With the murmur for technology in football turning into a roar, this match could have taken the tech bit between its teeth, as Fulham's visit to Goodison Park today could have been live, via a teleconference in London. So useless were Fulham that it is surprising that their kit sponsors weren't Go To Meeting Dot Com. Fulham were led by a false manager who could have been pushing buttons from the conference room, but should have been pushing brooms through it. From the onslaught, Everton were the better side, and managed a promising free kick outside the area inside of five minutes. Jelavic hammered a wicked kick that deflected off a Fulham player's hand that he had raised when the question was asked if anybody wanted to leave the arena of battle for their home. A penalty was awarded. Jelavic, of course, smashed the resultant penalty shot through the wavering image of a diving Swartzer, and it was 1-0.
Howard made a few leaping saves in an attempt to appear as though he cared about the match, yet nobody seemed very interested. Indeed, David Moyes was caught by the camera writing out instructions for the new manager who would be taking his place next year. At one point the singing of “Come on Fulham, Come on Fulham!†rang around the park, but a video camera discovered that it was the Bus driver for the Cottagers blaring the plea through a bullhorn, while looking at his watch, holding the doors open, and revving the engine. At the fifteen minute mark Fellaini headed a Pienaar corner straight past the keeper. There was a holistic man on the line who waved his leg at the ball, and not surprisingly, the ball broke through the mirage of flesh and bone, and rippled the net, which stood rooted in reality. 2-0.
Fulham threatened to hit back after that by making a couple of courageous charges into Everton territory and passing the ball around a bit until they were hypnotized by another successful Operation Goodison exercise, and their fancy flights ended with them beating themselves senseless against the withering Goodison Park lights along with other futile moths and insects. Tim Howard urged the troops on, yelling, “Hey, if they're not (mother****ing [Poor language removed]**** bastardwhore mopCOCK****) real, they can't hurt us!†He illustrated the point by leaping into the air, and then floating back to earth with his eyes gazing at the stars and his arms outstretched. Before he tenderly touched the grass, he blew a cannonball of a goal-bound shot over the bar like it was just a soap bubble. As if it were one of the little bubbles he used to blow after his momma washed his mouth out with soap, back before she found out he was special. And if the Howard family is being honest, even after his mother found out he was special, she continued to wash his mouth out with soap, because, how many free shots do you get in this life at one of your kids?
It was around this time that the camera showed Fulham's fill-in manager on the bench. The commentator politely said, “He's got some thinking to do.†I mean no harm when I say this, to anybody or their children, but I honestly think the commentator meant to say, “He looks like a retard.†In the meantime, on the big teleconference screen, it looked like the sneaky Fulham players were playing some sneaky football. They passed it around, passed it around, and all the time they were edging toward the tunnel, hoping to sneak out of Goodison without being noticed. Then a spotlight came on and the Fulham players froze. They looked like the Von Trapp Family when Franz caught them trying to sneak into Canada. The Goodison Park audience gasped. Then Sswartzer came after Jelavic, who had broken free and chased him around the pitch like a wild, hissing goose. Everybody screamed at Jelavic to just get rid of the ball. Jelavic closed his eyes and muttered, “It's only a movie, it's only a movie, it's only a movie, and then he did get rid of the ball. 3-0.
Goodison Park had never got to proper rocking during this match. It had been more like the constant happy humming from an electric razor, and the stubble slicing blades just rose a notch in volume. Then, Tim Cahill was coaxed out onto the pitch for one final tribute to David Moyes, and in the 60th minute he thanked the man who gave him his chance in the topflight by touching a ball to Pienaar, and sprinting through Fulham's shadowy video defence. Pienaar lifted the ball like a man closing a smoldering oven door with his foot, and Cahill kept running, and before the ball could touch grass, it touched Cahill's boot and didn't feel the cool grass of the Merseyside until it nestled the back of the net for 4-0. I would like to tell you that Goodison Park erupted at this moment and shattered the sound barrier. Myself, my frenzied screaming was used up last week. This week each goal just produced a smile and a fist pump. They don't like you to get too loud at the movies, and though there were 30 more minutes to play, the match was over, and the Everton players exited the stadium, leaving Fulham's video feed still flickering, but only just. Tony Hibbert and Phil Neville left the pitch together, and it looked as though Phil was explaining to Tony how to perform a step-over. On the video screens Danny Murphy appeared and said, “Go to Meeting Dot Com. For when you simply can't be there.†Then the screen faded to black, and the Goodison ushers whisked about, cleaning up ashes that reeked of Fulham dreams. From the balcony, I made my way down onto the streets, into the night and whistled a tune.
