Summer. You know the routine. A galaxy of stars bagged.
How did we prise that superstar from Juventus?
That Barca youngster scored more goals than Neymar last season!
Fifty mill is just the price you have to pay to grab Iceland’s superstar
We. Need. Mina!
He’s a great left back, Liverpool were after him a couple of season’s ago!
We win the summer. We lift the trophy. Job done. All potential. All possibilities. And when you give Evertonians an inch of hope, we’ll turn it into miles and miles of expectation.
From the top of the rollercoaster, high on hopes. To a swift plummet down to reality.
The Season. You know the routine.
Failure comes in so many flavours but it’s always hard to swallow. Happiness during matches this season is so fleeting it doesn’t even last 45 minutes.
Small pockets of excitement, surrounded by vast expanses of shite.
We’re all just waiting for the punch, for the kick in the nads.
Against Leicester, while the Video Assistant Referee hems and haws over whether or not to allow Iheanacho’s 90th+ minute winner, I’m standing over my tv with my angry finger hovering over the OFF button. Waiting. Expecting. We’re Evertonians. We know the routine…
”And it looks like VAR has confirmed it… Yes – Iheanacho’s goal has been giv~”
I turn the tv off and scream. I’m in the basement, I hear shrieks of laughter upstairs from the kids. How much Everton upset me is so odd to them.
This is just one example…
The rest is just an endless stream of disappointment. You can dip into it at any time and feel failure: