And so it went… Saddened and shocked by the premature death of Anthony H Wilson, who was probably more responsible than Morrissey for putting the M in Manchester, a bad night’s sleep on Friday led me to the first day of the season.

Optimism, sunshine, Sky Sports News, fry-up… and excitement, what excitement. Earlier in the week, I’d decided to do something I’d not done for years, something to herald the start of a new season and to try to rekindle the flames of enthusiasm that the beginning of the SKY era had brought.

I went the ground for midday, pen in hand, in the hope of seeing the players arrive, and collecting cherished autographs.

When my dad used to take me to matches in the early 90s, I’d drag him to the ground as early as possible and we’d stand around waiting for autographs and photos with heroes such as Jason Kearton, Paul Holmes and Les Helm and Jimmy Martin, the Everton physio and kitman of the day. Now of course, I knew it would be very different, and though I would have a match programme from Saturday covered in illegible scribbling, I did expect it to be a surreal, sobering experience.

First to arrive was Phil Neville, scowling and tanned, then Andy Johnson, moody but accommodating and with an amazing car. As the rest of the first team squad turned up and duly signed shirts and books and posed patiently for mobile phone photographs, the crowd of fans swelled. I admit I must have looked a bit odd, older than most of my fellow devotees, and than a lot of the players I was actually waiting for.

It got me thinking about the boundaries between player and fans, indeed at Goodison you’re separated from your heroes by a line of blue railings. Smaller kids reach hopefully through the gaps, for a signing that will mean much more than the paper it’s often written on. I realised that though there’s still a joy to be gained from meeting someone you cheer on every week, it’s also quite humiliating, what must the player be thinking as he writes his name for you (or more often, just a doodle, strangely met with their squad number, as if that tag follows them around forever)?

As an avid autograph collector, this is something I’ve become more and more conscious of over the years, but meeting the likes of Liam Gallagher, Peter Blake or Dave from the Zutons recently, have got away with quite easily. With Ebay’s help I’ve even managed to get Morrissey’s and Beyonce’s signatures (both look real enough) but for some reason with footballers it’s just that bit weirder.

When Arteta scurried past us, explaining he was late, I felt a pang of disappointment reminiscent of my childhood. I held out the photo I’d taken of him at a recent game like the pre-pubescent me, in awe of my favourite player once again. That brought back the excitement factor to the occasion, and I guess the reason why we do it all. Regardless of age or income, these men are living out our dream, and a souvenir of a meeting, whether chance or forced, is the closest we can get to proving the experience happened, well, without a camera anyway, and maybe some of their skill and fame will pass over to us? I walked away for a prematch pint quite happy, though, Arteta will just have to wait another day to meet me, I supposed.

Anyway overall it was an enjoyable ninety minutes, more enjoyable perhaps than the match, which we won 2-1, without ever playing particularly well. Wigan were poor, we weren’t much better, the atmosphere was lifted a few times only by the mercurial Mikel’s magic moments. He just gets better every game, and is now getting the recognition we have, in a way, been fearing he would. If he can continue this form and others around him can up their game a little, things could actually be looking up for us Blues, and not just at the expensive ‘VOTE NO FOR KIRKBY’ plane that flew overhead before kick off.

Meanwhile, Tranmere were losing to Leeds, apparently all over the country though the half time score was met with cheers, football fans do not tend to think ‘there but for the grace of God’ when it comes to Leeds, rather to celebrate their demise. Those fans of clubs recently bought by foreign investors should perhaps read the most recent FourFourTwo and consider such actions. Carlisle drew at Walsall, a result which prompted the board to lose confidence in their manager. Chester, Preston and Morecambe however, all drew nil nil in their respective home matches, which would have been disappointing and somewhat anti-climactic, especially with Blackpool getting one of the results of the day winning at Leicester.

Which brings me, in alphabetical terms anyway, to Liverpool. As I wrote in previous articles, nothing surprises me where they, and Stevie G, are concerned, and the innocuous challenge which led to a superb winner at Villa Park kind of summed up my feelings towards that particular individual. I shudder to think how they’ll win their next match, especially if Gerrard’s in such an aggravating mood. I certainly can’t imagine asking him for his autograph the next time I see him buying bread in Marks’s.