ah, Mr Buchanan we’ve been expecting you’, but he just motioned Craig to follow him back through the door. ’Fuckin hell lads there not gonna let me fly’ he wailed at us.

We told him to keep cool and he’d be ok, and after what seemed ages (probably about ten mins) he came out with his thumbs up. For the second time that day we had a collective ‘thank fuck for that’ and headed to security.

We had to drag him kicking and screaming across the tarmac to get him up the steps. Inside was no better, having cheap fittings and the very basic seats. It was about half full with roughly 25 people on board and I don’t think Allmo was the only one feelin a bit iffy .But, just over an hour later, after a few scares and a couple of wines we landed safely. The crew had been dead friendly with us, and just left the bottles of wine with us and we took full advantage. When we were gettin off they gave us all genuine handshakes and wished us well in their country. It was the first time any of us had met any Ukrainian girls and they were pretty sociable. If they were typical Kharkov girls we would have plenty of dreamboats to drool over in the next few days.

Outside, we were shocked at how warm it was and made our way to what looked like a glorified church hall. This turned out to be the terminal, but not quite what we were used to. There was no car hire or duty free, not even a Maccie d’s or Burger King, Just a vending machine. The security gate was a wooden table, and we plonked our bags down ready for inspection.

There were two officials, and the elder spoke a small amount of English. He was most definitely

from the old school, with his perfectly fitting peak cap covering his silver thatch. He told us he was head honcho on the airport night shift and if we needed help with anything, we should see him.

We then had to fill in a declaration form before he let us through.

It was weirdly quiet outside, with no buses or taxis and no sign of life at all, so we asked the fella inside to order us a cab. In less than ten minutes a ramshackle of a taxi turned up, and after showing the driver the address on the email, we were on route to our penthouse. He was a bit younger and more socialable than his Moscow counterpart and when he realised we were English his eyes literally rolled around like in the cartoons, and came to a stop at the dollar signs By using universal sign language, (lifting our bags up and down, and doin that walking thingy with our fingers), we arranged with him to wait for us while we checked in. I’d only seen a few grainy photos on the net, so we were not sure what our gaff would be like, but stepping out of the car, it looked decent. The hotel was set on the side of a lake and didn’t appear too bad in the moonlight. The lady on reception was about ninety and didn’t speak any English, but we managed to book in and get the keys off her without any grief. Our rooms were pretty bland but warm and clean. You wouldn’t take your bird there, but it was good enough for us.

After a quick suss of the place we were ready to savor our first night of the Kharkov nightlife.

Our first priorities heading into town was to change our dollars into the local mullah and then chill out and relax with a few beers. The bureau de change was more like a small amusement arcade, with a row of slot machines and a small counter. We met two blues inside and compared journeys and where we were stayin an all that palaver. Incredibly, they told us they were goin to bed cause they’d had a long day. We had only been travelling for almost 18 hours, but havin a kip was the last thing on our minds. Even though we were in the city it was still sleepy and most places had locked up for the night, but we were determined to have a drink.

Before we’d left, I’d got the names of two clubs off the net, and asked the driver to take us to the nearest one. We gave him the equivalent of about five weeks pay and went up the steps to the entrance. We paid about two quid to get in, and were asked by the bouncers to take our coats off. It had a typical western decor, with a bowling alley and casino downstairs, and bar with dance floor upstairs. There was a few in for a Wed night, and it looked the kind of place that

would be bouncing at the weekend. It’s always great to have your first bevy when you’re sorted, and with draught Stella at 80p a pint, it tasted fantastic. A couple of blues came up the stairs (you could just tell they were scousers) and joined us at the bar. They had a pint with us then said they were off downstairs for a dabble on the tables. Twenty minutes later they were back up, telling us they’d won and fired in a round of flaming tequilas. This night was getting better every minute, especially when a group of 3 lads and two girls came in and were yappin in English.

It turned out they were part of the flight crew that had flown the team out. When the lads came back up we all sat together in a big group and carried on partyin. Craig seemed to be doin alright with the younger of the hostesses, who was quite tasty, but I think he had competition from the pilot. Every time he made a move on her, she would be gettin daggers off her boss.

Anyway, we had a boss night, and stumbled into a taxi about four.

