“…Baby seems like everywhere I go I see you

              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.

Micheal Branch - Ex-Everton protége

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.

            “…Know that I can’t get over you

              ‘cause everything I see is you

              And I don’t want no substitute

              Baby I swear it’s déjà vu.”

Xabi’s at the door, I’ve got to go now.

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)

It’s been two months since I last wrote you a letter. At the start of the season, I promised you drama of Hitchcockian proportion, and to an extent that prophecy has come true during that time.

I have just returned from a visit to Paris, the city of light, where I marvelled at the Mona Lisa, Oscar Wilde’s grave, and the plight of begging women with fake babies and distraught-looking men selling Eiffel Tower keyrings at 3 for one euro. And I was enlightened.

As With any holiday I guess, there is the danger of anti-climax, of expecting too much - of putting Nil Satis Nisi Optimum (or more aptly, given the 40th anniversary of the Paris student riots of ’68, Soyez Realistes, Demandez L’Impossible) above reality’s bites. The holiday though, represented the season, from Everton’s and my own points of view. How can this be? As Mr Grossman used to say, when we all watched Through the Keyhole agape at this weirdo’s drawl, let’s look at the evidence.

It was Everton’s best season for twenty years! Highest points total ever in the Premiership! Scintillating stuff played at times too, with one sublime performance resulting in them being likened to none other than Keats, and Moyes, lauded by James Lawton as the best young manager in Britain. However, lest we forget, we also missed out on the holy grail of fourth, were knocked out of Europe on penalties, having beaten the eventual winners, were defeated at home by Oldham (some still blame the chippy fire) and lost another semi-final to a not-very-good Chelsea team.

What I mean is that the Sunderland victory was like standing in front of La Joconde, something I’ve always wanted to see. As Ricky Fitts, the plastic bag filming freak in American Beauty said, ‘sometimes, there’s so much beauty in the world, I feel like my heart can’t take it’. I’ll be honest, that afternoon in the Louvre was like nothing else I’ve ever felt, but back in November the 7-1 win was the best victory I’ve witnessed from the Gwladys Street…

Similarly, our visit to Pere Lachaise cemetery, primarily to see the grave of Edith Piaf, was a bit like the Fiorentina match. To make such a link might seem strange, but let me explain. Spending two hours wandering around a load of graves in the rain won’t be many people’s idea of a good time, but neither would clawing back a two goal deficit before losing on penalties. However, that evening at Goodison was perhaps the most satisfying moment of the season, particularly after Arteta’s goal when the ground was literally bouncing. We don’t get many magical European nights, in fact I’d imagine other teams will soon get bored of special atmospheres if it doesn’t lead anywhere, but I felt such pride and so little disappointment exiting the UEFA Cup that I realised I was a changing man, I’d learned how to handle failure and ‘death’ and ultimately, celebrate it.

There were nice surprises along the way too, Steven Pienaar and Leon Osman’s flashes of brilliance, Phil Jagielka’s improvement, the group stages performances… whilst in Paris, the view from the roof of Galeries Lafayette, an amazing Armagnac elevenses, a thriving street market ran by Maghrebins – the list goes on.

Incase we need any more alignment of the trip away and 2007-8, we even bumped in to Everton’s fitness coach outside the Louvre whom I watch warming the team up every game.

And, just like our season, the holiday ended on a high with a trip up the Eiffel Tower, when we won the league within the Premier League and can look forward to more trips away with excitement. See what I did there?

Don’t get me wrong, I did have such high hopes at one point that I felt small pangs of regret that we limped across the finishing line on a wet day in May when, with a bit more luck, we might have been gathering cups like the other shower used to. And, there were minor disappointments in Paris – a slightly overcooked steak, not finding the Rue Des Trois Freres, getting soaked on an open top tour bus, breaking the hotel room safe, and a still ill girlfriend – but expectations were not set so high that this was a let down. Far from it, the new me has managed to take the good bits and concentrate on the positives. I wrote a while ago about smiling on the way out of the Clattenberg derby, I was also thankful that I missed the Oldham game to go the theatre instead, and applaud Joleon Lescott for an incredible season rather than bemoan his letting SWP outjump him in the last minute at the Bridge.

I wonder though, how other teams’ supporters might view their own seasons, and how they might look for similarities from their own lives. Many I feel would be disappointed. After an exciting run-in, the final day was for many an anti-climax. Carlisle looked at one point to be cruising towards automatic promotion, and even beat Leeds for the first time, before a crushing last minute play off semi final second leg defeat. As the PA played after the final whistle, heaven knows (they were) miserable now, but can take solace in the improvement made under John Ward, especially at home. Kieran Westwood gained even more fans, including the Trap.

Morecambe had perhaps the most reasons to be cheerful, as they stayed mid-table for most of the season and can look forward to welcoming more league teams to the recently opened Midland Hotel soon enough. Elsewhere in Lancashire, Preston and Blackpool looked perilous at times but did well to stay up – particularly Preston who went from disappointment under Simpson to some promising signs with Alan Irvine.

