Stoke. The very name conjures up magical images and a promise of enchantment and delight. A
night game in the land of Stoke, under the stars is an event every person should experience at
least once in their lifetime. Alas, this endearing memory would have to remain on my bucket list
for the time being, as I missed my flight and had to tune into the match on TV, crumpled
passport in my fist and tears running down the glitter on my cheeks.
To make matters worse, I missed the first twelve minutes of this match as well, and I always
like to see what mythical and enchanting animal has shat upon Scharner's head before kickoff. I
also missed the home fans' presentation of “The Muppets Go To Stokeâ€. Also, a zombie with a
bloodied head was lurching around the pitch. How I detest missing the first part of a match!
Well, Everton must have sucked the air and atmosphere out of the charming stadium, because it
was silent as a broken music box and the football stayed on the ground at Everton feet. I kept my
eyes on the zombie, wondering if the authorities were going to handle that or not. Then I saw
Victor fall. “Get up, Victor!†I shrilled at my telly. “There's a bloody ZOMBIE out there!†Victor must
have heard me, because he got up, but after years of simply walking around on a pitch his legs
weren't up to the idea of running, and the monster overtook him and feasted on his brains. To
my horror, this delighted the spectators and I felt my flesh prickle. For goodness sake, was this
match in Stoke or Transylvania?
Despite Everton's total mastery of the game the only shot I saw was in the 28th minute When
Ossie tore through the Stoke line to unleash his dribbler in on goal. Stoke got a chuckle full of
chances with Rory Delap and his freakish long throws on the short pitch. Watching Stoke perform
this tactic is every bit as delightful as watching a fat boy throwing rocks at a squirrel on a
telephone wire. However, none of the missives managed to bother Howard, and Everton went
back to the business of playing football. An insight was gained into Jelavic's natural goal scoring
ability, when at one point, Gueye sent in a cross that hit him unaware, and within the space of a
flinch and the span a nano-second he recovered and nearly sent it into the net.
The commentators, to my child-like delight, are coming to grips with our French winger's name.
They have gone from, “McGuy-gay†to “Gay-gay†and now, simply, “Gay.†I wish I was mature
enough not to giggle each time the announcer said, “This is gay!†I'll tell you what wasn't gay was
when in the 41st minute, seconds after Pienaar forced the keeper into a save, our assist machine,
Tony Hibbert LOL'd into Stoke territory and sent a laser cross off of Peter Crouch's idiotic head
and into the net, and all the Stoke fans made collective “Oh...†faces. Halftime would be a
celebration of silence and 'what ifs' served up amid the stilled confetti, chilled champagne, and
caviar.
The second half saw Everton playing like KGB agents that were bred with wolves: knocking down
doors, shutting down all opposition, taking what they want and attacking in packs. Stoke
answered by taping the football to the feet of the zombie and sending him wobbling down the
pitch again, arms extended in front of his body, tongue sticking out of his mouth, eyes bugging
out, and his clodhoppers stepping on feet. He got close enough to Howard to try and detonate
the ball into the net, but Jagielka headed the problem away.
In the 66th minute, Stoke made a like-for-like substitution when they brought three failures off
the pitch and replaced them with three others. One of them must have caught Tim Cahill's fancy,
however, because he sauntered up to him, presented him with the football, winked, and said,
“For you, love.†Well this tool's eyes lit up and he ran the other way with the ball, hinked and
jinked Jonny and Jags into performing an impromptu version of Swan Lake, and sailed the ball
past the bewildered Howard.
As the match wound down like a whirlpool in the centre of the pitch I became concerned. Where
were our next three goals going to come from? Moyes, knowing he was in the land of glitz,
glamour, and magic, blew on Faddy and tossed him tumbling onto the pitch. However, he
created no memorable moments to cherish, and the match ended as a one-all affair. Around the
Brittania, however, the air fairly crackled with Stoke's magical allure, and a quarter moon shone
over the grounds as night birds sighed and the hometown fans sang, “Whoop, Dey it Is!â€
http://www.schoolofscience.eu
night game in the land of Stoke, under the stars is an event every person should experience at
least once in their lifetime. Alas, this endearing memory would have to remain on my bucket list
for the time being, as I missed my flight and had to tune into the match on TV, crumpled
passport in my fist and tears running down the glitter on my cheeks.
