nickydisco
Player Valuation: £1m
Remember watching teletext for this one
- Status
GraemeS1980
Player Valuation: £20m
Just thought I would add a match report of the Coventry game, as the younger lids can see what it was actually like back then....
FA Carling Premiership 97/98 - Game 38
Sunday 10 May 1998
Goodison Park, Merseyside
Att: 40,109
Ref: Paul Alcock
GOALSCORERS
EVERTON: Farrelly (6) Barmby penalty saved (85)
Coventry City: Dublin (88)
LINEUPS
EVERTON: Myhre, O'Kane, Short, Ball, Watson, Tiler, Farrelly (88 McCann), Hutchinson, Barmby, Madar (46 Cadamarteri), Ferguson (c).
Unavailable: Parkinson, Grant, Branch, Ward, Phelan, Thomas, Williamson, Spencer (injured). Gerrard, Bilic, Beagrie.
Coventry City: Hedman, Shaw, Burrows, Breen (Williams, 51), Huckerby (Haworth, 69), Whelan, Dublin, Telfer (Hall, 89), Soltvedt, Boateng, Nilsson. Ogrizovic, Boland.
Yellow cards
Everton None
Coventry Boateng, Huckerby, Williams.
On and off I have been known to succumb to the odd bout of superstition. None have really lasted as an Everton defeat always brought one baseless ritual after another to an end. The belief that your actions, out of those of hundreds of thousands of Evertonians, will have any baring whatsoever on the team's fortunes is so ridiculous it's not true but it didn't stop me!
In the week following the Spurs game at White Hart Lane I took the garbage out one evening and, as I usually do, decided to have go at lobbing the bag into the large cylindrical disposal cans from about 20 yards away. "If this goes in," I thought to myself, "Everton will stay up." I steadied myself, uncomfortable with the onus I had just placed on myself - why couldn't I have gone for the safer option of hinging Everton's survival on me missing instead?! - and threw the bag in a high arch towards the bin.
The bag landed on the rim of the bin, teetered for a few seconds (very apt as it turned out!) and then, to my relief, it toppled into the bin. That was that. We were staying up! That, combined with me later wearing the exact clothes I wore to the Goodison derby the previous October, was to comfort me through the dark days of early May. Who says superstition has no foundation?!
For 45 minutes after the previous week's humiliation at Highbury I stood outside the World's End pub in stunned and motionless silence, much the same as the mood I had shared with a few thousand Blues in the Clock End ever since Marc Overmars had put Arsenal 3-0 up early in the second half. For the first time this season, relegation had become more than a spectre on the horizon. It was a very real possibility and the fact that our fate no longer rested entirely in our hands haunted me more than anything.
However, after my arl fella had bought me a pint and the Netley Roadshow had marched on to the relative quiet of a pub further up the road from the ground and hysterical Gooners, I was filled with a sudden sense of optimism. All week, that feeling stayed with me. I had faith that Everton would at least do their bit. I also didn't think that Bolton would win at Chelsea. I would have put money on a draw and us winning. I knew that fan power was going to be our biggest weapon and that, like in 1994, Goodison would spur the boys in Blue to safety.
So I slept straight through Saturday night with none of the premonition dreams that preceded the Arsenal game and drove to Everton with surprising cheer. I laughed off two separate instances of young kids in passing cars howling in derision at my Everton scarf spread across the back window. The first got his Dad to slow down and overtake again once he had written a sign saying "You're going down, ha ha ha!" while the second was just a Range Rover full of little bastards pointing downwards and laughing. I just shook my head and laughed. "You'll see."
It was only when I got to the ground at 11:00 and circumnavigated an eerily silent Goodison Park that the magnitude of the situation returned to me. All around the stadium there were Daily Post posters screaming "Everton's Day of Destiny", balanced I suppose by the more positive "Come on you Blues" of the Echo's placards. Looking up at the towering stands you could almost feel the sadness seeping out of the bricks and mortar. It was a weird sensation standing there, almost alone, next to the real theatre of dreams.