Blackburn Rovers though, might have expected more from their season, but can be pleased that Santa Cruz and Bentley performed brilliantly, and they might yet hang on to their manager. Which takes us to Liverpool, and yet again overall they flattered to deceive. Defeat against Barnsley, not turning up again at Old Trafford, and Rafa’s luck finally running out against Chelsea in Europe – all set against frankly comical boardroom shenanigans – mean they could easily be the most disappointed team in my region. But, another thing I’ve learned this year is not to be bitter or resentful towards the loveable Reds, and so I’ll be positive. Frankly, I find it almost impossible to care, but in Fernando Torres they have for me the player of the season, it’s now not solely up to Gerrard to save them, and if he continue his form into the difficult second season maybe next year will actually be theirs.

Before I have to worry about that though, we have the European Championships to look forward to, and to be honest I think it will be nice not to watch xenophobic sunburnt drunkards crying in the fan parks or fighting on the slopes when England lose. I’m quite excited about the likes of Spain, Italy and even Germany doing battle, as I’m sure it’ll whet our appetites for 08-09.

Particularly as I’m planning to return to New York for next year’s summer jaunt, just imagine if our season was to be a reflection of that…

Thank you so much for taking the time to read my correspondence this season.

Everton, Paris, EFP – Je t’aime

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Spaniels possess a great share of intelligence, affection, and obedience, which qualities, combined with much beauty, make them highly prized as companions. The name comes from the word for Spanish (Español).

When I was three or four, I got knocked into a lake by a Spaniel. I have a tendency to over dramatise this event, but its effect on me was huge. I can recall seeing the brown and white thing running towards me, and the impact of the cold water as I fell in. And before my dad pulled me out (thanks dad if you’re reading) I will always remember an England’s Glory matchbox amidst the stones on the bottom. Anyway, I was always dubious of Spanish things after that. I despised the people, for no real reason. Chose to do Latin instead of Spanish at school. I also hated Spain during Championships, luckily they weren’t a great side in that period, though I did have soft spots for Miguel and Emilio ‘The Vulture’ Butragueno (pictured below) until I found out their nationalities. My opinion of the country changed somewhat after a first visit to Salou/Barcelona, so much so that I returned for a longer stay a couple of years later. I have embraced Spanish cooking and wine, and celebrated their art history and films (Open Your Eyes is much better than Vanilla Sky). Then they came to Merseyside.

Let’s go back a bit though. I have read and heard much about the Real Madrid teams of the Fifties and Sixties, and am currently enjoying Barca: A People’s Passion by Jimmy Burns which goes into great detail about the real people’s club. I just never ‘got’ the essence of Spanish futbol.

I suppose, when we were growing up, Barcelona were of course a great team, with Maradona, Schuster, then later Romario, Stoichkov et al (do go on You Tube and search for ‘Barca top ten goals’, in the words of another European great Herr Lipp, it’s a real good treat) but Italian football was where it was at. Italia 90 was enough, but on top you had the real stars in Serie A, and the excitement of James Richardson on a Sunday afternoon treating us to Sampdoria Parma and Guiseppe Giannini etc.

Nowadays, although Channel 5 is doing its bit for calcio, Spain’s La Liga is seen as the other best league in the world, and some of the dirge the Premiership offers, suggests it can claim bragging rights.

Recent years have seen Spanish footballers and coaches influence heavily what we see and do. In European competition, Valencia, Villareal and Sevilla have impressed, Real’s Galacticos are gone and even though Barcelona are currently in a dip of form (Guillame Balague says it’s a crisis) still have tons of world class talent. Whenever I’m at my girlfriend’s on a Sunday night, I try to catch some of whatever game is on, and I’m normally impressed. Not that that’s the only reason I go, of course.

But there is something special about the goals, the strips, the fans, Gerry Armstrong or Roberto Martinez in the studio…

I was lucky enough to go to a Barcelona match a couple of years ago. It was a pre-season friendly against Bayern Munich. The atmosphere and build-up was incredible, and Carles Puyol blessed the club in Catalan before kick-off. Ronaldinho, Eto’o (2) and Saviola scored and some of the play was breathtaking. Lionel Messi was the real draw though, and probably the best nicknamed footballer in the world played some of the best football I’ve ever seen. I’d recommend anyone on holiday in Spain to try to get to a game and compare the differences.

But this article isn’t just a discussion of Spanish football, or dogs with fleas attacking small children. There is a link between the two…

Fernando Torres is amazing. There, I’ve said it.

Mikel Arteta is still the best little Spaniard we know, but even despite his outstanding goal in the Fiorentina match, only Torres can lay claim to being the best Spaniard, perhaps player, around right now. Many scoffed at his price tag but his current run is so impressive that you can see him overtaking Ronaldo in the scoring charts and being the new Rush in the eyes of ‘the Kop’ (out of interest, how could Gillette or Hicks, could be either I can’t tell the ‘Muppet yanks’ (my friend’s words when interviewed on ITV, not mine) apart, describe a stand as a person who has opinions? I digress) which in his first season would be an awesome achievement.

