From your eyes, your smile, it’s like I breathe you
Helplessly, I reminisce, don’t want to
Compare nobody to you”
Chapter One - he sets the scene
Beyonce’s lovely song continues with the line “your sexiness is so appealing, I can’t let it go, Oh!” so I’ll stop there for now. But, you get the gist - this is another article about repeats.
It’s the first weekend of the Premier League season and everyone’s in high spirits. Months of build-up, new shirts bought, new players bought by some lucky teams too, fantasy football teams picked - it could have been any year, really. And, the action didn’t disappoint…
Well, actually it did.
Rewind back a week and the football league had got off to a flyer. The Charity, sorry Community Shield, was apparently a damp squib but hey, the real stuff was yet to begin, so we’ll forgive the Wembley showpiece yet again.
Two days before the official start to our campaign, and we’re sat in a nice city centre restaurant. Devotees of my scribings will recall last year’s meeting with Xabi Alonso, and me drunkenly telling him that I “fucking hated him but loved him at the same time” - it was my birthday, forgive me. Anyway, fast forward nearly a year and just as my better half and I were tucking in to our antipasti who should turn up to sit at the next table but the self-same Spaniard, this time with a strange Scouse companion in tow.
Xabi Alonso - Liverpool & Spain
I was determined to stay cool, infact, act oblivious, and managed it just about. Even when Andrei Voronin and Damien Plessis walked (separately) past the restaurant window, the latter popping in to say hello, I was able to enjoy a fantastic veal steak with the minimum of fuss. I was almost revelling in the previous evening’s result, a surprising draw in Liege. Now another ‘been there, done that’ moment had even occurred during that match when my flatmate and I agreed that we already knew what was going to happen, such is Liverpool’s propensity for lucky escapes - and, I can predict many comments already on their way to me about bitterness which I’ve received before.
Chapter 2 - he delves deeper
Anyway, the whole scenario made me smile, and got me thinking -
“…When I saw you walking past me, I almost called your name
Got a better glimpse and then I looked away
It’s like I’m losing it”
Because I wondered, did Xabi remember me? I’ve spotted him at least a dozen times since he joined Liverpool, on the streets of Kenny - well, Marks & Spencer and Bold Street anyway. Sure, he must get loads of fans coming up to him saying they either love or hate him, many far more memorable than my self, but this was just too coincidental (it was indeed a kwinkidink as a ghost from the past used to say) to let it pass without comment.
In case you’re wondering, I just about behaved myself, in fact my good lady said I’d gone some way to redeeming myself, having asked the (albeit arrogant) mystery guest to apologise on my behalf for past misdemeanours, once Alonso was out of earshot.
Meeting players is always strange, I’ve written of it before. And, the following Saturday I continued my own (slightly childish I know) tradition of getting my programme signed by the Everton team before the first game of the season. Many of last year’s sentiments were echoed this time around - envy and embarrassment among them - only this time they were heightened by the paucity of our squad allowing several teenagers on to the bench. I can only imagine what Kieran Agard and Dan Gosling thought of having to scribble their name (and squad number, just to make sure) on the glossy pages that belonged to a greying teacher at least ten years their senior.
Still, the excitement of the first game meant that the teamsheet mattered little, and despite a few misplaced passes, Jack Rodwell performed well against Blackburn. The exotically named Jose Baxter made a cameo appearance that was even more exciting, only a few inches stopped him from winning it for the Blues. His physical appearance and speed actually remind me of Michael Branch, I hope his career does not go the same way of course, but either way it should not be up to two young men young enough to be sat in my classroom only twelve months ago, to give Everton a good start to the season, and Mikel weaved some magic to almost grab victory from the jaws of defeat after a terrible first half.
Again, this suggested a glitch in the matrix - so many times the Blues have rescued points in dramatic circumstances and cued delirious celebrations in and around my area of the Gwladys Street End and although we never bore of it, Saturday did feel like that again when the Yak was fed - by the way, I don’t like the song, it’s just more appropriate than likening him to an overweight version of a local homosexual boogyman paedophile as some fans are wont to. Anyway, all this happened just minutes after it looked likely that Neville Southall could wander out at half time and sit despondently against a post…
But it wasn’t to be and alas, neither was a surprising victory, because another familiar feeling consumed me when Blackburn went up the other end and equalised before a last kick of the game winner by the even more exotically named Ooijer.