I killed time in the Megastore and in the car outside the Netley by reading the Dixie Dean souvenir programme commemorating the great man's record 60-goal haul, wondering what he would have made of all of this nonsense had he still been alive. My heart sank at the thought that all of Everton's grand old history had come to this, possible relegation. But I managed to purge the thought from my mind, despite the disturbingly symbolic existence of a big hole in the road outside the Netley; perfect for sobbing Evertonians who might wish for the ground to open up and swallow them should things not go to plan that afternoon.
The ale flowed and the Netley broke out into impassioned song until, by 3.45, it was time to make our way to the ground. I took my seat in the Paddock (the first time I had sat away from the either end for over 10 years) and joined the chorus of song until the boys took to the field with Z-Cars just about audible above the deafening Goodison roar.
The team showed two changes from the side that was hammered at Arsenal: Farrelly replaced Bilic in midfield and Barmby dropped back to accommodate Mickael Madar, demoting Beagrie to the bench. And then the game kicked off.
Everton's determination and passion were in evidence from the whistle. They harried, pressured and out-fought Coventry in all departments for the entire duration of the first half. Definite shades of the Dogs of War at their most effective but it led to little in the way of chances.
Then, in the 7th minute, a high cross was nodded back by Ferguson. Farrelly picked it up, controlled it and delivered a stunning right-foot drive that flew in off the upright. It was the most surreal experience; for a split second my brain couldn't take in the fact that not only we were ahead already but that Farrelly had scored it - and with his wrong foot.
The ground went absolutely barmy. I nearly ended up on my backside in the row behind me but kept my balance before leaping all over the spaces left by my immediate neighbours who had spilled out into the aisle. It was pure, unbridled ecstacy and we couldn't believe it. Watching the scenes of celebration around Goodison was a magnificent sight and a unique scene. The players were piling on top of our unlikely goalscoring hero while the stands resonanted with bellowed Evertonian anthems.
The pace didn't let up. There were blue shirts everywhere and Huckerby was effectively marked out of the game. Madar was put through in the area by Hutchison but was tackled superbly at the last second. Three corners followed and from two, Everton nearly scored a deserved second. Farrelly sliced a loose ball across the area, Watson stuck out a foot and the ball ricocheted goalwards off Madar. Goodison rose as one but Hedman in the City goal produced a magnificent save to palm it wide. From that corner rose Tiler whose towering header was headed off the line by a Coventry defender.
Somewhere in the mayhem, a roar erupted from the Park End, prompting the rest of the ground into celebration thinking Chelsea had scored. I had thus far resisted the temptation to listen to my radio just yet but upon tuning into Five Live I had to inform those around me that it was still 0-0 at Stamford Bridge. That was fine, as things stood we were staying up.
Apart from a couple of long-range efforts by Farrelly, we created little more for the remainder of the first half but, better, the visitors were completely shut out of the game. Half-time was greeted with a resounding cheer for the team as they left the pitch, making way for Neville Southall's emotional send off which included a slow lap of the pitch accompanied by his daughter. However, word from London was that it had been all Bolton in the first half at Stamford Bridge and that the Trotters had had three gilt-edged chances but failed to score.
No sooner had our game paused for the interval than the second half was underway and Coventry finally started to find their feet. And with City's increasing possession, couple with the fact that I now had the radio permanently in my ear, came ever mounting tension. I looked at the clock with 39 minutes to go and deflated at the thought of how long those minutes would take to tick by. Thankfully, there was sufficient action on the pitch and the next time I glanced up there were 34 minutes to go, and the time after that there were just 21.
Nevertheless, Coventry were starting to pose a real threat and as the game wore on and the nerves increased, Everton began to sit back on their slender lead. Huckerby was put through in the centre of the Blues's area but Watson put in a last-ditch saving tackle to avert the danger. From a corner, a Coventry defender had a header go anxiously close before a powerful long-range effort from Telfer skidded inches wide via deflections off Tiler and O'Kane. Nervous moments indeed.