His recent goal against Newcastle when he dummied the keeper and slotted calmly was pure class, and I’m sure there have been many others, I normally cover my eyes. He’s also good looking and seems quite genuine, if it wasn’t for his meff hairdo he’d be a frontrunner for most stylish footballer too.

The whole point of this is that it’ll be because of him, not Gerrard or Benitez or Alonso (sample quote when I met him earlier in the season - “I f**king hate you, but you’re brilliant” tho now I like him as his decision to stand by his pregnant girl was admirable) that Liverpool win fourth spot this season, and maybe even the Champions League once more. If only we can find a way to stop him in the derby, or it might be Everton that sink after meeting a Spaniel, twenty four years on from my unfortunate happening. 

 It was Valentine’s Day last Thursday, and love was certainly in the air.

The previous night, Everton surpassed everyone’s expectations once again with a record sixth straight win, albeit in the UEFA Cup but we are doing well. Hopefully this week’s home leg will see us progress towards a much harder test against Fiorentina or Rosenberg, whilst continuing to challenge for a Champions League qualifying place… you can but dream.

I actually missed Wednesday’s match, and went for a romantic meal instead. It felt strange, detached almost, but it was nice to not get stressed and drunk in front of a screen… I did it in front of my girlfriend instead. Only joking, we had a lovely time and it got even better when my dad contacted me with the final score. And, her dad had sky plussed it so I managed to watch it the following evening. But I liked the fact that such a small gesture meant a lot and it’s something that I’m sure will happen more and more in the future. Priorities should change over time. What’s scary is how missing a match for someone you love somehow feels like a betrayal or two-timing, and that such an act might somehow have had an effect on a match taking place thousands of miles away.

Many relationships are said to flounder as a result of football. Nick Hornby expressed this much better than I ever could, in Fever Pitch, and the adaptation to baseball for the movie ‘The Perfect Catch’ encapsulates even better the conflicts that can come when two worlds collide. There’s even a scene when the main character avoids a big match to accompany his girl to a party, which my own pre-Valentine’s evening echoed. He admits he had the time of his life, though then holds it against her when he finds out he missed a pivotal comeback.

Love, however, is the key. Many fans insist their attraction to and support of a club is down to love, and being a fan does evoke many similar emotions. Disappointment, sheer happiness, excitement, expense, betrayal… The Great Dome Howard Kendall once explained his return to Everton as a marriage, whilst Manchester City was a love affair, and in real terms, not a week seems to go by without a player involved in some love cheat story or on field celebration scandal. My recent favourites do not involve Ashley Cole, instead, the aptly named Brazilian Vagner Love’s leaked film, and a wholly unromantic incident involving a glove wearing right back and a friend of a friend.

We regularly have players kissing the badge, supporters’ chants declaring their love for their club, demands for heart and soul, anger at ‘betrayal’ and some fans’ support even bordering on an obsession. The passion and intensity of certain occasions or even an exciting glorious climax, often inspire the interview question ‘what’s better, scoring a goal or having sex?’ to which I suppose you’d have to have done both in front of forty thousand people to know.

Another good example is probably all the fans who invade pitches to hug their heroes and try to grab their shirts. Phil Neville tried his best to stop this happening in Bergen, but is it understandable given the fans’ devotion and pleasure? This reminded me of a recent Morrissey concert, said girlfriend was shocked at the lengths fans were going to, to grab their hero’s hand or even better, hug him on stage. Over-eager/aggressive security guards meant that this homo-erotic occasion was soured somewhat by seeing grown men thrown off stage like rag dolls, or fighting each other over a sweaty shirt thrown into a crowd.

But if we are talking of beauty, hope, feel good stories of fairytale proportions, every round it seems the FA Cup will provide. Think of the competition as a E-On sponsored Cilla Black (why she features in more than one of my articles is indeed a surprise), matching up prospective couples in the hope she will have to buy a hat.

It would be ignorant and churlish of me not to mention Oldham, but we are used to such aberrations at Goodison particularly under Moyes. I for one still love him, in a different way of course. This year though, the exploits of Bristol Rovers, Huddersfield, Havant & Waterlooville and of course you guessed it Barnsley have all conjured up notions of roses and hearts, dreams and tears, and above all else the romance of the cup.

Fans’ demonstrations and banners hint at a more religious devotion, which will not be discussed here. Rather than focus on the Reds’ bad luck (?) against Toby Tyke et al, I will instead return to another recent disappointment the Blues suffered. The defeats against Chelsea were inevitable once the normally impeccable Joleon Lescott let SWP out-jump him, but even during the home leg we dared to dream that this could just be the evening that football returned to its roots and the original blue millionaires won through. Many in the ground that night had seen us at Wembley but a whole generation of fans across the country have never seen anyone other than the old Big Four win the FA Cup and even the Milk/Littlewoods/Rumbelows/Coca-Cola/Carling Cup during their own individual love affairs with football clubs.

