Those of you who read my last article will realise the relevance of the title. The hens do refer to the ‘holy trinity’ of the popular Christmas song, but are dedicated not to a dead princess or lizard ruler (Jane Badler, we salute you…) Rather, to a blonde singer from the town of four thousand holes who was voted off X Factor last weekend. 

Diana gets your vote over Eoghan (or doesnt as it turned out)

Diana is not the focus of this article, even though she ‘won’ the public vote for this article at least. I linked her to the French hens for her sultry alternativeness and subsequently to Andy van der Meyde, not quite because he is sultry or the footballer most likely to contract bird flu - but it’s close.

(please note that from now on Andy van der Meyde might be known as VDM)

I feel Diana was always on a loser after the laryngitis episode when she was ‘too ill’ to perform a Mariah Carey song and so seemingly got a week off. Similarly, VDM will probably never raise more than a collective laugh from the Gwladys Street when he emerges from the dugout, and bitter moans about his wages etc, because he has done very little in a Blue shirt, no goals, one assist from what I can remember, and one sending off (in a  derby no less).

But surely bad luck is simply at fault for these two artists’ failure?

It is a little ironic that Van Der Meyde made his first League appearance of the season little more than twenty four hours after Diana’s teary exit. Similarly, it can also not be a mere coincidence that he and I were born two days apart, are the same height, and play the same position.

I, like many others, am drawn to anti-heroes, those less popular underdogs who don’t quite fit the mould. There are many reasons for this, it is perhaps inherent in our culture, our upbringing, or at the very least inspired by reading about David and Goliath at Sunday School (just me then?). There is less support though, definitely amongst avid supporters, for that band of players described as ‘sicknotes’, ‘wasters’ or ‘leeches’. Men should be men, regardless of their health problems, and play through the pain, n’est-ce pas?

Three French Hens - All Everton want for xmas is one fit van der Meyde

But football, especially in the age of the Premiership and expensive wages, doesn’t seem to forgive those who are on the receiving end of visits from the bad luck bears. They are noticed, criticised then ridiculed, even though many are at least at the more skillful end of the imaginary ‘gifted footballers’ spectrum we have all argued about in the playground.

Diana is a very good singer. Anderton, Redknapp, Saha, Ferguson, Bridges, Dyer (Kieron, not Bruce) are (were) all very good players too, and van der Meyde is on this list too. I for one do not believe they pick and choose when they want to play - rather, for some reason, they do not have the fortune others are grateful to receive when cards are dealt regarding their legs or their personal life. To castigate someone for having the temerity to not feel able to perform to the best of their ability, then go into work on a Monday morning and happily fill in for colleagues on long term sick (or even worse - throw a ‘sickie’ - a word I first heard used in a conversation between Madge and Harold would you believe, fact fans)) smacks of hypocrisy in my innocent eyes.

Indeed, us Evertonians were denied the chance to see Danny Williamson play but a few fleeting moments for us, however I recall an outstanding goal he scored in the Cup I think that marked him out as a future star. How many other heroes missed their calling due to injuries and bad luck, I wonder? Maybe many football fans - we still kick every ball, nod every header, because most of us still believe that if it wasn’t for that drinking or lack of pace, of scout getting lost, it’d be us on that pitch…

I digress. Back to Andy van der Meyde: Just imagine

• 1. Johan Cruyff says you’re rubbish
• 2. You sign for Everton and only me turns up to greet you
• 3. Your dog and car get stolen

Johan Cruyff: Still very much an influencial figure in football

Ok so these headlines are less than half the story, and there is much more I could mischievously suggest when it comes to examples of his bad luck being self created, but if we stick to the facts, it is much fairer.

This much we know. Van der Meyde broke in to the Ajax first team after progressing through their excellent academy system (presumably a few years before myself and a drunken Uni mate walked into the same complex on a Students’ Union trip to Amsterdam, being greeted by Danny Blind and Shota Arvaladze) and he looked a real prospect.