My mind became increasingly focused on Mike Ingham's commentary from Chelsea and my nerves were ever so slightly calmed by the fact that the European Cup Winners' Cup finalists were having much the better of the second half. And then Chelsea attack, Vialli scores and I, along with a third of the stadium leap to my feet. The way the news spread across Goodison like a wave sent shivers down the spine. It was fantastic. Not only were we winning but Bolton would need to score twice at this rate to send us down. "Vialli, Vialli!" came the cry.
Although the visitors were taking the game to Everton, the Blues were still a threat on the break. Cadamarteri, who had come on for Madar early in the second half, burst through, fell under a challenge by Williams and the referee pointed to the spot. Once again, Goodison erupted with the prospect of sealing the victory but after a lengthy delay as players from both sides exchanged words with the official, Barmby struck the spot-kick too close to Hedman who had guessed right and saved brilliantly.
Typically, the drama didn't end there. Four minutes later, Burrows swung in a left wing cross, Dublin rose and Myhre, caught in two minds whether to parry or catch, let the ball slip through his hands. It was 1-1 and the entire complexion of the game changed. Goodison's cauldron of noise was immediately transformed into a mass of jangling nerves and loud whistles as 40,000 people bayed for the final whistle. The ball was frenetically cleared up the pitch and into the stands as Coventry pressed in the dying seconds. Injury time seemed to last an eternity. And then in my left ear Chelsea attacked, Jodi Morris scored and, standing this time, I informed those around me of the news by simply going mental. The realisation that we were going to stay up if we could just hold on to the point led to increasingly desperate calls for the whistle and then, finally, the referee signalled to his linesman before running full-speed towards the tunnel.
Goodison went mad. The players celebrated and within seconds the first fans were on the pitch. The police and stewards did their best to stem the tide and for a brief moment they looked to have succeeded before they gave up and let those who wanted to invade the pitch. Without hesitation I fought my way to the front and leapt the barrier, running into the pouring rain.
Screaming and shouting I hugged people I had never seen before, waving my arms around and bellowing like a madman. Standing in the centre circle I turned round and round watching the celebration in the stands before looking skywards and feeling the Merseyside rain on my face. It was a feeling like no other I have ever experienced. Four years previously I had bottled up sheer elation after the Wimbledon game because no-one around me appreciated what it meant. This time I was with family, sharing a unique experience with thousands of people who felt exactly the same way.
I stood for a few minutes with my arms extended singing songs with my palms upturned to feel the rain. The Coventry fans, who know this feeling so well, have stayed behind to applaud us on our achievement. Then I'm pounced upon by my arl fella and Uncle and the three of us embrace, dancing around in the centre circle of the real field of dreams in the pouring rain, putting grass in our pockets and then joining the mass advancing towards the directors box shouting "We want Johnson out!"
We then joined fans take tuns taking imaginary penalties past a wall of police guarding the goal in the Gwladys; turf around the penalty spot is being ripped up by opportunist fans and Goodison vibrates with the chants of thousands. Gradually, the crowd on the pitch disperses and although I try to leave once, I decide I have to go back onto the pitch again to savour the atmosphere. When I finally leave the ground through the Glwadys Street Terrace I join up with a river of ecstatic Evertonians singing as we walk through the rain down Goodison Road.
Then its back to the Netley for post-match drinks. I regretted my decision to drive up (as I knew I would) but I stayed until I was sure I was safe to drive back home.
I eventually got home at 12.30 - very tired and sore of voice but happier than perhaps I have been in a long, long time. I placed my prized piece of turf in a pot plant of soil before going to bed, safe in the knowledge that our valiant Blues had secured their own future in the Premier League with a gutsy and determined performance that was a pleasure to behold. Yes we owed an enormous debt to Chelsea, but Everton are in the Premiership through their own courage and determination. We got away with it that time but it must never happen again, ever. We have to learn from that season beginning with some purposeful buys in the close season so that we can build on the progress we have made over the last few seasons (and start better than normal!)