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Howard made a few leaping saves in an attempt to appear as though he cared about the match, yet nobody seemed very interested. Indeed, David Moyes was caught by the camera writing out instructions for the new manager who would be taking his place next year. At one point the singing of “Come on Fulham, Come on Fulham!†rang around the park, but a video camera discovered that it was the Bus driver for the Cottagers blaring the plea through a bullhorn, while looking at his watch, holding the doors open, and revving the engine. At the fifteen minute mark Fellaini headed a Pienaar corner straight past the keeper. There was a holistic man on the line who waved his leg at the ball, and not surprisingly, the ball broke through the mirage of flesh and bone, and rippled the net, which stood rooted in reality. 2-0.
Fulham threatened to hit back after that by making a couple of courageous charges into Everton territory and passing the ball around a bit until they were hypnotized by another successful Operation Goodison exercise, and their fancy flights ended with them beating themselves senseless against the withering Goodison Park lights along with other futile moths and insects. Tim Howard urged the troops on, yelling, “Hey, if they're not (mother****ing [Poor language removed]**** bastardwhore mopCOCK****) real, they can't hurt us!†He illustrated the point by leaping into the air, and then floating back to earth with his eyes gazing at the stars and his arms outstretched. Before he tenderly touched the grass, he blew a cannonball of a goal-bound shot over the bar like it was just a soap bubble. As if it were one of the little bubbles he used to blow after his momma washed his mouth out with soap, back before she found out he was special. And if the Howard family is being honest, even after his mother found out he was special, she continued to wash his mouth out with soap, because, how many free shots do you get in this life at one of your kids?
It was around this time that the camera showed Fulham's fill-in manager on the bench. The commentator politely said, “He's got some thinking to do.†I mean no harm when I say this, to anybody or their children, but I honestly think the commentator meant to say, “He looks like a retard.†In the meantime, on the big teleconference screen, it looked like the sneaky Fulham players were playing some sneaky football. They passed it around, passed it around, and all the time they were edging toward the tunnel, hoping to sneak out of Goodison without being noticed. Then a spotlight came on and the Fulham players froze. They looked like the Von Trapp Family when Franz caught them trying to sneak into Canada. The Goodison Park audience gasped. Then Sswartzer came after Jelavic, who had broken free and chased him around the pitch like a wild, hissing goose. Everybody screamed at Jelavic to just get rid of the ball. Jelavic closed his eyes and muttered, “It's only a movie, it's only a movie, it's only a movie, and then he did get rid of the ball. 3-0.
Goodison Park had never got to proper rocking during this match. It had been more like the constant happy humming from an electric razor, and the stubble slicing blades just rose a notch in volume. Then, Tim Cahill was coaxed out onto the pitch for one final tribute to David Moyes, and in the 60th minute he thanked the man who gave him his chance in the topflight by touching a ball to Pienaar, and sprinting through Fulham's shadowy video defence. Pienaar lifted the ball like a man closing a smoldering oven door with his foot, and Cahill kept running, and before the ball could touch grass, it touched Cahill's boot and didn't feel the cool grass of the Merseyside until it nestled the back of the net for 4-0. I would like to tell you that Goodison Park erupted at this moment and shattered the sound barrier. Myself, my frenzied screaming was used up last week. This week each goal just produced a smile and a fist pump. They don't like you to get too loud at the movies, and though there were 30 more minutes to play, the match was over, and the Everton players exited the stadium, leaving Fulham's video feed still flickering, but only just. Tony Hibbert and Phil Neville left the pitch together, and it looked as though Phil was explaining to Tony how to perform a step-over. On the video screens Danny Murphy appeared and said, “Go to Meeting Dot Com. For when you simply can't be there.†Then the screen faded to black, and the Goodison ushers whisked about, cleaning up ashes that reeked of Fulham dreams. From the balcony, I made my way down onto the streets, into the night and whistled a tune.
http://www.schoolofscience.eu