To make matters worse, I missed the first twelve minutes of this match as well, and I always
like to see what mythical and enchanting animal has shat upon Scharner's head before kickoff. I
also missed the home fans' presentation of “The Muppets Go To Stokeâ€. Also, a zombie with a
bloodied head was lurching around the pitch. How I detest missing the first part of a match!
Well, Everton must have sucked the air and atmosphere out of the charming stadium, because it
was silent as a broken music box and the football stayed on the ground at Everton feet. I kept my
eyes on the zombie, wondering if the authorities were going to handle that or not. Then I saw
Victor fall. “Get up, Victor!†I shrilled at my telly. “There's a bloody ZOMBIE out there!†Victor must
have heard me, because he got up, but after years of simply walking around on a pitch his legs
weren't up to the idea of running, and the monster overtook him and feasted on his brains. To
my horror, this delighted the spectators and I felt my flesh prickle. For goodness sake, was this
match in Stoke or Transylvania?
Despite Everton's total mastery of the game the only shot I saw was in the 28th minute When
Ossie tore through the Stoke line to unleash his dribbler in on goal. Stoke got a chuckle full of
chances with Rory Delap and his freakish long throws on the short pitch. Watching Stoke perform
this tactic is every bit as delightful as watching a fat boy throwing rocks at a squirrel on a
telephone wire. However, none of the missives managed to bother Howard, and Everton went
back to the business of playing football. An insight was gained into Jelavic's natural goal scoring
ability, when at one point, Gueye sent in a cross that hit him unaware, and within the space of a
flinch and the span a nano-second he recovered and nearly sent it into the net.
The commentators, to my child-like delight, are coming to grips with our French winger's name.
They have gone from, “McGuy-gay†to “Gay-gay†and now, simply, “Gay.†I wish I was mature
enough not to giggle each time the announcer said, “This is gay!†I'll tell you what wasn't gay was
when in the 41st minute, seconds after Pienaar forced the keeper into a save, our assist machine,
Tony Hibbert LOL'd into Stoke territory and sent a laser cross off of Peter Crouch's idiotic head
and into the net, and all the Stoke fans made collective “Oh...†faces. Halftime would be a
celebration of silence and 'what ifs' served up amid the stilled confetti, chilled champagne, and
caviar.
The second half saw Everton playing like KGB agents that were bred with wolves: knocking down
doors, shutting down all opposition, taking what they want and attacking in packs. Stoke
answered by taping the football to the feet of the zombie and sending him wobbling down the
pitch again, arms extended in front of his body, tongue sticking out of his mouth, eyes bugging
out, and his clodhoppers stepping on feet. He got close enough to Howard to try and detonate
the ball into the net, but Jagielka headed the problem away.
In the 66th minute, Stoke made a like-for-like substitution when they brought three failures off
the pitch and replaced them with three others. One of them must have caught Tim Cahill's fancy,
however, because he sauntered up to him, presented him with the football, winked, and said,
“For you, love.†Well this tool's eyes lit up and he ran the other way with the ball, hinked and
jinked Jonny and Jags into performing an impromptu version of Swan Lake, and sailed the ball
past the bewildered Howard.
As the match wound down like a whirlpool in the centre of the pitch I became concerned. Where
were our next three goals going to come from? Moyes, knowing he was in the land of glitz,
glamour, and magic, blew on Faddy and tossed him tumbling onto the pitch. However, he
created no memorable moments to cherish, and the match ended as a one-all affair. Around the
Brittania, however, the air fairly crackled with Stoke's magical allure, and a quarter moon shone
over the grounds as night birds sighed and the hometown fans sang, “Whoop, Dey it Is!â€
http://www.schoolofscience.eu