Dutch caps (ahem) followed though the unfortunate event that sums up his international career did too. Johan Cruyff is a legend, and extremely influential in Holland (and seemingly Barca’s) hierarchy. Therefore, when he himself said on the eve of Euro 2004 that the Oranje‘had no chance of winning as long as he (VDM) was in the squad’, despite his involvement in their journey to the tournament’s semis, the writing seemed to be on the wall.

Cruyff & Van Bastan, not big on Van der Meyde, despite his respect for them

This was particularly unfortunate as VDM had just had a good first season at Inter, albeit injury shortened, scoring a memorable goal against Arsenal in the meantime. It is perhaps no surprise (given the respect he and many others show to Cruyff) that Marco van Basten, another legend an another of my favourite all time players, never considered VDM during his tenure as Dutch coach either.

But there are perhaps more valid reasons for this choice. Van der Meyde made the switch to Everton in Summer 2005. I was excited about this, I didn’t know much about him - even now I don’t, I’ll be honest a lot of this information was brought back into my brain with the help of a popular online encyclopedia. I think a lot of that is down to his lack of exposure, he is generally regarded as a forgotten man and the only time the Echo or footy magazines mention him is to announce another injury, another determined comeback or cruel, inappropriate skits (see the guardian football site’s unfunny gallery if you want.)

Anyway a couple of weeks after his signing, I excitedly rushed in to the city centre to attend a meet and greet session at the mega store with him and another recent purchase, Per Kroldrup.  I was a little late to arrive, still, was surprised to find I WAS THE ONLY FAN IN THE SHOP and therefore both players forced smiles whilst signing photographs for a teacher that was older than them both! To be honest, Kroldrup was pleasant enough but VDM clearly didn’t want to be there and seemed actually appalled at having to use a biro to scrawl over his face.

I stuck by him though, even whilst Kroldrup disappeared into ignominy (random description of the defender ‘head like a 50p piece’), VDM enjoyed some success in the first team before niggling injuries took over. Getting stupidly sent off in his first derby didn’t help, or did more serious injuries. Quickly, rumours abounded that he was enjoying the social side of the city a little too much, to dangerous effects.

VDM reasonably asks for a stables for his wife who presumably has a love for horses

Rumours and football are a volatile mix, but fans were disgruntled at the suggestion he’d only signed for us following the promise of a stables for his partner. Things got even more ludicrous when he became yet another victim of the footballer gets burgled phenomenon that has engulfed this city for the last couple of years. Not only did he apparently lose eight (?) Rolexes in the ambush, and an expensive new puppy (a heartfelt appeal for which led to its return) but he also suffered the embarrassment of thousands of school kids across the city gleefully bluetoothing videos of his stolen car being raced across a car park before being found wrecked in front of a cinema.

Things seemed to spiral out of control from here on in. Reports of unhappiness, denials thereof, fines, suspensions, drinks spiking claims, more injuries, rumours of sales abroad, wanting to stay, exciting pre-season displays, disappointments, no appearance for over a year… and bizarrely, regularly sightings of the great man shopping on his own in town, occasionally accompanied by his wife or on one occasion recently a red-haired teenage boy.

Diana will no doubt be given a record contract and be relatively successful - more importantly, encouraging teenage girls across the country. She (or the show’s producers) may have been at fault at times, but we don’t begrudge her that. Similarly, whether or not VDM brought his bad luck on himself, or questioning if he deserves any more chances, should not be on our agendas at the minute. I for one will forgive and forget - we all make mistakes, he has brought pleasure to millions and should be encouraged on this latest comeback trail.

Two years ago, when Sylvester Stallone came to Goodison, I stood proudly holding a ‘ROCKY VAN DER MEYDE’ poster, featuring Mr Balboa with a number 7 on his back. Maybe, just maybe it could be another fairytale ending to this story.

Dermot O'leary and the X-factor gang

This year’s X Factor final takes place next weekend, coincidentally enough, twelve days before Christmas. And, I’m having a nightmare deciding what to write my next EFP article about. So, this is a precursor to what will be my final article of 2008 from the soon-to-be-no-longer Capital of Culture… in which I’d like you the viewer to vote for your favourite idea and I’ll run with that.

Do you see what I did there?

