Disagree to be honest, like a second home for many, I will be there whether inside or outside the ground with my dad who I’m thankful brought me up an Evertonian
- Status
Disagree to be honest, like a second home for many, I will be there whether inside or outside the ground with my dad who I’m thankful brought me up an Evertonian
Personally, I'd like it if this bus greeting the 1878's have planned ends up being bigger than the red 
s trophy circle jerk. Make it so, blues.
s trophy circle jerk. Make it so, blues.
Yes it’s like a second home for me, I’ve barely missed a game there since I was 10 so you don’t need to tell me that. I stand by what I’m saying though, most (note, not all) people who are going out without tickets are doing so because of FOMO and being able to say ‘I was there’ not because they desperately want to go one more time. If it was the latter they could have gone one more time at any point this season (they could even have got inside for a game a fair few times) but most people haven’t, they’re just going to this one because they see it as an event. I’ve said a few times, it’s not a criticism, I get it and might do the same myself if I didn’t have a ticket, but I don’t really see the point in pretending it’s something it’s not.
YoboCopter
Player Valuation: £50m
That is a very fair point it is mostly that i think aswell but as you say its fair game for anyones reasons to go ( aslong as they are good natured)
barneygumble
Player Valuation: £60m
I said my farewells against Ipswich.
Sunday is just going to be chaotic, and I really can't wait to go down my "lasts", but the football doesn't matter, I think we all would take a win and last goal scored by us.
My 464th time through the turnstiles, and this is a celebration for me? A toast to great friendships I've made.
Oh, whilst I think it'll be chaos, I can't blame anyone for turning up. People will have memories of lost family members, memories of Dad and Lad, memories of trophies and whatnot. To see Goodison rock, was a privilege, not a right.
The ground might remain but the club and team who built it aren't staying.
So soak it in, enjoy every last moment regardless of the result. Cheers the good times, the bad times and let's hope that the glory days may return in our new home.
Forecast is for 22c, last sundrenched dance at Goodison. Just one last goal down the Street End please.
Sunday is just going to be chaotic, and I really can't wait to go down my "lasts", but the football doesn't matter, I think we all would take a win and last goal scored by us.
My 464th time through the turnstiles, and this is a celebration for me? A toast to great friendships I've made.
Oh, whilst I think it'll be chaos, I can't blame anyone for turning up. People will have memories of lost family members, memories of Dad and Lad, memories of trophies and whatnot. To see Goodison rock, was a privilege, not a right.
The ground might remain but the club and team who built it aren't staying.
So soak it in, enjoy every last moment regardless of the result. Cheers the good times, the bad times and let's hope that the glory days may return in our new home.
Forecast is for 22c, last sundrenched dance at Goodison. Just one last goal down the Street End please.
The match needs to have bad times (Southampton one up after five minutes thanks to a horrific deflection), mediocre times (a middle section where head tennis is as close as either side gets to a passing move), and then good times (a barnstorming last twenty where Everton finally show up and score three).
Finish with “Olé” passing as we wait for the ref to blow the final whistle.
Finish with “Olé” passing as we wait for the ref to blow the final whistle.
MikeH72
Player Valuation: £100m
Nailed on Lallana isn't it
Hasn’t been in the squad since 15th March so probably not. I actually thought he’d retired about 2 years ago.
NathDogg
Player Valuation: £50m
Dusty in here mate, beautifully put.
Mrtallywacker
GOT spiritual advisor
Jeremiah 22:10
Weep not for him who is dead, nor grieve for him, but weep bitterly for him who goes away, for he shall return no more to see his native land.
God bless our sacred Goodison and God bless us all as we move on to pastures new.
Weep not for him who is dead, nor grieve for him, but weep bitterly for him who goes away, for he shall return no more to see his native land.
God bless our sacred Goodison and God bless us all as we move on to pastures new.
YoboCopter
Player Valuation: £50m
This bramley girl has alot to live up to!
West Side Charlie
Player Valuation: £5m
Hard to believe it's here, the Grand Old Lady needs a rest, she's put up with so much, good and bad.
Jacko93
Player Valuation: £35m
Ode to Goodison Park
Ah, Goodison Park. The Grand Old Lady.
She’s creaking now, sure – floorboards moan like an old blues tune –
but oh, what a song she’s sung.
I first walked through those rusting turnstiles in ‘73, hand in hand with my dad,
boots scuffed from kickabouts in the street, scarf half-knitted by my nan.
The smell of pies and pipe smoke, the crackle of anticipation,
and there she was – Goodison –
towering, stoic, magic.
It’s not just a stadium. It never was.
It’s a cathedral of graft and glory,
of cigarette-stained hopes, and a million frozen fingers raised in cheer.
And she remembers. Every bootprint. Every chant. Every sob.
---
Dixie’s Ghost and Kendall’s Heart
You can't write of Goodison without whispering the name of Dixie Dean.
Sixty goals in a season – imagine that now!
They say his statue outside breathes on matchdays.
I’ve seen lads give it a nod before kickoff, like genuflecting to a saint.
Howard Kendall, now there’s a story.
Player, manager, legend.
He brought us glory in the ‘80s,
when we danced in the streets and Europe feared the blue tide.
It felt like the Park itself leaned closer in those years,
as if the brick and steel wanted to see every flick and tackle.
