Tie decided on penalties: Everton 2 – Fiorentina 4

Sport has been defined as “a pleasant pastime; amusement; diversion” and professional sport clearly extends into the entertainment industry. Few inside Goodison last night could desribe events as ‘pleasant’ but for the millions of neutrals watching on TV this match was entertainment of the highest quality. Exciting, dramatic, climactic, and cruel, this game had it all; the sort of content that makes media executives drool.
For the committed Evertonian it was heartbreaking, but to be part of it, to be at Goodison last night was uplifting. Make no mistake this team are the ‘real deal’. Moyes is sculpting a wonderful squad who will ultimately be capable of fullfilling all our dreams, and I mean ALL! They are already the finest Everton team since the mid-80s so just imagine where the additions which Moyes will add in the summer will take us.
Fiorentia were completely outclassed, and at times reduced to a bickering, dishevelled unit until rescued from the requirement to play as a team by a penalty shoot-out, a creation which is to a football match what Katie Price is to literature – unconnected. Ah the tyranny of the shoot-out; individuals plucked from the team, and a contest between 11 men playing as 1 suddenly becomes like, well, darts. All the continentals on show scored including Gravesen – trundled out for the occasion – and Arteta….you know the rest!
One question gnaws at me: Up until now I have been 100% behind the move to Kirby, the financial arguments are as obvious as Katie Price’s assets [apologies for that]. Could any new stadium, however cleverly designed, replicate the atmosphere that was Goodison Park last night?

The aforementioned mystic types, therefore, reckon that between the ages of 27 and 30 some funky bizarre stuff happens to us.

The Saturn Return is most famously associated with musicians, and in particular The 27 Club, an unsettlingly large group of musicians who died at the age of 27. From mythic Delta-Bluesman Robert Johnson – who was said to have sold his soul for his intricately brilliant guitar skills – to the famous five of Brian Jones, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison and Kurt Cobain.

I find it somewhat strange that this myth about the Saturn Return hasn’t swung over to football. Certain players rise and fall like Icarus, and I’ve always thought that Dixie Dean’s stellar 60 goals in one season, followed by the loss of both his legs late in life, points to some kind of shadowy Faustian pact. Personally I thought it was all a load of wacky 60s rhubarb – until Tim Cahill returned for my Everton.

Cahill’s return is now surely reaching its peak, with a sublime goal on Sunday against Chelsea. I have to admit that up until last weekend, my memories of Chelsea games have all merged into one giant hemorrhoidal pustule.

Wafer-thin charcoal biscuits masquerading as burgers, Chelsea fans popping up off their seats to laugh at a foreigner in the Toffees team – smugly unaware of Chelsea’s own phalanx of foreigners – gippy little goals which come back to haunt me again and again like a persistent pop-up error message on a computer screen (Mutu’s handball!).

I even witnessed what can only be described as an Everton roast – no, not the Newcastle United kind – where a ‘Chelsea MC’ scuttled onto the pitch before the game and ripped into Everton for five minutes, boozy guffaws echoing back at the comedian with the mic.

For us Evertonians, who have more history in our nose hair, watching Chelsea beat us over the past few seasons is like an aged Peter O’Toole jealously watching as Callum Best waltzes off with a bevy of beauties. Chelsea, on the other hand, don’t do history, for them the past is only a distant cousin, marked by a few splutters of success amidst the tepid treading-water.

What you can judge from the above passage is that Chelsea lack class. They are the Michael Carroll of football teams, lottery louts who are suddenly in the money, with an utter lack of scruples but an ocean of roubles. Cahill’s late equaliser was the perfect antidote to this mess, for a sweet second the Aussie was the same way up as his countrymen Down Under with an honest and brilliantly executed bicycle kick.

And this returns me to the Saturn Return; Cahill – though a strong player before his injury lay-off, has come back even better; he is 27 years of age – perhaps his Saturn Return has brought him more focus and resolve? There are other examples, too; Ronaldinho, in all his distilled, buck-toothed glory, has also had his Saturn Return – and the first major slump in his career.

George Best, the Manchester United legend, who was too differently skilled for even the word ‘unique’ to adequately describe him, quit the Red Devils at 27. So next time you’re watching your team, watch out for those 27-year-olds.