I felt terrible that night because I’d forgotten to wear the pin badge my ‘true’ love gave to me for Christmas. Somehow I attributed the absent-mindedness to losing a semi-final, when in reality we all realised that they were just the better team. Successful, positive relationships are all about responding to situations and learning from them, moving onwards and upwards, which perhaps also explains why so many people are keen to go back and try to rekindle a light that has already gone out.

Perhaps this is another analogy for love and football – many fans, and partners, often look on enviously at other teams or players and wish longingly that they had that success, style, or pride, or in some cases that former objects of affection were still theirs, or will be again one day, before grudgingly accepting what they actually have.

Believe me, it’s much better in fact to celebrate your own love, whatever problems one has to be mindful of, and put everything possible into it, because then the rewards are much greater. Whether that means in football or in life, make sure you choose the right one.

Happy New Year to you all. FA Cup third round day is nearly here, the day of dreams and all those other clichés… Ronnie Radford wheeling away, Dave Beasant’s penalty save, the strange looking Sutton United fan crying into her boyfriend’s arms – don’t we just love it!

But something happened to football once again last week that should make every fan, player and significant other, take stock of their life and priorities. FA Cup third round day doesn’t seem that important when a player dies on the pitch.

Despite my penchants for Morrissey and wearing black, this is not going to be a downbeat, morbid tale. It was tragic what happened to Phil O’Donnell – I think I saw him play once for Celtic in a testimonial – and before him, to Marc-Vivien Foe, the Seville player, and several others I vaguely recall. It does make you think, it must surely give team-mates, opponents and even casual five-a-siders the world over, food for thought too. I can only echo the sentiments you’ve read and seen elsewhere, and my little article means little I know, but if we’re to discuss football it’s an issue we need to at least consider.

However, as I said (rightly or not) the show must go on and football will carry on, not quite regardless but perhaps not with enough consideration. You could say the same about Hillsborough, Heysel, Bradford, Glasgow, events in Italy, or USA 94… I don’t know what the answer is, and will no doubt be berated in some quarters for what I have said but strangely enough I’ve been meaning to write about James McFadden for a while now and whilst not the best circumstances, feel the article has some substance given his touching display of emotions up at Boro on new Year’s Day.

Jimmy Mac as he is sometimes embarrassingly referred to, is something of an enigma - both on and off the pitch. The tone of my original essay was the homophobic rumours and comments he constantly has to put up with, and perhaps his goal celebration and tears at the end of yesterday’s match support my praise of how he conducts himself.

We all have to face certain struggles in life. I myself, without going into detail, have had issues in my personal life leading to secrets and lies, rumours and confrontations, and not just my second life as an efp writer. The main issue at school is being called a queer, gay, homo, poof etc on a regular basis by pupils (and colleagues but that’s a whole other can of worms) but have learned over time to deal with it in the correct manner. Homophobic bullying is a big issue in schools thankfully, charities such as Stonewall are making sure it is no longer ignored, but the problems inherent in society mean that it will be a long process. I accept I may not be quite what the students expect a male role model to be, in fact you could say I’m the Graeme le Saux (art loving, Guardian reading, sensitive, Smiths listening etc) and unfortunately there’s loads of Robbie Fowlers.

I’ve got to stop making these articles a counselling sessions. But you must see the link – many of you will have heard the James McFadden / Will Young rumours that did the rounds a few years ago (though I understand they featured several different footballers depending on which city you were told the titbit in). However, how many of you knew that McFadden is married with children and for the wedding last summer, asked guests not to bring presents, instead to donate to the special care unit that looked after his child?

Therefore, imagine my surprise at the horrible example of Evertonianism who sits infront of me at the match and constant refers to McFadden as McFaggen and shouts get off you queer after every missed shot or dribble down a dark alley. Many fans share these sentiments and here you open up the debate of free speech, different generations etc. But regardless of that fact, maybe Sol Campbell has a point, and more players should be ‘coming out’ and agreeing that fans need to change their attitudes. Surely we have come a long long way since Justin Fashanu’s demise?

This is not a debate on homosexuality in football. There’s enough column inches written about it, and silly quotes too. My argument is just that McFadden has behaved impeccably, long before last weekend’s tragedy, and I really hope we don’t sell him. I truly believe he has the potential to become a real star and although we’ve only seen glimpses of his talent, as a man he deserves more than what we’re giving him.

TOP FIVE JAMES McFADDEN MOMENTS

Early games against Stockport & Leeds when he looked a world beater
The Rat’s Tail he eventually got rid of
The winner against Charlton last year – skill unlike anything I’ve seen before
Shocking most of Goodison after the last game last year, bringing his offspring on with him for the end of match walkround
The goal against Middlesbrough, New Year’s Day 2008

As the title of this article suggests, whether or not he is gay straight whatever is not the issue. A diatribe against a minority of supporters, journalists or footballers will not be enough to change some people’s attitudes, whether on the terraces or in the classroom. I like McFadden, think he’s had a raw deal (I haven’t even mentioned his heroics for Scotland so far) and hope he stays. End of story.

Rather, what’s more important is how we respond to things, sadness, adversity…. Someone once said something about football being more important than life or death. Please let’s not argue that point any more, yesterday’s events said it all. And it made me admire McFadden even more. The very fact you’ve read to the finale and I’ve spent an hour writing it shows football is a myriad of emotions and maybe the beauty of it is that it can help us get over things.

So, play on by all means, but just don’t forget what’s important.

Forrest Gump and Cilla Black got it right. Life is full of surprises.

I told you all at the start of the season I would weave a tale of mystery and suspense, but even I have been shocked at a) some of the comments my articles have inspired and b)some of the events that have unfolded so far.

So I hope to pacify some angry readers and enlighten those still not convinced by my impartiality. And all that without mention of Stevie G or JC – oh, already that plan has failed.

Anyway, a week of surprises started with the results from games we wouldn’t normally give two hoots about. If anyone else sat in a pub cheering on the Israelites like the weirdoes we witnessed after the sad Scotch, I’d be amazed. But clearly many of you did, which demonstrates how England do still mean something to many. The Russia and Croatia results set us up nicely for the Wembley decider, surely Steve ‘chuckles’ McClaren’s men would now not fail.

We know what happened, and our esteemed editor’s article summed it up far more succinctly than I could. However, whilst Brian Barwick was promising a ‘root and branch’ audit of English football, so I and my colleagues were reeling from a call from Ofsted. A similar inspection was coming, though hopefully wouldn’t have the same result as befell the new toothed one.

So football took a back step for a couple of days as we ran around preparing evidence and lesson plans. A wise man once said that ‘teaching is like football’ (ok, so it was me) and last weekend certainly felt like the nervy night before a cup final.

Saturday’s performance and result at Goodison was of an ilk I’ve never fully witnessed live before, only on historical DVDs through whisky-induced tearful eyes.

No less a sage as Stuart Hall apparently likened Everton’s football to Keats’s poetry afterwards, and there was certainly much beauty to appreciate and purr about. Although we’re on a good run, I for one didn’t expect such sublime soccer and high emotions. Everton have a habit of letting us down just when we think we’re on to something good, twas always so, in fact many Evertonians admit that nothing could surprise them where Toffeeness is concerned.

There were a few good goals, and quite a bit of champagne football. Arteta’s swagger returned with aplomb, Nuno was a joy to watch at left back, and Steven Pia-Pia-Pienaar gets better with every game. Of the magnificent seven, little Leon’s (still too young to take penalties) goal was possibly the pick of the bunch. However, Yakubu was the biggest (literally still) shock, and played like, well, an £11 million striker. His record is becoming alarmingly impressive, another pleasant surprise, as was the sight of Mr Testicles at half time (don’t ask.)

For a couple of hours at least, the Blues took me to football heaven, a scientific school where inspections and other such stress mean nothing. At this point I also have to express my amazement at the treatment of Rafa. In one respect it couldn’t happen to a nicer fella, but again I defend him and think it’s unjust. Tonight’s report that five thousand loveable Reds were to storm Anfield with anti-US slogans comes as no surprise, however the uncertainty surrounding a manager whose team are unbeaten still and is – just to appease all those who think I’m bitter -  undoubtedly a good coach who has a bit of luck. Maybe the result against Porto will have appeased the demanding Americans for a little while longer.

Yet more surprises were around the corner. Man Utd losing to the Ginger Mourinho’s horrible lot, Bruce to Wigan, Redknapp’s arrest (well, maybe not), Jewell to Derby, Sydney FC’s tactics, McLeish to Birmingham… and Alan Irvine to Preston. Less surprising, for my Carlisle-supporting flatmate at least, was Irvine’s predecessor Paul Simpson going back north to Gretna. Not to get married I presume, rather in some advisory role, temporarily thankfully given Preston’s form so far this season.

The Ofsted didn’t go too well in case you were wondering. It just goes to show that being taken by surprise isn’t always pleasant. But the joy of unpredictability is what lures many of us into the clutches of the beautiful game, and if you could say exactly what was going to happen, it wouldn’t be half as exciting. I realise I’m having to eat my words, given that in the recent past I said that just as death and taxes are certain, so was foreseeing Liverpool comebacks and Hollyoaks storylines. Now, at the risk of putting my bequiffed head on the metaphorical block, I’m not so sure.

Don’t question the future or worry too much. Everything will be ok, as Donnie Darko said. Especially if we carry on playing such good football!

That’s it from the northwest for now. I have to go, I’ve got tomato ketchup between my eyes.