---
The Fans – Oh, the Fans
There’s Jean from Bootle who hasn’t missed a home game since the '60s –
except the time she gave birth (and made her husband go without her).
There’s Big Tommy who brings his grandkids now,
just like his da did with him – same seats in the Gwladys Street.
Three generations, one postcode, one religion: Everton.
And me? I’ve laughed here. I’ve cried like a child.
I’ve seen relegation flirt with us and joy lift the roof clean off.
There was that night against Bayern –
fists clenched, voices hoarse,
Goodison thundered like she’d never known fear.
And who could forget Big Dunc,
chest out, fists raised,
a man who played like he was guarding his family home.
When he scored, the place shook like tectonics.
Raw, primal, blue-blooded.
---
The Sounds of Goodison
The shouts from the dugout,
the hum of the Park End,
the songs – oh, the songs! –
“It's a Grand Old Team” rolling down the terraces like rain over cobbles.
Even the silences had weight.
The quiet before a penalty.
The stunned hush after a missed sitter.
The respectful pause for legends passed.
---
And Now… The Goodbye
They say we’re moving. That soon, she’ll rest.
The Grand Old Lady, finally allowed to sleep,
as we shift to shinier shores by the Mersey.
I know it’s progress, and I’ll go – of course I’ll go.
But my heart? A big piece stays here,
in the timber and echoes and spilled Bovril of Goodison.
Because this isn’t just where we watched football.
It’s where we lived it.
It’s where a city’s soul was stitched together in royal blue.
Where time stood still for 90 minutes, week after week,
and boys became men,
and strangers became family.
So here’s to you, Goodison Park –
you magnificent, moaning, magical old thing.
Thanks for the memories.
And for letting me call you home.
---
UTFT.
ChatGPT is an Evertonian.
Ah, Goodison Park. The Grand Old Lady.
She’s creaking now, sure – floorboards moan like an old blues tune –
but oh, what a song she’s sung.
I first walked through those rusting turnstiles in ‘73, hand in hand with my dad,
boots scuffed from kickabouts in the street, scarf half-knitted by my nan.
The smell of pies and pipe smoke, the crackle of anticipation,
and there she was – Goodison –
towering, stoic, magic.
It’s not just a stadium. It never was.
It’s a cathedral of graft and glory,
of cigarette-stained hopes, and a million frozen fingers raised in cheer.
And she remembers. Every bootprint. Every chant. Every sob.
---
Dixie’s Ghost and Kendall’s Heart
You can't write of Goodison without whispering the name of Dixie Dean.
Sixty goals in a season – imagine that now!
They say his statue outside breathes on matchdays.
I’ve seen lads give it a nod before kickoff, like genuflecting to a saint.
Howard Kendall, now there’s a story.
Player, manager, legend.
He brought us glory in the ‘80s,
when we danced in the streets and Europe feared the blue tide.
It felt like the Park itself leaned closer in those years,
as if the brick and steel wanted to see every flick and tackle.
---
The Fans – Oh, the Fans
There’s Jean from Bootle who hasn’t missed a home game since the '60s –
except the time she gave birth (and made her husband go without her).
There’s Big Tommy who brings his grandkids now,
just like his da did with him – same seats in the Gwladys Street.
Three generations, one postcode, one religion: Everton.
And me? I’ve laughed here. I’ve cried like a child.
I’ve seen relegation flirt with us and joy lift the roof clean off.
There was that night against Bayern –
fists clenched, voices hoarse,
Goodison thundered like she’d never known fear.
And who could forget Big Dunc,
chest out, fists raised,
a man who played like he was guarding his family home.
When he scored, the place shook like tectonics.
Raw, primal, blue-blooded.
---
The Sounds of Goodison
The shouts from the dugout,
the hum of the Park End,
the songs – oh, the songs! –
“It's a Grand Old Team” rolling down the terraces like rain over cobbles.
Even the silences had weight.
The quiet before a penalty.
The stunned hush after a missed sitter.
The respectful pause for legends passed.
---
And Now… The Goodbye
They say we’re moving. That soon, she’ll rest.
The Grand Old Lady, finally allowed to sleep,
as we shift to shinier shores by the Mersey.
I know it’s progress, and I’ll go – of course I’ll go.
But my heart? A big piece stays here,
in the timber and echoes and spilled Bovril of Goodison.
Because this isn’t just where we watched football.
It’s where we lived it.
It’s where a city’s soul was stitched together in royal blue.
Where time stood still for 90 minutes, week after week,
and boys became men,
and strangers became family.
So here’s to you, Goodison Park –
you magnificent, moaning, magical old thing.
Thanks for the memories.
And for letting me call you home.
---
UTFT.
ChatGPT is an Evertonian.
GraemeS1980
Player Valuation: £20m
I said my last goodbye to the Old Lady v City the other week. I couldn't contain my emotion and stood behind the Street goal until everyone had gone. Walking down Goodison Road for the last time post match I was crying, yes a 45 year old man crying but I didnt care. My best memories with my Dad were in Goodison and I could not contain that emotion. The people outside that recognised my emotion were true blues and felt like family when they stopped. In a way I am glad I wont be there for the last dance, I will be watching from home and no doubt will not be able to contain the emotion again. UTFT
MisterJ
Player Valuation: £35m
David Squires on … the many memories of Everton’s Goodison Park
Our cartoonist details some notable moments from the 133-year history of one of Britain’s most iconic stadiums
- Status
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