Now I know what some of you will be thinking, this is another post-modern nod to writer’s block a la Spike Jonze’s excellent Adaptation, or an ironic comment on the reality tv / talent show format that has been so prevalent on our screens, magazine covers and lips during staff room discussions over the past decade.

And you’d be mostly right.

However, I’ve been a mostly good boy this year so feel I deserve the chance to be helped to make a tough decision. Cheryl Cole is not the only bridge between X Factor and footy, I promise you. Come with me as we run down the finalists in contention for the coveted prize of Winning Article Idea, December 2008, and revisit a popular old classic Christmas song in the process!

NB If any of you decide to stop reading now, or choose not to pass comment, that’s ok, I’ll simply follow the outcome of the ‘real’ X Factor results. Have a great holiday and prosperous, healthy new year anyway.

1. A partridge in a Pear Tree = Eoghan

This article goes back eighteen years, eighteen years, as December 29th will be the eighteenth anniversary of my first ever Everton match, a 2-0 victory over Derby County at Goodison Park. In this article I will delve into my and my father’s memories of the match. I was eleven at the time, but probably looked older that Eoghan at the time.

Eoghan represents the 18 years since my first Everton match - YIKES!

2. Two Turtle Doves = Alexandra

This young lady is my favourite to win, and as Louis says (to Simon’s concurring nod) she is the most talented performer. What I think is my best article idea would be a commentary on football at Christmas in general, and the tradition thereof. Orange balls, programme pullouts, presents under the tree, Father Christmas in club colours, that sort of thing. Given the festive mood people are beginning to feel, I think this may be the winner too.

Is Alexandra as good as Leona? I think so.

3. Three French Hens = Diana

Last night during the Five Live commentary on Burnley’s victory over Arsenal, Alan Green made a joke about Diana’s legs being a more appealing option that Mark ‘Lawro’ Lawrenson on MOTD. Now I think this is mildly controversial on several levels, but the fact remains Diana is for many an attractive proposition given her Cranberries flavoured warbling and ‘cool’ lack of dancing. She could almost be French – all sultry, alternative, Vanessa Paradis-esque… until you hear her talk and she’s from Blackburn.

The furore over her laryngitis-influenced week off makes her the ideal link person to attach my Christmas theme to the X Factor and subsequently an article on sicknote footballers. Louis Saha has been a breath of fresh air since signing for Everton, despite three lay-offs with injury, however I want to focus attention on the forgotten man of the team photo currently hanging behind my computer screen – one Andy van der Meyde.

Andy who? Van der Meyde has rarely featured since signing for Everton

4. Four Calling Birds = JLS

Please don’t think I’m confused, I know that JLS are not ‘birds’ in the girl sense of the words that young men are wont want to use when referencing members of the opposite sex, (and by the older generation adding the prefix ‘dolly’ at times, etc) No, I just thought there’s four of them, they like their colours (aficionados of the X Factor will know but others of you may not, that JLS have their own individual colours, and even when wearing all white, the soles of their shoes match their identity colour) and they are, like the four apostles the calling birds are said to signify, actually men.

JLS would be my group choice - but you decide?

This article would be a ‘group’ too, a list of significant events from the past twelve months in the form of a review.

The choice is yours.

So, audience, please do try to imagine me as Dannii Minogue, sat behind a desk trying not to look worried as events in front of her unfold out of her control. You can make your choice by adding a comment in the box below… then watch this space.

And have yourselves a merry Little Christmas.

Okay so this is going to be a weird one but stay with me.

It’s actually part of a bigger project, a University Masters level research topic would you believe. It was inspired by a 1980s Twilight Zone episode featuring Elliot Gould, playing a restaurant critic whose life is transformed by fortune cookies, and by a visit to a Karaoke Chinese here in Liverpool with the prospective in-laws, when I opened my own fortune cookie which read “Help, I’m stuck in a fortune cookie factory”. This was only the beginning of a long project questioning whether or not what the oracular strips of printed paper say, do come true.

Do fortune cookies really work? You should try them sometime

Last weekend’s fixtures offered the ideal opportunity to check the theory in terms of football, and not just because Liverpool were top of the league after a frankly convincing win at Chelsea – indeed, Everton’s luck already seemed to be turning after Fellaini had swooped twice in four days.

