So that was what was then.
A season that opened as a new chapter in St Domingo’s Weekend School is now reaching it’s finale. It’s at this point where we are tempted to look back and do an comfortable self appraisal using words none of us are easy with, before setting some SMART objectives for next season – fully aware that we will adhere to probably less than ten percent of them.
So let’s just say that we’re relatively boss and there’s a whole host of reasons to be looking forward to seasons ahead as things stand on the ace ship Everton.
But before we can sigh and wistfully anticipate weekends sin togger, we have to complete league game number thirty eight of a long and tiring season. How long ago was John Stones’ Panenka penalty kick?
The penultimate game went as a expected and despite the amusing patronising from the kopite infused media it was a noble and brave Everton who were outdone by players with just that little bit more class. Certainly a smaller gap than you’d expect for all that money – money that the not too self aware kopites are going overboard on this week by the way. But no complaints – we truly had a go and it was a dead rubber anyway: we’re finishing fifth, and that’s as good as many of us probably wished for at the start.
Standing in the way of us and that ace summer break are a club undergoing a worse identity crisis someone from the Wirral on holiday. A team from the actual anus of England who have recently voted to be call Hull Tigers. It was already an affront to large scale urban gatherings to call Hull a city, but Tigers? Come on. What’s tigerish about Hull City? Well, not since Phil Brown’s bed sheets anyway.
It’s no good blaming foreign owners for it either – the ungrateful inbred whoppers have had their club funded more than anyone should ever invest money in Hull. You chose it. And be-gone with your ad-hoc twitter campaigns as no one really cares. Apart from when we play you and we get to rip the back out of you.
As I referenced before, the Wirral have a problem when travelling the globe in that no one knows where it actually is, or even what purpose it serves. They have two things to be thankful for – first is that no one will ever visit Birkenhead after dark and witness it looking like an old MTV video – just missing a guy (also with identity issues) wearing a red leather suit leading the way, and secondly in that they sound like they have a plausible scouse accent to those with an untrained ear. So the good folk of the Wirral – and I am a fan of their laid-back nature and looser,lesser-oranged women – say they’re from Liverpool when Bob from Darlington (who says he’s from Newcastle) asks where they live.
For Hull – forget it. It’s in the middle of nowhere for one so you can’t glory hunt identity by proximity and the complete and utter lack of culture spreads through the people who are generally as thick as mince.
Their sole identity is in two things – Wool Rugby, not the proper type, and these days being called Tigers in English football. Sponge hands all over the show.
Do you see Boko Haram kidnapping girls in Hull? There’s your answer. Finding 200 of them in education is a tough ask, never find finding a market where you can sell them for tradable currency.
You can however attract them by putting an odious spoiler on a an XR3i – with full skirting – while wearing a leather bomber jacket from St John’s and covering yourself in jarg Jazz, bought from Benidorm for a couple of quid. Get yourself a less than convincing sleeve tattoo and physical threaten the trembling in a pub there and you’re officially one bad [Poor language removed] magnet who will shorting be fighting off Shaz, and Chantelle and Rita trying their best to share their DNA with you. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the Hull Circle of Life.
Steve Bruce is their new head honcho and on stepping foot in the, erm city, was instantly installed as Hull’s second most eligible male by way of having his natural skin showing on at least one of his arms, free from cheap tattoos. Forget that it looks like a woman has reverse parked his nose onto his face; he’s Hull handsome and no mistake.
Gerrard to Demba Ba LOL.
Hull done some good business in paying us money for a big girl of our own in Nikica Jelavic. I felt really snide in writing that but my heart still bleeds for the once upon a time lazy boss slotter of ours. Suppose we will never know why it didn’t work out after that tremendous start but he’s all about Hull now and I look forward to him being caught offside too many times for this weekend’s game. Hope he’s sorted them eyebrows out by now too. He should play up front with Shane Long as both of them will be cup tied for the following weekend’s FA Cup tie against Arsenal – sorry did I mention that? Hull are in the FA Cup Final. Well in, see you in Europe next year.
Midfield is likely to contain some players neither you nor I are arsed about so lets proceed to the defence and pretend like we are analysing the main threats from the game.
And there you have it – Hull Tigers. Tigers.
Make us dream LOL.
We’re here to talk about Everton for the last time this season. And it may very well be the last time we talk about “big” Romelu Lukaku in an Everton shirt sadly. If he didn’t have an £80m pricetag hanging over him from Chelsea then I feel many more of him would appreciate his signifigant qualities, and one thing’s for sure – we’ll miss his goals next season. He should turn into a really, really good striker and I hope we find a way to make that in royal blue. If it doesn’t happen then I reserve the right to remind you that he had the touch of a seventies disk jockey and that we’re better spending that money on Kone. Delete as applicable.
Behind him we are likely to see the likes of Ross Barkley who has kick started the hacks tongue wagging about his inclusion in a summer football tournament where he’s in danger of being weighted down as the latest saviour of English footie. Also expect some of Leon Osman, or maybe Steven Pienaar who is back. Have we missed him? Let’s find out. Maybe McGeady will get a run out there – or even Gerard Deulofeu?
Taking into account that the likes of Mirallas, Kone and Traore are out injured – well OK, Mirallas – it gives you some idea of the work Martinez is going in a crucial area of the field where we’ve previously struggled. And everyone loves to see their team truly attacking the arse off anyone unfortunate to oppose them.
McCarthy has done a grand job in his first year and should only get better and it’s a possible adios to Gareth Barry who I very much hope sees himself in royal blue permamently for a few years yet but he’s chasing that one magical fat pay cheque were led to believe, and who could blame him? He’s been ace. Everton ace. And I hope that means something.
We should return to four at the back to stop Alcaraz causing some of you to have kittens, probably seeing Jagielka and another success story of the season who will get better – John Stones – staking a late claim to swap the blue for white in the summer. Hopefully not like. Baines will be wearing that very white and Coleman shall be doing whatever he pleases. He’s as good a right back as we’re likely to see at Everton and could you imagine saying that just 18 months ago? Sometimes we need to be a wee bit more patient. Howard is in goal and can reflect on a really good campaign for him, maybe even his best to date.
So amid all the backslapping it’s worth remembering that it’s another season passing where the true giants of Walton – the non racism endorsing and non training ground banner spreading types – haven’t won something again.
But you know what? I got this feeling, yes this feeling, that somehow everything is going to be alright. It may be different colour shoes en vogue next season as trends change but in the scheme of things; Everton never go out of fashion and that’s why you love them, and exactly why the Catalan fella is learning to love them.
So see you later then. With all the grace of whatever God you look upon I do hope we get to see each other again some time in August. For the three or four people who’ve read one of these previews throughout the season I just want to pass my sincere thanks, hope you enjoyed them. Or at least the arl photos.
But let’s swerve the closing credits as this, I believe, is only a beginning.
And they say it’s the hope that kills you.
What’s our name?