FA Carling Premiership 97/98 - Game 38
Sunday 10 May 1998
Goodison Park, Merseyside
Att: 40,109
Ref: Paul Alcock
GOALSCORERS
EVERTON: Farrelly (6) Barmby penalty saved (85)
Coventry City: Dublin (88)
LINEUPS
EVERTON: Myhre, O'Kane, Short, Ball, Watson, Tiler, Farrelly (88 McCann), Hutchinson, Barmby, Madar (46 Cadamarteri), Ferguson (c).
Unavailable: Parkinson, Grant, Branch, Ward, Phelan, Thomas, Williamson, Spencer (injured). Gerrard, Bilic, Beagrie.
Coventry City: Hedman, Shaw, Burrows, Breen (Williams, 51), Huckerby (Haworth, 69), Whelan, Dublin, Telfer (Hall, 89), Soltvedt, Boateng, Nilsson. Ogrizovic, Boland.
Yellow cards
Everton None
Coventry Boateng, Huckerby, Williams.
On and off I have been known to succumb to the odd bout of superstition. None have really lasted as an Everton defeat always brought one baseless ritual after another to an end. The belief that your actions, out of those of hundreds of thousands of Evertonians, will have any baring whatsoever on the team's fortunes is so ridiculous it's not true but it didn't stop me!
In the week following the Spurs game at White Hart Lane I took the garbage out one evening and, as I usually do, decided to have go at lobbing the bag into the large cylindrical disposal cans from about 20 yards away. "If this goes in," I thought to myself, "Everton will stay up." I steadied myself, uncomfortable with the onus I had just placed on myself - why couldn't I have gone for the safer option of hinging Everton's survival on me missing instead?! - and threw the bag in a high arch towards the bin.
The bag landed on the rim of the bin, teetered for a few seconds (very apt as it turned out!) and then, to my relief, it toppled into the bin. That was that. We were staying up! That, combined with me later wearing the exact clothes I wore to the Goodison derby the previous October, was to comfort me through the dark days of early May. Who says superstition has no foundation?!
For 45 minutes after the previous week's humiliation at Highbury I stood outside the World's End pub in stunned and motionless silence, much the same as the mood I had shared with a few thousand Blues in the Clock End ever since Marc Overmars had put Arsenal 3-0 up early in the second half. For the first time this season, relegation had become more than a spectre on the horizon. It was a very real possibility and the fact that our fate no longer rested entirely in our hands haunted me more than anything.
However, after my arl fella had bought me a pint and the Netley Roadshow had marched on to the relative quiet of a pub further up the road from the ground and hysterical Gooners, I was filled with a sudden sense of optimism. All week, that feeling stayed with me. I had faith that Everton would at least do their bit. I also didn't think that Bolton would win at Chelsea. I would have put money on a draw and us winning. I knew that fan power was going to be our biggest weapon and that, like in 1994, Goodison would spur the boys in Blue to safety.
So I slept straight through Saturday night with none of the premonition dreams that preceded the Arsenal game and drove to Everton with surprising cheer. I laughed off two separate instances of young kids in passing cars howling in derision at my Everton scarf spread across the back window. The first got his Dad to slow down and overtake again once he had written a sign saying "You're going down, ha ha ha!" while the second was just a Range Rover full of little bastards pointing downwards and laughing. I just shook my head and laughed. "You'll see."
It was only when I got to the ground at 11:00 and circumnavigated an eerily silent Goodison Park that the magnitude of the situation returned to me. All around the stadium there were Daily Post posters screaming "Everton's Day of Destiny", balanced I suppose by the more positive "Come on you Blues" of the Echo's placards. Looking up at the towering stands you could almost feel the sadness seeping out of the bricks and mortar. It was a weird sensation standing there, almost alone, next to the real theatre of dreams.
I killed time in the Megastore and in the car outside the Netley by reading the Dixie Dean souvenir programme commemorating the great man's record 60-goal haul, wondering what he would have made of all of this nonsense had he still been alive. My heart sank at the thought that all of Everton's grand old history had come to this, possible relegation. But I managed to purge the thought from my mind, despite the disturbingly symbolic existence of a big hole in the road outside the Netley; perfect for sobbing Evertonians who might wish for the ground to open up and swallow them should things not go to plan that afternoon.