Everton approached this game having recorded victories in each of their last five calendar entries. With Arteta out injured, Moyes moved Phil Neville up to midfield and brought in Hibbert at right back, a move that always provokes queasy unease. Perhaps Gravesen should have started in Arteta’s place – to put Phil Neville in Our tater’s place is surely switching silk with sandpaper.
As it was, a cavalcade of Chelsea chances came in the first half and they were all scuffed, missed, or saved. Everton started the second half with a much more positive shape, bringing on McFadden and Anichebe for Neville and Yakubu, a change that was a necessity for Everton to attempt to feature in this game; in the first half Everton hadn’t mustered a single decent chance.
It took a while for things to change in the second half, but Carsley produced Everton’s first real threat on 51 minutes, the Brummie couldn’t replicate his superb effort last week and instead scooped the ball well over the bar.
At the other end Howard was kept busy, as Chelsea cranked up the pressure, and with every chance it looked more and more likely that they would puncture Everton’s defence. It was Drobga who eventually put Chelsea into the lead evading his jailer Lescott and heading in at the near post from a corner on 69 minutes. Again clutching his badge like it means something to him, Drogba sits on the razors edge of hypocrisy – how long before another outburst comes out?
Moyes, finally forced to play a more creative hand, brought on Gravesen, his goggled eyed genius on 76 minutes, bringing him on for Lee Carsley. But this was to no avail as Chelsea looked to be easing towards victory; Moyes must be worried that despite his much vaunted new depth to his squad, his team still rely on Arteta as their creative fulcrum – as it was there was noone to truly take the fight to Chelsea – until the 89th minute that is. Tim Cahill added a splash of antipodean colour to Everton’s black and white performance. A beautifully executed overhead kick yet again showed how much Everton have missed their man, points shared – and an excellent result for Everton against a Chelsea side whose defence was so tight and strictly marshalled that they hand’t conceded for aeons.
Next up: Sunderland At Home.

A draw would have been a disappointment for the Toffees, but late goals from Lee Carsley and James Vaughan pushed them towards the three points. It is now four wins in a row for Everton in all competitions and all of a sudden the heartburn of losing to Liverpool seems to have eased.

Everton now have the triumvirate of Tim Cahill, Thomas Gravesen, and Carsley fully fit – the potent combination that drove them to fourth place and into Europe. The fact that the squad has since been considerably improved yet a second fourth-place finish hasn’t been achieved shows what a complicated balance has to be struck between a close tight-knit team and a squad with the depth to cope with multiple tournaments.

Everton went ahead after just ten minutes when Yakubu did exactly what he was brought in for – and scored. I have been a big critic of Yakubu, but he is obviously like the Rainman, an idiot savant with only one recognizable skill, the ability to score. In this case the ball bounced off the Nigerian’s heel and into the net. Sandwiched between this goal, a simple paint-by-numbers finish turned into a complicated goal by the Yak, were several profligate misses. I have been critical of the Nigerian, and I will continue to criticise him. I’m very superstitious and my childhood memories of watching the Toffees were punctuated with touching wood every 10 seconds to stave off potential bad luck; and there seems to be a strange symmetry between my criticism and his goals.

Birmingham’s equaliser was the matching bookend to Yakubu’s opener, coming 10 minutes from the end, and the shock of dropping two points combined with the gaggle of needless misses earlier in the game pushed Everton back into life. With seconds remaining, Carsley punched a 20-yarder right into the top corner and, seemingly not satisfied with that, he then set up the returning Vaughan to score a third.

Everton now have a horde of potential goalscorers; Yakubu, Vaughan, Cahill, Victor Anichebe, Andy Johnson, Mikel Arteta, and even Joleon Lescott have proven their goal-nabbing capabilities.

Everton’s squad now looks a far cry from the emaciated three-point gathering machine of the Champions League qualifying season. A swarm of polyglot players have been brought in, both Phil Jagielka and Phil Neville can fill a number of roles, and Lescott is becoming increasingly comfortable with speaking the language of a left-back.

Arteta and the slight Steven Pienaar have shown the beginning of an excellent relationship, and Gravesen, the goggle-eyed Dane, will also thrive next to these two. Perhaps it is time for Everton to stop being labelled as a long-ball side; the only residue from that era is Tony Hibbert, constantly shooting the ball upfield searching for the ghost of Duncan Ferguson.

At half-time in this game a cavalcade of past heroes were paraded around Goodison. Historically this brings a tear to the eye and a lump in the throat, our present players looking poor in comparison to past legends, with the inflated memories of their achievements.

Half-time at Goodison is usually a time for worries to mount, for programmes to be throttled in the clammy hands of umpteen pessimist Toffees; a retired Neville Southall once even came out for a half-time tear-jerker, urging the fans to give one final push in a relegation scramble. These days we look forward to the second half, rather than back to our past heroes. For once thoughts were of the present, and the halcyon past wasn’t dragging us down.

This game had everything you would expect from the unpredictable and unsettled mix that is the Everton squad. Arteta was as always fabulous, playing football in a similar manner to Napoleon playing Risk, and Lescott (although caught daydreaming for Larissa’s goal) was reminiscent of the Tony Adams fashioned by Arsene Wenger – and made several surging runs from the back.

Everton started well, scoring through the returning prodigal, Tim Cahill – later described by Moyes as “our Johnny on the spot”. Cahill’s diving header in the 14th minute instantly exorcised any derby ghosts, the Australian’s celebratory run towards the corner flag and subsequent “Boxing ‘Roo” routine must have sent hearts soaring.