Anyhow, never one for orthodoxy, on Saturday 1st November at 11 am exactly, I opened eight fortune cookies, already assigned (at random) to the teams I cover in the north west. They read, looked and tasted as follows:

Liverpool (Silk road, red wrapper)
Keep me and fortune will always be with you

Everton (Tiger Tiger, Blue wrapper)
You will be lucky in love (tasted orangey too)

Blackburn (Beijing Gold – looked slightly burnt)
You will be successful in your work (this tasted of coconut)

Wigan (Silk road, red again)
Your mind is filled with ideas, use them (unfortunately, slightly burnt)

Carlisle (Tiger Tiger, green wrapper)
There is a time to be practical - now

Preston (Beijing Gold – not a great taste)
Someone is speaking well of you

Blackpool (Silk Road)
You will travel far and wide on both business and pleasure

Morecambe (Tiger Tiger, red wrapper this time)
You will travel far and wide, both pleasure and business

Now through all this, I really want to discover what percentage of fortune cookies come true, but there are many traditions people have as to what makes them come true in the first place – for example, some believe that if you recount out loud what the sooth says it won’t come true, whilst others are adamant that you have to eat the cookie for any chance of it proving correct. Therefore, to maximise the chance of anything positive happening, I did both – that is, told no-one, but ate each in turn, what a breakfast.

Rooney nearly mares my day by slobbering all over his United badge

Soon after, I set off for old lady Goodison. On the train I was thinking, we hadn’t won at home yet this season (or pre-season), in fact apart from the second half against Man Utd the week previous, things were pretty dire and I’d begun to regret renewing my season ticket – indeed, for that match marred by Rooney slobbering over the yellow and red crest on his breast, fate had decreed once again I was to endure a stressful half hour in the pub, when I should have been conducting a separate fortune cookie experiment, sipping a brandy or two to soothe the cold rain outside instead of being in the ground watching it live, but that’s another story for an article I’ll never write.

I stared out of the window as we approached Kirkdale, the sun was shining, and after kick-off the mood was quite bright, almost optimistic, but the multiple missed chances meant that a sense of impending doom grew large throughout the match, especially as the wood work was struck twice following hapless Fulham finishing. Kenwright was coming in for stick, the crowd was our lowest under Moyes, and thoughts turned to what my love life had in store for me to overcome this minor let down. However, with three minutes remaining, Louis leapt like a proverbial sahalmon and our luck seemed to be back in.

I’ve written many times before about the differences between our loves and lives, and I was actually already in the midst of a pretty romantic weekend as it happens, but as I have to remind myself on a seemingly monthly basis, this article should be about football. Let’s just say in this instance, the cookie was right – both personally and in terms of the match, I really was lucky in love (or Louis) and the experiment had got off to a great start.

Other results, however, were mixed.

Carlisle for example, lost 3-0, a result that apparently resulted in John Ward losing his job after a series of defeats left them teetering above the relegation zone. Clearly the board took heed of the cookie’s message then, and were practical – a battle against the drop meant drastic action needed to be taken and a managerial casualty ensues. Two nil to the cookies.

Carlisle think practical and sack John Ward - cookies right again

Blackpool however won 4-3, with a last minute winner. Again, this had an effect, as the amicable Aidy Boothroyd’s position became untenable following this defeat. However, the Tangerines are our citric concern here – and they clearly travelled far, did the business, and it brought them pleasure.

At this point, Jeff Stelling’s excited squeals as the panel approached the final whistles suggested I should think about conducting this experiment every week…

But, then we watched for the result from P P PNE, the club that as previously discussed, ignited the spark of interest in the beautiful game. They chose to upset the theories on Saturday, losing 2-3 at home to Southampton, thus maintaining mid-table ignominy. Here a cookie suggested Larry Folger*-like misfortune – without even realising it, someone is not speaking well of Preston here, see I’ve just typed damning words about them, simply because they’re upsetting the biscuit cart. Still, the cookies are three one up at halfway point.