Next morning, there was a young, good lookin girl on reception who spoke fluent English and she sorted us a taxi to have a mooch at the ground. Kharkov had been chosen as a venue for the Euro 2012 championship, and the stadium was brand new. It was about ¾ finished and was looking very impressive with a modern oval style and would hold 38,000 when completed. We had about 800 comin over and after clocking our seats we sloped into town to change money and get a munch.

Although the majority of the city was characterless, there was a hub in the centre with a few shops, supermarkets, and eateries. There were a couple of blues knocking about as well.

We dived in a place selling potato wedges, burgers etc. It was dinnertime and there were plenty of office types in. A lot of them were wearing what me and my mates call ‘fuck me boots’ (the ones that go over the knee) and looked very feminine. We didn’t see any lard arses in trackie bottoms or saggy jeans. But as were the first western team in 22 years to visit, they viewed us with suspicion rather than fondness.

As we finished our scoff, we were gettin texts from Dicko and the lads and arranged to meet them in the bar they were in. There were five of them, and they’d flown to Kiev and then hired a car. They were due out of Kiev at 09-00 next morning, so one poor bastard would have to drive virtually straight after the game. They had arrived the same time as we had, and went to the other of the two clubs and had a good night as well.

We had a couple of beers and a smoke sitting outside in the sun. It was only the second joint we’d had since landing, and as there was no chance of scoring any, I’d had to ration it. An Australian bloke sitting nearby smelt it and came over. He was well sound after we gave him a toke, and told us that there was not many bars in town open after the game. But he did give us the name and address of a lap dancing club.

Then we moved down to the main square, where the majority of blues were congregated. It looked like some kind of marquee’s had been put up filled with long tables and bench seats. Lots of banners were tied between the trees that lined the walkway. There was a tidy size mob and they were goin through the motions of ‘and we love our tricky Trev’. A line of bizzies were standing away from us, but not in a threatening way and there was a friendly atmosphere. We stayed at the edge, alongside a row of huts selling ciggies and bottles of beer. There were nine of us in the round, but as the beer was only 30p a bottle, even the mingebags amongst us didn’t mind gettin the ale in. The locals were walking up and down; viewing us like The Freak Show had arrived in town. We stayed put till an hour before the game, then jumped on the tube for the two stops to the ground. Just enough time for a beer and the second last bifter of the trip.

Not many of us fancied our chances of gettin through after the first leg ended 1-1. It was virtually full inside with a lively crowd, especially when they scored early on. We came under the

cosh for most of the half, and were lucky to reach the interval still only one down. At half time we were hoping that the lads would at least give it a go after the break, 7 out of the 9 of us had been in Bucharest and we all know what fuckin happened there. Early in the second half Lescott scored, but before we had time to celebrate, they quickly made it 2-1.They battered us for a while, but we managed to hang in there.

Another goal would see us in the draw, so when McFadden popped in a 20 yarder we went berserk. In the last few minutes, after some serious nail biting moments, Anichebe got the ball in their half on the break. He beat three defenders, went round the keeper, beat the same three players again before poking the ball in the bottom corner. That was the cue for absolute bedlam in the away section. It felt that good. I’m sure if I had the room, I could have done the Lua Lua for about a mile. Two mins later, the final whistle went and it was dead emotional when the players came over to celebrate with us. We were in the bag for Friday’s draw and made the trip worth it..

Outside, we gave big hugs to the lads as they went in search of their car ready for the drive to Kiev. We walked past the coaches and towards the city. Either side of us, lads were hanging over the barriers and it was startin to feel a bit moody, we were advised by the stewards to go back. We didn’t really have many options so we blagged our way onto the blue kipper bus and ended up at the airport. On the coach me and Marcus were talking about how many lads out of the 50 odd were goin straight to work in the mornin. We reckoned there would be about ten of the poor bustards’ now because of circumstances beyond their control, that some fans can only go on a fly in, fly out trip, but it would have to be absolute last chance saloon for me to travel sensibly. Goin that way, the game is the highlight of the trip, travelling our way, the match is a pain in the arse, and interrupts a good two days on the lash. At the airport, we sat off out the way, and used up the last of the rocky while we waited for the day trippers to board their flights. The same official as the night before sorted us a taxi and asked us when we were goin home, he said he would see us before the end of his nightshift when we told him. The only addresses we could tell the driver for definite was the lappy bar or our hotel, so after a quick democratic vote (4-0) we were on route to club’GETYOURKITOV’.