The ale flowed and the Netley broke out into impassioned song until, by 3.45, it was time to make our way to the ground. I took my seat in the Paddock (the first time I had sat away from the either end for over 10 years) and joined the chorus of song until the boys took to the field with Z-Cars just about audible above the deafening Goodison roar.
The team showed two changes from the side that was hammered at Arsenal: Farrelly replaced Bilic in midfield and Barmby dropped back to accommodate Mickael Madar, demoting Beagrie to the bench. And then the game kicked off.
Everton's determination and passion were in evidence from the whistle. They harried, pressured and out-fought Coventry in all departments for the entire duration of the first half. Definite shades of the Dogs of War at their most effective but it led to little in the way of chances.
Then, in the 7th minute, a high cross was nodded back by Ferguson. Farrelly picked it up, controlled it and delivered a stunning right-foot drive that flew in off the upright. It was the most surreal experience; for a split second my brain couldn't take in the fact that not only we were ahead already but that Farrelly had scored it - and with his wrong foot.
The ground went absolutely barmy. I nearly ended up on my backside in the row behind me but kept my balance before leaping all over the spaces left by my immediate neighbours who had spilled out into the aisle. It was pure, unbridled ecstacy and we couldn't believe it. Watching the scenes of celebration around Goodison was a magnificent sight and a unique scene. The players were piling on top of our unlikely goalscoring hero while the stands resonanted with bellowed Evertonian anthems.
The pace didn't let up. There were blue shirts everywhere and Huckerby was effectively marked out of the game. Madar was put through in the area by Hutchison but was tackled superbly at the last second. Three corners followed and from two, Everton nearly scored a deserved second. Farrelly sliced a loose ball across the area, Watson stuck out a foot and the ball ricocheted goalwards off Madar. Goodison rose as one but Hedman in the City goal produced a magnificent save to palm it wide. From that corner rose Tiler whose towering header was headed off the line by a Coventry defender.
Somewhere in the mayhem, a roar erupted from the Park End, prompting the rest of the ground into celebration thinking Chelsea had scored. I had thus far resisted the temptation to listen to my radio just yet but upon tuning into Five Live I had to inform those around me that it was still 0-0 at Stamford Bridge. That was fine, as things stood we were staying up.
Apart from a couple of long-range efforts by Farrelly, we created little more for the remainder of the first half but, better, the visitors were completely shut out of the game. Half-time was greeted with a resounding cheer for the team as they left the pitch, making way for Neville Southall's emotional send off which included a slow lap of the pitch accompanied by his daughter. However, word from London was that it had been all Bolton in the first half at Stamford Bridge and that the Trotters had had three gilt-edged chances but failed to score.
No sooner had our game paused for the interval than the second half was underway and Coventry finally started to find their feet. And with City's increasing possession, couple with the fact that I now had the radio permanently in my ear, came ever mounting tension. I looked at the clock with 39 minutes to go and deflated at the thought of how long those minutes would take to tick by. Thankfully, there was sufficient action on the pitch and the next time I glanced up there were 34 minutes to go, and the time after that there were just 21.
Nevertheless, Coventry were starting to pose a real threat and as the game wore on and the nerves increased, Everton began to sit back on their slender lead. Huckerby was put through in the centre of the Blues's area but Watson put in a last-ditch saving tackle to avert the danger. From a corner, a Coventry defender had a header go anxiously close before a powerful long-range effort from Telfer skidded inches wide via deflections off Tiler and O'Kane. Nervous moments indeed.
My mind became increasingly focused on Mike Ingham's commentary from Chelsea and my nerves were ever so slightly calmed by the fact that the European Cup Winners' Cup finalists were having much the better of the second half. And then Chelsea attack, Vialli scores and I, along with a third of the stadium leap to my feet. The way the news spread across Goodison like a wave sent shivers down the spine. It was fantastic. Not only were we winning but Bolton would need to score twice at this rate to send us down. "Vialli, Vialli!" came the cry.