Andre Ooijer - Blackburn & Holland
Chapter 3 - he summises
A couple of hours later, lo and behold, Torres pops up to save an under-par Liverpool from a poor showing up in Sunderland. He really is an amazing player, I’ve said it before and will again…
“…Is he the best ever, that’s the argu-a-ment
I don’t make the list, don’t be mad at me
I just make the hits, like a factory”
And what a pleasant surprise, Alonso popping up with a sublime assist, and another effort from his own half. What we’d do for a player of a similar ilk at Goodison at the minute - but given some dodgy comments I’ve recently read about his form over the past 12 months (since the incident at the Malmaison?), maybe seeing me inspired him this time?
Let me know, Xabi lad. Anyway, to underline my paranoia even more, further events on the fixture calendar last weekend created a sense of deja-vu too. Arsenal, playing some great stuff but trying to walk it in and only getting a 1-0. Chelsea, looking awesome at times, with a charismatic Portuguese remonstrating wildly on the sidelines. Tottenham, anti-climaxing. Perhaps the only surprise of the weekend was Manchester United’s lacklustre performance against Newcastle, though Rooney’s wild challenges must have shocked few of us.
So there we have it, the first weekend, seen most of it before, and what I hope to be my final encounter with the talented Spaniel, who I’ve definitely seen enough of. I’ve told you before what happened to me in a previous encounter with the Spaniel by the lake - my mate Xabi clearly likes me too much to do something similar. Though, the derby is coming up…
Chapter 4 - he backtracks
And that was meant to be the end of the article.
Except, after finishing it and carefully choosing appropriate images to illustrate my ramblings, I settled down to watch ‘The Golden Vision’ not really knowing what to expect. Well, I say that, but having seen two of Ken Loach’s previous offerings and fallen in love with Cathy Come Home and Kes, I suppose I kind of did.
Ken Loach - Writer & Director
It didn’t disappoint. The songs, the scenery, the characters, the intimate interviews with Alex Young about to train a group of school kids, or Ray Wilson smoking his way down to Arsenal away - Jimmy you were right, those did seem the days.
And you know what - Saturday was forgotten. What’s our name? EVERTON. And I’m glad it is. The golden vision wasn’t just a beautiful, blistered footballer, it was also the name of a beautiful play, that sums up what a lot of people live for, it is 70 minutes that all football fan should watch, regardless of who you support. Yes, I’d heard a lot of the songs before, and of course, seen some of the caricatures, not just at the match but on the streets of Liverpool, but it also presented the passion of the fans and the people of this city that rejuvenated my faith in the school of science, and made me long for a week on Saturday. Forget last minute defeats or backroom wranglings. Who knows, it may be a golden oldie instead of a recurring nightmare.
Picture the scene, a sportswear superstore housed in what used to be the Heaven ‘n’ Hell nightclub I used to frequent, 20ft high on Blackpool promenade.
“Are you sure you don’t want this one, lad?” The bald Geordie bloke asked, cheekily. He held up the new Liverpool away shirt, before wandering off to buy another pair of England leisure shorts.
“Ha, no you’re alright thanks mate (fuck off)” I retorted, wanting to make the 1=20 sign to him, knowing he wouldn’t understand anyway.
And so it was that a twenty one year tradition continued, and I got another new Everton shirt.
It’s been a while dear readers, and much has happened since my last heartfelt mutterings were submitted for your consideration. Both personally and vis-à-vis the football world, things have changed, and although certain aspects of this boy’s life look more rosy now, the murky world of L4 4EL is not quite so positive at present.
Everton's only summer signing
The only new addition is a funnily-named assistant coach Steve Round (pictured above), whilst our tubby Chief Exec and several players have departed, the three non-hairy ones and two of the hairier ones strangely. Anyway, rumours persist that signings are imminent and despite the ground move being discussed and delayed ad nauseum, the new season at least offers intrigue and some excitement.
Much will be written about the upcoming season, I’ve decided instead to update you on my summer and to discuss in depth another of my first loves – the football kit.
The Euros seem long ago now, some great football was played there though not by my chosen team Italy, more on which later. In fact, let’s start now, I bought the smart Italy shirt on ebay to show my loyalty to the Azzurri. Even though it was a realistic enough fake, I was glad not to have spent the full amount as they were largely disappointing save a much-needed performance against France. Overall it was a great tournament and the wallchart and sticker album were certainly kept busy.
My team during Euro 2008 - the Azzurri
I wore the shirt (to some funny looks) on my jaunt to the peninsula. What a week myself and Mrs Morrissey had, food and wine like nothing else and some amazing sights – beautiful landscapes, bright sunshine, tortoises having aggressive sex in a restaurant garden that sort of thing – I even visited the PisaCalcio stadium which was a disappointment save for the interesting graffiti around it. The lifestyle there is so incredible, those of you lucky enough to have visited will know what I mean, and it’s totally understandable that whatever his lifestyle preferences, Ronaldinho made the right choice of Milan over Manchester.
Manchester or Milan?
Whilst away, only one little thing got to me, the sight of a small ginger haired boy wearing last season’s Liverpool shirt (the Meff) under the Tuscan sun. It got me thinking – how can a piece of polyester have such an effect on the eyes, the brain, the heart?
In his excellent book True Colours, author John Devlin goes to great lengths to dissect how a shirt design can be an extension of a club’s spirit and how a simple strip can express confidence, arrogance, strength and the like. I’ve never thought that, I just really like them and what they stand for.
Blue & White colours of Argentina will forever be synonymous with Maradona & Mexico '86'
When we were younger, Summer holidays seemed to last forever. As a teacher they seem to do the exact opposite but that’s a whole other article. However, I recall one of the highlights being our father taking me and my sister to Blackpool one day on the bus and the tradition was to buy us one toy each. In 1987, it was different, and I distinctly recall the pride of seeing the stallholder in Pricebusters (under the tower, in fact under the location of this story’s prologue too) bringing down the blue Everton shirt I had always wanted. My sister got some Barbie accessory I think, and for me (not her thankfully) it was the start of a long, expensive and at times embarrassing love affair.
Most of you will have a favourite football shirt, either of your own club or even a rival. Many will be favoured for the memories it evokes, some for the sheer aesthetic quality, the colours or the material, those with unusual senses of humour might also have funny anecdotes about said shirt – Man Utd changing at half time, Celtic having numbers on the shorts only, things like that.
Numbers on shorts made famous by Glasgow Celtic in the 1950's & 60's
Most of the shirts I’ve had have been Everton admittedly, looking back some horrific designs (and memories) but still much loved because of what they represented. Names and numbers are quite a recent innovation but can still help with identification – either of the shirt or with it. Days out are often punctuated or exacerbated by the spot the shirt competition, you’ll always get the Man Utd or Liverpool staples, but I still get excited by a proud youngster (or even better, whole family) wearing some obscure abomination from a small town club.
As we grew up, it became de rigeur to sport an unusual foreign shirt. All I want for Christmas isn’t necessarily a Dukla Prague away kit, but I have worn Russia, Barcelona, Parma, Holland, Chevas USA shirts in my life time, aswell as a few of those cheap imitation shirts sold on market stalls abroad (Czech Republic (no name), Italy (Toni), Inter (Materazzi), Real (Figo) amongst others) and it’s clear to see that football shirts have had a huge presence in my wardrobe.
As a teenager I even used to sit on a Friday night designing kits for different teams. I remember being envious of a fellow youngster who won a competition in match to design Melchester Rovers’ new strip, and marvelling at a contestant on You Bet who correctly identified twenty sections of shirts in the time limit. I once sent my designs to Umbro who very kindly returned them, annotated, with praise and genuine interest in my ideas. My dream job is no longer a reality, however every summer a personal highlight isn’t just the trip to Blackpool, but the scouring of websites and magazine adverts to see the new strip for any team.
This year, Preston have gone traditional which is nice to see (I forgot to mention I took my good lady to the pre-season friendly, some good youngsters coming through, shame about our fans though) and Wigan have made the strange decision to go with Champion, who as far as I know haven’t done a strip before. Carlisle will always be remembered for the deckchair kit, whilst Blackburn’s only interesting addition is a new sponsor, Crown Paints. Which brings us back to the beginning, and Liverpool’s decision to go back in time with the grey strip of circa 1990, maybe they think it will offer a return to the glory days, even if Arsenal have also resurrected the 1989 away kit (Mickey Thomas… can he FFINNIIISSSHHH!!!!!!)
In terms of our new kit, in true Everton style the launch of the home kit was delayed (maybe this was the final nail in Wyness’s coffin) and is a nice if unspectacular combination. The away is white once again (amber must be due a return soon) but is a particularly smart design and, more importantly, goes with my new trainers. Said girlfriend who knew how much I was looking forward to its release, and duly bought it for me on our day out in Blackpool. Even if lots has been said about men in football shirts having no taste, regardless of the baldy’s comments or the sales assistant admitting that even though she was a Blue, this was the first she had sold so far, I was in love again. Now – when is the third shirt out?
Have a good season – may everything be beautiful and nothing hurt (including the shirts)
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