Whenever I meet up with my Spurs-supporting cousin, we always play a game. We rattle off name upon name of comically and chronically bad players — Vinny Samways (in his blue phase), Justin Edinburgh, Darren Caskey, Dean Austin, Earl Barrett, Alan Biley, Mikel Madar, Brett Angell, and Marc Hottiger always get a mention. However, I never bring up Everton’s (rumoured) alcoholic, long haired Dutchman; prone to very occasional bouts of fitness, an occasional player, with a garrulous mouth and a daughter named “Purple”. The most surprising occurrence of Everton’s stale summer has definitely not been the flood of new signings (or lack thereof); instead it has been the apparent...