It wasn’t long before we parked up outside the Kharkov equivalent of Peter Stringyfella’s. And it looked exactly like you would expect it to, with the word ‘SEEDY’ spelt out in pink neon above the doorway. We paid the driver and bimbled down the stairs to celebrate our win. Inside, it was small with a low ceiling and dim lights. In the corner was a tiny bar and opposite, through curtains, a stage the size of a matchbox. A few

punters were already gettin fleeced. Universally, the same script applies at these bars, and here they followed the usual routine. The girls bounce on stage wearing a flimsy top and a mini skirt and strip down to their g-string. Then try and entice you to pay extra for a one on one session which tonight cost 40 dollars. Even though these cuties were gyrating right in front of our gawping faces, we managed to give the first three girls a clean sweep of nervous no’s .But then, (and this won’t come as a surprise) Craig’s will power collapsed when he was seduced by a naughty blonde with just a peach coloured triangle covering her Ukrainian growler. She led him off to the ‘private area’ and he followed her looking like an extra in a zombie film. While he was away getting entertained, us three were convinced that something would go wrong, so when he came out 15 mins later with a big grin on his face we were a bit relieved. Back at the table he gave us all the gory details and we watched a few more girls. Then the blonde re-appeared and took Craig to the bar area. We had been right, something had gone wrong, and when he hadn’t returned after 20 mins we started gettin edgy. All three of us were old and wise enough to know about the ‘doormen’ from the Soho strip clubs, enticing tourists into their clubs by offering them a great deal. But that small entrance fee miraculously turns into about £300 to get out.

And if you ain't got the coin, they kick the shit out you. We might even have ended up in the foundations of the last quarter of the new ground. Craig was learnin another lesson the hard way, so when he did eventually return, and slip sheepishly into his seat, we made sure he had all of his fingers and thumbs. She had told him he’d had one song too many, and they wanted another 40. He only had 20, so they checked his pockets, found his cash card, and marched him to a hole in the wall down the road.

His card was refused but they still wanted the dough, so Marcus had to strip a 20 dollar note out of his clothing to get us out of the shit. We had seen all of the girls by now, and the staff were smiling at us again, so we decided it was the time to make a move back to our gaff. We smuggled our way to the exit and up the stairs to the freedom of the high street and flagged down a passing cab.

There was still about a dozen blues back in the hotel bar, and we decided to have one more drink with them before gettin off for our 07-00 flight.

They were on the train to Kiev the next day. We wished then a good trip and asked the girl on reception to order us a cab. Apart from being dead fit, she had been really helpful, so we pooled our local money to give her a tip, I handed her the notes, but kept hold of the coins for coffee’s later. She ended

up with about £20, and was made up. I had just under a fiver in slummy.

At the airport, it was dead we were that just slumped into the first chairs we seen. After what seemed like about an hour’s kip, we were awoken by our ‘friend’ from the previous nights.

He walked us from the back of the queue to the front, ’this bloke is too good to true’, I thought as he beckoned me into his office. We sat down at the desk and he asked me for my passport, so I handed it to him. He opened it, and said ‘congratulations on your win last night Philip and I hope you enjoyed your time in Kharkov’. Then, leaning across the desk, he added quietly ‘have you got a little present for me’. I was a bit stunned and not sure what he meant, but delved into my jeans and pulled out the coins. He reached over, took the money and ushered me through to the boarding gate. It was a good result for me really, as he went on to fleece 20 dollars each off the other three because it was the smallest amount they had.

The flight back to Moscow was uneventful and passed in a kind of haze for all of us. Our five hours in the Russian capital were spent dossin, drinkin coffee, and going outside for the odd ciggy. By the time we landed at Brussels; we had livened up a bit and were ready for a drink. I don’t care what any die hard traveller says, if you’ve been in Eastern Europe, there is always a sense of relief when your back on western soil.

We had two hours to kill before our flight to Brum so we made for the bar to sink a well deserved pint or two.

We reached home late on Friday night, and all agreed that we’d been on an adventure that none of us would ever forget.

Teece Thomson

Sometweet On My Mind Follow us @wsagfanzine and let us know what you think about the games or about life in general

Loads this time given the number of games so only a limited selection.

@johnnylewis80: amazing what a Wembley shaped carrot can do for a few fringe players.

Champagne togger second half. Top draw and well done.

Following the semi @Formbyblue: There is an inferiority complex from the top down and it stinks. Change that and you change Everton. @seanrostron:actually I do have #sometweetonmymind .