Back to the ‘Prem’ and once again I brush over the less well-supported teams of my region. I feel bad about it, I really do, but Wigan and Blackburn just can’t get me excited enough to type more than a paragraph on their exploits – sorry if this offends, and with a trip to the stadium** that shall not be named coming up soon there’s a plate with words on it and a knife and fork available to EAT MY WORDS but once again I’ll pay (chapped) lip service to the blue and white Lancashire boys and just say that Emile Heskey’s and (the strangely funnily appearanced) Keith Andrews’ last minute goals merely added weight to the theory that fortune cookies come true… Ideas were used to overcome the conditions at Fratton Park, and there was success in their work at West Brom for Rovers.

Only Morecambe left then, and as we saw their fortune was very similar to Blackpool’s, even though the cookies’ manufacturers were different. Morecambe won 2-0 last Saturday, and although they were at home, that’s yet another pleasurable outcome for the Shrimps.

Which leaves us with one more result. Liverpool have been rewarded far more column inches by this author than one might expect recently, largely complimentary too. It was perhaps not surprising that the ‘Arry effect would influence their result in the tea time game, read Jordan Lister’s contribution for a better comment on Spurs’ exploits though. However, I did think they would win that game, and it certainly seems that fortune is always with them.

It was a little disappointing then, even for me, that against Tottenham their luck seemed not to be in, what with chances galore going begging and the squeaky-voiced restaurateur’s og before a last minute winner. But then I remembered twenty three years of regular disappointment and shock at the lucky breaks they’d had, dodgy decisions they’d been given, an even longer history of fortune favouring Liverpool than that wot I could recall***. And lest we forget, only three nights previous, Papa Boupa Diop’s inexplicable Limpar-like handball had given them an undeserved victory.

The message was right, I accepted long ago - FORTUNE WILL ALWAYS BE WITH THEM (they really might never walk alone)

Fortune favours Gerrard & Liverpool (again), anyone for chinese?

Normal service was then resumed this week when Captain Marvel won that dubious penalty and the rest, as they say, is history. Soon it will be beyond self-parody and I’ll have little to write about. Thankfully, though, all is not lost - that same evening, across the Atlanticthe colour blue (the people’s choice) was defeating the (seemingly evil) red in a much more important event than my silly little experiment. Hope springs eternal.

Superstition plays a part in football, I’ve said it before. The origins of fortune cookies are debatable, as are the merits of reading too much into them. But, the next time you wash your lucky undergarments, walk under that ladder, or step out of your usual pre-match routine, just think to yourself, could I determine the outcome of today’s fixtures? My breakfast last week suggests you could.

Roll on Saturday morning!****

*Larry Folger was the guy in the Twilight Zone. After many a cryptic cookies coming true, the last message he read read ‘You’re dead’.

**Long story

*** This sentence was a show of support for my mum’s cousin’s nephew, who goes by the name of Russell Brand.

**** To celebrate the end of my longest and most elaborate article for efp yet, I opened a fortune cookie for anyone who reads this to the end. But, if I tell you what it said, it won’t come true. Don’t worry, it’s good.

The following is a letter I wrote but never sent, to a gentleman I sat with on the 10.22 Liverpool Lime Street - Scarborough train, one Saturday last month. If you think you might know him, please add a comment below or get in touch with efp direct…

October 9^th 2008

Dear Huddersfield fan

I’m sorry to address you like that, but I never got your name. You may or may not remember our recent conversation as you travelled to Huddersfield for the match (I was on the way to York for my folks’ anniversary). Our discussion made me think, a lot, inspiring me to write this letter, and to post it on that website I was telling you about.

So, thank you.

We talked at length about many things, didn’t we - and you predicted some events which have since occurred. I was so glad to see the 3-2 victory over Northampton Town that day, especially as your parting words when you disembarked were “if they don’t win today, that’s it…” Therefore I hope you’ve made it back since, even if results haven’t been great.

So many times I’ve said the same - none more so than recently. On the way back to Liverpool the day after our acquaintance, I was embarrassed to cheer Osman’s equaliser away at Hull, as I listened to poor reception commentary whilst the train yawned its way across the Pennines. That journey was made all the tougher by having to spend at least a portion ‘enjoying’ Manchester City’s demolition of Portsmouth. Since I wrote my last article, I honestly agree with you when you say that football might have changed somewhat.

Jury's still out on Fellaini

 Like I told you, transfer deadline day was one of the strangest events of recent times. Sky Sports News was my companion for most of the day and became more and more ludicrous as the clock ticked down. Like I said, I went to sleep that night at twenty to twelve not just amazed at the goings on at Eastlands but with the genuine fear that Everton had missed their chance. When I got up the following day I was pleased we’d broken our transfer record - but for who exactly?

Having preferred a romantic meal to watching Fellaini’s apparently majestic performance at Anfield, I was more than a little dubious that Moyes had spent so much - panic on the streets of Walton, you could say. And so far, the jury’s out, though I was quite impressed with his performance and goal last weekend.

However, your Everton for relegation tip (14-1 I believe?) is looking a bit sounder after the last few weeks. Defensively questionable, things don’t exactly look set to improve given our next couple of fixtures, and without a UEFA Cup adventure to look forward to this time around, you might just have pulled off a coup.

If you recall, our discussion started with your noticing my t-shirt. Well I’ll be honest with you here, I sat opposite from you that day as I had noticed your centenary shirt and I hoped to comment on it at some point during the journey. I was a little taken aback that you thought me brave (or stupid) to be wearing such a slogan but given the behaviour of some of our fans at the derby I’d have to agree that sometimes ‘One Evertonian equals Twenty Liverpudlians’ might not be the case.

Torres proves two good in the Derby

Now I wasn’t at the derby, I was celebrating my birthday in another church witnessing a more friendly match, but from what I’ve heard and read the old ‘Murdererers’ / ‘The Baby’s Not Yours’ ad nauseum chants were resurrected, despite the plea for Merseyside to reunite in honour of Rhys Jones. When I heard about the bottle being thrown at Gerrard, I was disappointed, though not very surprised. I’ve written about all these issues, plus Torres’ claims for Footballer of the Year, before in greater detail, so will just say my lack of faith in LFC has been restored by the recent behaviour of a couple of their fans I know. Let’s leave it at that, other than to say they do look bloody impressive at the minute.

I’d also missed the admittedly exciting Standard Liege home game, my ticket went unused as more important events came to light. Given Shankly’s links to your hometown club, there’s a nice symmetry there. However, the away leg was hugely anti-climactic, and something will need to be done soon.

The Northern Landscape of Hudderfield as depicted by L.S.Lowry in 1965

I’ve been looking out for results from the Galpharm Stadium since our meeting, and have even found myself recounting your tale about that bar in Bangkok. In fact, that reminded me a little of yet another article I wrote about wearing football shirts abroad, though was much funnier. Please don’t think I’m an obsessed stalker, but there were some strange coincidences that came out of that hour and a half, and it left a lasting impression on me. Indeed, your tales of travelling also left me with a desire to see some of the world you described. India, New Orleans and those other places all sounded wonderful and inspired me to start saving up for a long-distance trip.

Meeting you also made me wish I supported someone else. Not that I regret picking Everton, you must understand, but it reignited an interest in football outside of the Premiership and Champions League and Match of the Day. Your tales of travelling that distance every other Saturday, and of discounted season tickets, and the overweight journeymen that fill the blue and white striped shirts. Other things in my little life have meant that I haven’t yet followed up this moment of inspiration, but I haven’t forgotten it. One Sunday soon, I might even get up in time to watch the Championship.

Best wishes to your family, I hope your son’s decided what he wants to do in the near future. I’ll look out for you next time I’m in your neck of the woods, when Stan Ternent’s on TV or David Unsworth misses a penalty.

Yours Sincerely

The Everton fan

            “…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.

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. 

Spaniels possess a great share of intelligence, affection, and obedience, which qualities, combined with much beauty, make them highly prized as companions. It’s clear that Torres, and to a lesser extent Arteta, are highly prized companions, I hope we can both keep them if the season proves to be a failure. My legendary girlfriend has just come in and told me she’s always wanted a Spaniel. I’ll get a towel.

 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.