For those of you too busy to watch TV, there has been a recent addition to Freeview and Satellite. Channel 4 Plus One, which shows the same thing only an hour later. This isn’t a new concept but I’ve come to realise it’s possible to get very confused and watch things after and before they happen and then again. For example, the Hollyoaks aficionado can watch yesterday’s episode, then tomorrow’s, then today’s, then tomorrow’s again, all in the space of two hours. If they really wanted to.

I say this because Saturday felt a bit like Groundhog Day. Something I’ve never seen before but then kind of have, too many times. Think Istanbul, West Ham (“the greatest FA Cup final ever”) and much much more. Glitches in the matrix, Beyonce singing in the corner, whatever it was, Saturday was another of these occasions and it wasn’t nice.

It all started so well. Sunshine, comical own goal, best midfield in the world clearly disjointed, chances being missed…then. Everyone in the ground could see what Hibbert’s mistake would lead to, I’ve complimented Steven Gerrard in the past so won’t contradict my praise now, other than to say he looked well below par and unlike him I wasn’t surprised he was taken off. But then Leiva looked a good player, and after all the chances I thought he would have a say one way or the other. There was also a horrible sense of foreboding when Kuyt made that challenge. Similarly Phil Neville was talking before the match about getting sent off and scoring own goals in derby matches so that came as no surprise either.

What I hadn’t anticipated though was the Liverpool fans’ efforts. Tesco carrier bags, banners saying ‘Just Go’ and ‘Goodison Riddance’. All this for a visit to the small club they are supposed not to care about. Seeing Carragher and Benitez celebrating at the end showed what it meant to them. By all means, go forth and prosper but you’ll need to play much better and have even more luck to win something. And, you’ll have to be cleverer and a bit more compassionate than singing Elephant Man chants about a man of the match who was scarred in a childhood accident.

Despite all this I left the ground with a smile on my face. I’m so proud to be an Evertonian and no doubt Reds will feel the same, but as I replied to the insensitive friend who texted me after the game, Liverpool fans should be embarrassed to rely so heavily on Lady Luck, dodgy refereeing decisions and penalties. I’m much happier being a down-on-their-luck Blue, and experiencing all the problems that brings with it. When we win it really means something and we do it properly. I really hope this article inspires some banter and criticism from strangely-monikered observers in the comments box as that just underlines my point.

With the first of the UEFA league matches coming up so soon after, we might not be distressed for long. Larissa are a test yes, especially after beating Blackburn in the qualifiers. Yakubu looked a little more up for it and important players are coming back to fitness so I expect my next article to be a bit more upbeat. Mention of Rovers makes me think, I’ve kind of neglected the region’s other teams for a while sorry, they’re doing ok, scoring lots of goals, I like their forward line and they don’t seem to have the dirty tag that has dogged them in recent seasons. Wigan are clearly struggling though, and Marcus Bent can never be Emile Heskey, so I fear for them.

Lower down, Preston are struggling, Blackpool are faring slightly better, Carlisle are going from strength to strength under their new manager John Ward, and Morecambe are coping well in mid-table security, as things stand.

Back to Merseyside, however. As the city celebrates its 800th year, its history is being celebrated, and is littered with turning points, events which could have led to much different outcomes. The Capital of Culture year is sure to be another one. The Big Dig carries on relentlessly like a monster, the Turner Prize has arrived to lukewarm acclaim (my highlight of the private view was passing Alan Hansen on the stairs and not making a drunken comment).

In terms of football, this dialectic story (changes occurring over time) is the case too. The favourite argument of a colleague is to mock the “if it wasn’t for Heysel” cry which, like it or not, does have some truth in it, not just for Everton but for Liverpool and other British clubs. The funny thing about this argument when it rears its ugly head is that others laugh along as if they understand but they clearly don’t and if the tables were turned they wouldn’t be so vocal. I learned a long time ago to accept this and try to smile about it.
Brian Labone once made a famous quote about one Evertonian being worth twenty Liverpudlians. Some of my best friends being Shanks devotees make this a questionable statement but the fact remains I honestly think we are the better people for the challenges we face and the disappointments we endure. You may scoff, Clattenberg may do his utmost to test us, but when our day comes it will mean much more.

But I’m really not being bitter. I enjoyed Saturday’s match and was quite pleased with the outcome. Even now I can look back on events and laugh. Even if I’ve seen it all before and will probably see it many times again. Because, for personal reasons, I’m happy to let them win the battles, however unfairly they might do it, because I just know we will win the war. And not just on the pitch.

Now, where did I put the remote?

What a difference a week makes in football.

A week ago, both Everton and Liverpool knew that a win could send them top. Tonight, phone-ins and letter pages speak louder than bombs in suggesting time could be running out for messrs Benitez and Moyes.

An overstatement perhaps. Though it is difficult to argue that recent events, performances and decisions have caused more fans than usual to question the job security of our favourite David Gest and Groundskeeper Willie / V visitor* look-alikes.