Although the visitors were taking the game to Everton, the Blues were still a threat on the break. Cadamarteri, who had come on for Madar early in the second half, burst through, fell under a challenge by Williams and the referee pointed to the spot. Once again, Goodison erupted with the prospect of sealing the victory but after a lengthy delay as players from both sides exchanged words with the official, Barmby struck the spot-kick too close to Hedman who had guessed right and saved brilliantly.
Typically, the drama didn't end there. Four minutes later, Burrows swung in a left wing cross, Dublin rose and Myhre, caught in two minds whether to parry or catch, let the ball slip through his hands. It was 1-1 and the entire complexion of the game changed. Goodison's cauldron of noise was immediately transformed into a mass of jangling nerves and loud whistles as 40,000 people bayed for the final whistle. The ball was frenetically cleared up the pitch and into the stands as Coventry pressed in the dying seconds. Injury time seemed to last an eternity. And then in my left ear Chelsea attacked, Jodi Morris scored and, standing this time, I informed those around me of the news by simply going mental. The realisation that we were going to stay up if we could just hold on to the point led to increasingly desperate calls for the whistle and then, finally, the referee signalled to his linesman before running full-speed towards the tunnel.
Goodison went mad. The players celebrated and within seconds the first fans were on the pitch. The police and stewards did their best to stem the tide and for a brief moment they looked to have succeeded before they gave up and let those who wanted to invade the pitch. Without hesitation I fought my way to the front and leapt the barrier, running into the pouring rain.
Screaming and shouting I hugged people I had never seen before, waving my arms around and bellowing like a madman. Standing in the centre circle I turned round and round watching the celebration in the stands before looking skywards and feeling the Merseyside rain on my face. It was a feeling like no other I have ever experienced. Four years previously I had bottled up sheer elation after the Wimbledon game because no-one around me appreciated what it meant. This time I was with family, sharing a unique experience with thousands of people who felt exactly the same way.
I stood for a few minutes with my arms extended singing songs with my palms upturned to feel the rain. The Coventry fans, who know this feeling so well, have stayed behind to applaud us on our achievement. Then I'm pounced upon by my arl fella and Uncle and the three of us embrace, dancing around in the centre circle of the real field of dreams in the pouring rain, putting grass in our pockets and then joining the mass advancing towards the directors box shouting "We want Johnson out!"
We then joined fans take tuns taking imaginary penalties past a wall of police guarding the goal in the Gwladys; turf around the penalty spot is being ripped up by opportunist fans and Goodison vibrates with the chants of thousands. Gradually, the crowd on the pitch disperses and although I try to leave once, I decide I have to go back onto the pitch again to savour the atmosphere. When I finally leave the ground through the Glwadys Street Terrace I join up with a river of ecstatic Evertonians singing as we walk through the rain down Goodison Road.
Then its back to the Netley for post-match drinks. I regretted my decision to drive up (as I knew I would) but I stayed until I was sure I was safe to drive back home.
I eventually got home at 12.30 - very tired and sore of voice but happier than perhaps I have been in a long, long time. I placed my prized piece of turf in a pot plant of soil before going to bed, safe in the knowledge that our valiant Blues had secured their own future in the Premier League with a gutsy and determined performance that was a pleasure to behold. Yes we owed an enormous debt to Chelsea, but Everton are in the Premiership through their own courage and determination. We got away with it that time but it must never happen again, ever. We have to learn from that season beginning with some purposeful buys in the close season so that we can build on the progress we have made over the last few seasons (and start better than normal!)
I heard he wasnt well alright but lost track of his playing/managing after his league of ireland stint.
For me nothing has fundamentally changed since those days, in fact we prob are more skint, the difference in Moyes for me.
I woke up the day of the Coventry game and thought we would go down defo.
bigbadjeff
Player Valuation: £15m
Remember the game well. Was driving into work that afternoon, listening to the match & was late as I sat in the car park listening, untill the final whistle. How I cheered, how I cried when I realized how close to the R word we were.
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