Great report in News Of The World. Absolutely love it:
YOU can imagine David Moyes sat at home last night, dominos in one hand, a cool Chardonnay in the other.
And an immovable smile from ear to ear.
Nothing left to say, avoiding maybe the temptation to text Joleon Lescott, or throw another dart at the Manchester City crest.
A moral victory over Mark Hughes perhaps.
Yesterday was redemption time. Vindication even, for doing it his way.
For standing up to the billionaire Sheiks in the summer.
For making a stand. For bearing his teeth to a bigger animal. The size of the fight in the dog and all that, personified.
He lost, the battle at least, his star man Lescott getting the move. That must have been some evening at Chez Moyes.
But the spirit he has forged in his side was never likely to be troubled.
All those years of building, slowly and surely, was unlikely to crumble from one player leaving.
Still, it smashed into a nerve. And how he ranted.
His programme notes yesterday gave insight into the kind of fire that has burned over such a long and protracted transfer.
"Acting with no class," he hissed at the visitors. And that five months after the offending deal, where £23million and an unsettled player meant he had to sell.
"The game we have all been looking forward to," he concluded.
And boy did he hit the money with that particular shot.
His was clearly not the only nose bent out of joint by the transfer, or the perceived arrogance of City.
Everton fans roared every single challenge, they stood for each act of defiance.
When Landon Donovan raced 50 yards to stop Carlos Tevez and was rewarded with a handball against the Argentinian, they screamed for more.
And it came, Marouane Fellaini using his legs to deny Craig Bellamy, Phil Neville finding the speed from somewhere to catch and flatten Shaun Wright-Phillips. Everton using every sinew of energy to deny their rich North West neighbours.
If there had been a bit of boxing billing, well, yes, it really was personal. Moyes characterised in a team and in the stands. Aggression. Fight. Desire. Spirit. All that and more.
You would not have wanted to have been a losing Everton player going back into the dressing room last night.
Nor a fan who did not give it the full works.
Both took the warning from their fiery manager.
They will knock this wonderful old ground down as soon as enough Merseyside councillors give them the go ahead.
And they will heap a club with a mountain of debt and they will call it progress.
You can only hope it does not tear the heart out of a football club.
The collective could be weakened by disruption. And that was what has symbolised Everton under Moyes.
It was the spirit that rattled the living daylights out of Manchester City.
Enough to make you wonder where all that money has actually gone.
£200m? Where?
Lion hearts met the lying hearts. At least some of them.
Roque Santa Cruz, big bloke, first meaningful challenge limps off.
And then watching Roberto Mancini order Robinho to get his backside in gear and get stripped to join the action after just nine minutes was parent past the point with screaming child stuff.
Robinho went on, in his own time, when his strip was nicely tucked in and his bright, shiny, yellow boots were ready. And for what? He was not even an irritant to an Everton defence that was too big and too strong and too committed.
£33m. Baffling.
A statement signing we were told when the Sheiks thrust him at Hughes in the last January transfer window.
How true.
A statement of decadence. Brought on after 10 minutes, taken off on the hour. A reluctant handshake with the manager who showed his own pair are a bit bigger. Admitting to such a mistake, when Benjani's greater physical presence remained unused for the opening 45, was impressive.
Ultimately this was Mancini's first big test - Blackburn, Wolves and Stoke, come on - and he failed.
Bellamy was a peripheral figure, stranded on the left wing for the first half and the right for the second.
Mancini's team were square pizzas in round boxes. He had lost the game by half-time.
Everton had given warning before the two, late first-half goals. Donovan had chipped narrowly wide, Diniyar Bilyaletdinov had smashed a deflected volley over.
Only Martin Petrov's long-range strike had troubled Tim Howard.
It was immaterial as soon as Steven Pienaar stepped up from 25 yards and bent a superb free-kick, inches from Nigel de Jong's head in the wall and inches from the desperate right hand of Shay Given.
One-nil and to add to their attributes, the home side had belief.
In injury-time they had their victory.
Micah Richards began his shirt tug on Louis Saha outside of the Manchester City penalty area, but ended it in it.
The referee's assistant flagged, Saha remained calm and stroked his penalty kick straight down the goal and past Given.
A quarter-of-an-hour later, Robinho was gone - sullenly. For good? Perhaps.
The contrast was obvious, Everton hunting for a third, hitting the woodwork twice - first through the outstanding Fellaini and then, with nine minutes remaining, from a bullet Tim Cahill effort.
It takes time to build a football club. Moyes might raise a glass of wine to that.
One of the best articles I've read for a long time.
Never would have looked there for a quality article! Thanks Dutch. 