Everton’s second, a gloriously manufactured goal, starting on the left with Cahill, who sent Baines sprinting down the wing, delivering a cross to Pienaar who then flicked the ball back for Osman. Leon still had a split second before he arrived to meet the ball, and it is in that silence, that static calm before the storm, that the genesis of a truly great goal blossoms. Once Osman made contact the ball wriggled through the air, eager to reach the back of the net – it was easily one of the best goals by Everton this millennium.

With so many players returning we have some fascinating partnerships that could emerge, Gravesen paired up with his replacement Arteta and they showed glimpses of a preternatural understanding – similar to the short lived – but superb – passing relationship between Gravesen and Paul Gascoigne. But before we could enjoy this game too much, Everton, as they so often do – dragged us back into a world of uncertainty. It was somewhat fitting that after a derby game in which no Everton player scored, and many events seemed utterly out of our control – Everton would control yesterday’s game totally, so much so that even Larissa’s goal was made by Everton. A trickled ball to Lescott from Howard, and a ponderous response by the England international, let in the Brazilian Clayton.

All the tension of a possible defeat was then deflated by Anichebe, who came on and showed us what an important asset pace is (so sorely lacking with McFadden), and also exhibited a lot of strength too – bundling past two defenders for another European coup de grace by the young Nigerian.

Everton (4-4-1-1): T Howard – A Hibbert, J Yobo, J Lescott, L Baines – M Arteta, L Osman, L Carsley, S Pienaar (sub: A Stubbs, 88min) – T Cahill (sub: T Gravesen, 66) – J McFadden (sub: V Anichebe, 66). Substitutes not used: S Wessels, P Jagielka, Nuno Valente, Yakubu Ayegbeni. Booked: Yobo, Lescott, Gravesen.
Larissa (4-4-2): S Kotsolis – M Sarmiento, N Dabizas, I Kyriakidis (sub: A Lampropoulos, 75), S Venetidis – G Gkalitsios, G Fotakis, M Foerster (sub: A Venetis, 78), F Parra (sub: C Kalantzis, 58) – I Bakayoko, C Alexandre Silva. Substitutes not used: F Kipouros, I Kotsios, D Gkikas, P Katsiaros. Booked: Dabizas.
Referee: M Ingvarsson (Sweden).

In this 206th league match up between these two sides Liverpool won in a game that was inflated with hype before and punctured with the opposite of clean and normal goals during. Everton didn’t even have the satisfaction of scoring their goal themselves, it was a Hyppia own goal that opened things for the Blues. The blunderbuss strike force of Yakubu and Anichebe were a physical presence and Yakubu had a number of good moves, notably a shot deep in the midfield wilderness which threatened to smash through Liverpool’s goal like a vandal’s brick. The two strikers they lurched and pushed their way around the field to no avail with Anichebe being the younger and more mobile of the two. McFadden, when he came on, was again an enigma – although the Scot is concise and uniquely brilliant for his country, he is frustratingly verbose on the ball for Everton.

Everton will appeal to the fouls on Neville and Lescott – the former a two footed lunge – and the latter a definite penalty, with recognition of either one by Clattenberg meaning a different outcome to this game. The decision not to grant Everton a last gasp penalty (after Kuyt’s earlier last gasp penalty) was made all the more bizarre by the fact that Clattenberg had just given a penalty to Liverpool. Weak refs are often criticized for trying to make amends – this referee, when given a legitimate reason to give a penalty to the blue half of Merseyside, inexplicably didn’t. Ultimately though, football is about results – and this one matters more than most – sometimes the pain of defeat is dulled by scintillating skill but in the Merseyside derby performance is always of secondary or tertiary importance, the result – the trump card in the office on the Monday morning – that stamps out all excuses is of precious value.

The Observer’s Paul Wilson thinks that Everton and Liverpool will miss each other when the Blues move to Kirkby, and this is true – the rivalry is symbiotic and without each other, so tangibly close like a conjoined twin, the derby will be less like messy fisticuffs between two neighbours in a semi detached house, and more like all other local rivalries.

This game was a crossroads for Liverpool, but it is different for the Toffees. The Everton of 2007/8 still isn’t fully formed – players like Cahill, Vaughan, and Gravesen still have to be added to the mix, and a decision has to be made about whether recalcitrant wide-boy Andy Van Der Meyde’s artistry has a place in the squad. Everton still have players that can remember Duncan Ferguson, and Hibbert in particular, when harried, seems to have flashbacks of the totemic Scotsman, vainly firing up to the memory of the number 9 with the frequency of the English archers at Crecy. Liverpool will push on from here I’m sure, but Everton – my team, will still remain as unpredictable as Rocky Balboa.