Any pricks blaming Moyes for that can fuck off. Ta. @RobSwissWill: can the Gibson love in stop now? He's average at best @DaveMurray23: shit ourselves. Again. @mikemurphy1979: if the opposition aren't good enough to beat you, beat yourself @fertile_shire: I don't remember feeling this low after a defeat. It's fucking souldestroying @wharto15: Moyes has nowhere to go sadly now

Following Sunderland (league) @ecwc85: if we only sign one player in the summer it has to be pienaar

@Darth_Bill_70: 7 Everton £ 52 mil 8 Liverpool £158 mil 9 Sunderland £ 58 mil Where'd we be if we'd spent £158 mil on our squad?!

Following Norwich @antonialou: that 90 minutes felt like 300 after Baines got booked. Roll on this time next week whatever it brings. @themightygouj: Jelavic is cool as fuck.

Following West Brom @mrjohncoyne: Baines without Pienaar is like a buffet without sausage rolls; Just not right. Gibson great today as well!

Following Sunderland (cup replay) @poc80: epitome of togetherness and team spirit.

No team like it. Come what may you can bury me proud to be blue @fertile_shire: The semi's 3 weeks away and my arse has gone already

@mikeefc74: Superb team performance. Can't praise them all enough. Fans were fantastic! @the_wellyman: hats off.

Credit where credit's due an' all that. Brilliant effort. Etc.

Following Swansea @blue_wooster: This is what Saturdays are meant to be like A great win and performance by us and that soft cunt inspiring them to lose at home @bash_78: only time i havent watched/listened this season they play great! It was ever thus...

@jinsen1: a joy to watch second half. 2-0 was harsh on everton there. @MurphyRichie: typical everton. Just when your losing faith they go and do this.

Arguably performance of the season.

Following Arsenal @immatters_efc: Never turned up for 20 minutes, lucky to be only 1 down. Picked it up after that. Showed players know it's all about the cup. @antonialou: one flag missing. Rammed up idiot linesman's arse. Roll on next Tuesday. @Beechside: nowhere near enough swearing in the last

issue, I almost picked up a pen in disgust. Almost... #middleaged&mature

months, therea no justification for throwing the derby #cowards

Ed. Fuck off!

Following Sunderland (cup)

@pmcroft: that was the fucking worst birthday imaginable. You can print that.

@seanrostron: And another thing. If you thought the derby was more important than the cup game you can fuck off and grow up.

@lesroberts77: massive mistake tonight from moyes, play your best side and keep the momentum, heads down going into Saturday now

@fertile_shire: Worth getting our arses wiped by that shower of shite?

@al_greenway: Surely it's ruined their confidence now too. Such a bad move. 10 years and he's learnt nothing.

@andrewb1878: Crushingly inevitable result after Tuesday.

Already dreading the long drive back from Sunderland after penalties defeat.

Following the Anfield derby

@DirtyMouseUK: HK always played his best 11. Fucks sake, they can play 3 games in 7 days, they're pro athletes.

Clanger that from Moyes.

@_no_13: never felt worse after a derby EVER

Following Tottenham

@keithmalefc: efc - its the hope that kills you. @bash_78: Heitinga has led the side these last couple of

@seanrostron: So I read in @wsagfanzine that we ONLY signed players in January because of Blue

WHEN SKIES ARE GREY An independent Everton fanzine

Union protests. What a load of fucking Rogan Josh. @Hoodie1878: Looking at the reports to be fair Spurs did win the second half 0-0. @LeydenJames: anyone notice the fit st johns ambulance bird at the park end @Hoodie1878: Slowest.

Clock. Ever. @IJRobbo: A great performance by Leon Osman, wearing the biggest shorts ever @wharto15: redknapp looks like the emperor from star wars and he was a cunt as well

Keep sending throughout the summer

April / May 2012

Thanks to everyone who has helped put together the 168th issue of WSAG. The regulars and the newies, we love you all. Thanks to Crystal Print.

And most of all thanks to Julie, Nikki and kids.

As ever we rely on our great contributors. We’re always on the lookout for more though so if you’ve got something to say, say it in WSAG. Contact us at: WSAG, PO Box 135, 12 Liverpool, L9 7WP Or at whenskiesaregrey@btinternet.com Or @wsagfanzine on Twitter. On Facebook too, just type in When Skies are Grey.

Keep in touch over the summer online. WSAG169 will be out in August.

WHEN SKIES ARE GREY

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