At this point it might be worth me offering a personal stance on the debate before we delve deeper. Having been called an uttertwat, bitter bluenose whinger and genius  based on earlier articles, I do not write this with an ulterior motive. I am a Moyes fan, and though I find Benitez’s inane excuses and complaints laughable, do admire him as a coach and believe most of the criticism to be rather unfair. Apart from of his beard.

Anyway, on with the show.

I do not feel particularly sorry for these two, they come into the job knowing exactly what to expect. Especially on the veritable hotbed of football banter / knowledge that is Merseyside and its associated opportunities for fans to voice their opinion. Both managers have pulled off masterstrokes early on in their career, what with the People’s Club quote and some trophy they won in Constantinople, but it could also be said that both have been a little lucky to stay in a job at times and have never entirely convinced people.

Liverpool at least haven’t been losing games. By all accounts it could have been worse down at Portsmouth, and while the Porto result wasn’t great, a point there is a positive. Expectations are such though, that a niller at home to Birmingham is not acceptable, particularly when you leave arguable your best striker on the bench. That overhead showed his class and it’s not something we’ll have to deal with anytime soon, but squad rotation for the sake of it seems silly when four points are dropped.

Everton have, it has to be said, been a little unlucky in terms of injuries, with Cahill, Arteta, Gravesen, Howard and Vaughan all missing at present. The United game was a strange one, surely at least a couple of these players could have made a difference. As for Metalist, that one match reminded me why I love being an Evertonian so much. The months of expectancy, the late kick off, the atmosphere, the missed penalties… I left with a smile on my face and that says something. As for Villa, bad decisions and a lack of bite meant the Blues were jeered off, some might say let’s put it down to experience and move on.

The title of this article doesn’t mean I apologise for being an uttertwat. It actually refers to our striker situation, by that I mean Andy Johnson, James Beattie and Yakubu. In a way, I’m sorry for each, just for different reasons.

I’m never sure if you should feel sorry for a footballer. Gazza’s tears, horrific injuries, News of the World exposes aside, how can one truly feel sympathy for a grown man paid thousands to live out our dreams? Especially when a small portion of that wage is actually funded by ourselves. Maybe I’m being over-sensitive, it is certainly difficult to feel bad for someone who as an earlier article (one that didn’t actually get too much criticism) described the spectacle of seeing the expensive cars and washbags first hand.

But the fact remains that to fail or make a mistake at the highest level in front of watching thousands must be hard to take sometimes. I’m sure they get used to it from an early age, the growing pressure and exposure being the catalyst for an inflated ego or thickened skin. I hope they do anyway – I know I wouldn’t be able to cope with the guilt or disappointment the three aforementioned might be feeling now.

Like I said, maybe it doesn’t matter to them. It is unlikely that many players can feel as much love and despair as us fans for a club they are merely an employee of at the end of the day, yes there are some exceptions, but nowadays the shirt-kissing and signing on fees suggest a coolness or disassociation from getting too involved, what with the risk of future lucrative pay days or transfer requests. I firmly believe that these three do care to some extent – which is why I worry for their emotional health and well being at present.

Johnson in particular looks a player short on confidence, an attribute much needed as a professional I would presume. His body language and current scoring record do not make good viewing, and certainly neither did his penalties in the UEFA cup. Alright so he’s not our first or second choice penalty taker and I missed a couple for Barton Rovers Under 14s so kind of know how hard it is, but even so, in such an important game, surely only Everton could have had such a laughable experience. The second awarding of a penalty caused many around me in the Gwladys Street to roll their eyes and say “not him”, indeed star performer Baines looked keen to have a go, but Captain Neville made sure AJ stepped up and the rest is history. The question is then, would Johnson want our sympathy? And how long can his goalless streak continue before fans question his place in the team?

Which leads us to Beattie. Yes I know he’s no longer an Everton player but look how well he has started the season, seven goals for Sheffield United. One Sunday paper suggested he was reminding McClaren of his prowess, and pleading not to be overlooked. This is the player who only scored a couple for us last season, was given many chances by the manager and just never took them. I certainly felt sorry for him, as he ran around huffing and puffing across the turf like an ungainly deer. But the whole being paid a lot to do little did negate my anguish somewhat. I sincerely hope James is top scorer this season, he is a fellow Lancastrian after all, but I feel he will always have a little regret that it didn’t work out. Only time will tell if we do too.

As for Yakubu, the way he worked for a move to Everton means he will certainly have few fans or sympathisers. One esteemed writer said his performance in the European match suggested he’d had a bereavement in the family. I’m all for timing runs and preserving energies but when it makes you look lazy and simply not arsed it becomes a problem. I hope we don’t end up sorry we paid so much.

Maybe all three will come good and I’ll be labelled and berated again. But at least I won’t be sorry.

Just think about it. The educational analogies are long and clear when you look closer.

All the end of term celebrations and awards. A long summer of rest and recuperation, before preparing for a new year with hopes and aspirations. Buying the new kit, or uniform, or for us teachers, spending loads at Primark so you look the part. A large building full of people where many have gone before. Having to get to know loads of new signings  (I now know how City fans must feel when I was faced with thirty new Year 7 faces). Difficult fixtures, that is lessons, with challenging opponents. League tables. Training, that is revision, before the exams or World Cup tournament. Emotions running high during fifty minute matches when you try to win ie actually teach something. Dealing with bad behaviour and the punishments. Marking, or post-match analysis. Being proud of what you support, even though it’s often difficult and upsetting (well, mine is a tough school). And like Everton, in a couple of years our school will close and move to a futuristic new home.

In terms of football, 2007-8 promised much after an eventful summer. Money was spent frivolously, new television channels arrived, controversy reigned after certain events, and anticipation was high. So far, it hasn’t disappointed.

Liverpool have unsurprisingly been the most impressive team in my region so I’ll start with them. They remind me of a year 11 lad who I never got on with but so far he has returned with a changed attitude and is actually pleasant to me. I hate to say it but Voronin, Babel, Pennant and particularly Torres have been outstanding. Liverpool can now play more exciting attacking football on the break, and are getting results where they once wouldn’t have. But for a dodgy decision (when I said same old story to a drunk Red after that match, he didn’t get the irony, but I was proud of it) they would have a hundred percent record.

Another team in red who’ve started well is Morecambe, though slightly less famously. They’re like my new ICT set, a small group with promise but naïve and with lots to learn. Their wins at Preston and Tranmere were fantastic, and a couple of other good results mean they are nicely settled in League Two, with an intriguing away tie at Sheffield United to come. Elsewhere in Lancashire, Preston and Blackpool have not set their league alight just yet, and Seasiders/Tangerines/whatever nickname you like, must be worried that Simon Grayson may soon be off to join the Mandaric madness at Leicester. However, just down the road, Blackburn have made a good start. They were unlucky not to beat Everton recently, and are progressing nicely in Europe. Roque Santa Cruz is not just the inspiration for some good chants but looks a class act, and even though they are still bruisers, have some very good and skilful players going forward who will score them goals.

Tranmere are solid if unspectacular, and have had a couple of good away wins. Carlisle were doing well too, despite losing their manager early on, but lost at home last week and will be looking to get back to winning ways soon. Wigan are up and down, with Heskey doing especially well and deserving an England recall.

These teams represent my new classes, I know a bit about them but we’ve not spent enough time together for me to comment further. I’m sure we will get to know each other better and I’ll soon have more to say about them. Wigan actually came to us the first day of the season and looked poor, but then we didn’t look much better. They were that difficult first lesson that you just want to get through with minimum fuss and a positive outcome. However, the Tottenham away game will already be one of the highlights of the season, a bit like my lie-ins during the weekend after the first week back, and all looked very good when we sat proudly at the summit of the football league. Even after two matches, that was a sight for sore eyes, as were Arteta’s silky skills. The wheels seemed to have come off after the disappointments of Reading and Blackburn, but then came Bolton away, and the joy of seeing Joleon wheeling away after his last minute winner.

To be honest, the signings Moyes has made have so far looked very good. At least an hour of deadline day was spent with me sat transfixed on various websites awaiting the sight of Riquelme in a blue shirt holding up a replica footy. Sadly this was just a fantasy, but even the Argentinian would have struggled to match the immediate effect that Yakubu and Gravesen had at the Reebok. Baines and Jagielka are also looking really good acquisitions, though less high profile, and Steven Pienaar has showed glimpses of a talent but looks a little lightweight, perhaps a bit like Leon Osman.

Talking of Gravesen, I was slightly surprised by his return. People often say you should never go back. Experience from past relationships will have taught many of us that. For us Evertonians, the experiences of Ferguson and Kendall (twice) have made painful viewing, but since Tommy Grav was never everyone’s cup of tea first time around, we’ll reserve judgement a little longer. He will never be as good a player as the seemingly snidey Manuel Fernandes, but on his day can be effective and clearly loves the club and the fans which will do for me.

Upcoming games against Utd and Metalist will tell us more about where we are, but even if we lose both, the signs are promising. I think Everton are like my tutor group. I love them to bits and they sometimes frustrate me but they try hard and I see them often enough to know what to expect from them. They have their moments and a couple of difficult individuals but what I like most about them is that they’re mine and they appreciate my support, we grow together and I’ll defend them to the hilt.

In terms of the rest of the school, sorry Premier League, new initiatives, approaches and attitudes have made interesting viewing. It looks like being a slightly less predictable season, even Manchester United haven’t done much yet. Tottenham have surprised many with their lacklustre start, their match with Arsenal will be interesting I’m sure. Meanwhile, teams like Villa and Manchester City look much stronger than last year and may continue to surprise the top teams. As things stand, that group includes Everton, which is a nice thing to be saying. England do often flatter to deceive, but did quite well against Israel and may continue the feel good factor around football at the minute.

Unlike football however, my first week back was rubbish. But, just like football, there’s always hope. The Carling Cup’s coming up soon. But then again, we might just get an Ofsted.