This evening's match at Goodison park saw a team coming together, pitted against one coming undone. The
little engine that could, facing the locomotive that couldn't. Harry Redknapp brought his bag of European
dreams and his headful of England ambitions to Liverpool tonight, and dumped it all onto the pitch. The spilt
ingredients stank of stale wine and old horse ****, bet there was a game that needed playing.
Fortunately, Drenthe was still in the starting lineup, but the cameras caught David Moyes speaking to him
just before sending him onto the pitch for the kickoff. If my lip-reading skills are still up to snuff, David
was saying:
"Royston, look at me. No shootie shootie tonight. Passie passie passie. Capiche?"
"C-a-p--WHA? NO MORE TALK. NOW TIME FOR FIGHT!"
With a deft move, Moyes ducked under the roundhouse, turned Drenthe toward the pitch and gave him a
shove. There were screams, a general parting of bodies, the ref chucked the ball over his shoulder and fled,
and the match was on. Well, sort of.
If you have ever seen a cranky old blind man in a restaurant, sitting by himself, and becoming annoyed
because his order is taking to long he goes "looking" for the manager, tapping his cane and bumping into
tables, people, and knocking over wine displays, you have an idea what the first fifteen minutes of this match
looked like; no, not funny and entertaining, but futile and clumsy.
The cameras got so bored they began to
wander, finding Stubbs and Weir in suits--
Alan, stay with trackies until you stop biting
your fingernails--Pienaar sitting next to actor
Forest Whitaker, and even Faddy, who looked
right chuffed to be on camera, instead of on
the pitch.
The commentators even had time to reflect
upon how a win would basically guarantee
Everton's safety. So how come a liverpool loss
hurts their chances for Europe, and an Everton
win ensures survival when the two clubs are
separated by a thread in the table?
All this was swirling around my head when in the 22 minute, Osman broke through the bumbling
Tottenham ranks like a fire walker who just discovered that fire burns. This caused a massive gap
in front of the Spur's net filled by the presence of Jelavic. The frantic Osman sent the ball
bouncing across the pitch to him, and without hesitating, Jelavic filled the Spurs net with ball.
The ensuing celebration was so huge that Moyes even let Tim Cahill out of his little wooden box
to run about the pitch and party with the players. This gave the Spurs the slap in the face I wish
I could give them, and they responded with a few long balls and through passes that created
calamity around Everton's net, but Tim Howard used his new contract like a diner uses the menu
to swat flies away from his soup. Then it was halftime.
***Interesting that Everton have replaced "Forever Everton" with "Dream of the Blue Turtle" by Sting.
Well, well, well, the second half arrived and guess who was on the backfoot? Everton, that's who.
But this time they moved on defence as they had on offence in the first half. Each Spur's move
was met by sliding defenders, quick boots, solid headers, jarring tackles and firm shoves. Under
the lights the hovering Spurs' players resembled quivering black and white moths, flapping
about and waiting for something to happen, but nothing more did. Moths are attracted to light,
and for the last twenty minutes Spurs slammed themselves into the Everton net to no avail. In the
76 minute Defoe broke through, but he was offside.
Everton made some subs, bringing on the old and taking off the new, Jelavic was gassed, Straq
was gassed up, but did little more than create a few cheers from the Fellaini fans is Straq wigs.
The match wound down, but the ref wound up five minutes of stoppage time and the match
became a real firefight, with most of the flames scorching Everton's net. However, neither
corners, free kicks, nor Saha hitting the post could cause Everton to come apart as the match
came to an end. The Londoners filed out, Cahill trudged past the corner flags, and Saha slinked
off the pitch, his hands on his hips.
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little engine that could, facing the locomotive that couldn't. Harry Redknapp brought his bag of European
dreams and his headful of England ambitions to Liverpool tonight, and dumped it all onto the pitch. The spilt
ingredients stank of stale wine and old horse ****, bet there was a game that needed playing.
Fortunately, Drenthe was still in the starting lineup, but the cameras caught David Moyes speaking to him
just before sending him onto the pitch for the kickoff. If my lip-reading skills are still up to snuff, David
was saying:
"Royston, look at me. No shootie shootie tonight. Passie passie passie. Capiche?"
"C-a-p--WHA? NO MORE TALK. NOW TIME FOR FIGHT!"
With a deft move, Moyes ducked under the roundhouse, turned Drenthe toward the pitch and gave him a
shove. There were screams, a general parting of bodies, the ref chucked the ball over his shoulder and fled,
and the match was on. Well, sort of.
If you have ever seen a cranky old blind man in a restaurant, sitting by himself, and becoming annoyed
because his order is taking to long he goes "looking" for the manager, tapping his cane and bumping into
tables, people, and knocking over wine displays, you have an idea what the first fifteen minutes of this match
looked like; no, not funny and entertaining, but futile and clumsy.
The cameras got so bored they began to
wander, finding Stubbs and Weir in suits--
Alan, stay with trackies until you stop biting
your fingernails--Pienaar sitting next to actor
Forest Whitaker, and even Faddy, who looked
right chuffed to be on camera, instead of on
the pitch.
The commentators even had time to reflect
upon how a win would basically guarantee
Everton's safety. So how come a liverpool loss
hurts their chances for Europe, and an Everton
win ensures survival when the two clubs are
separated by a thread in the table?
All this was swirling around my head when in the 22 minute, Osman broke through the bumbling
Tottenham ranks like a fire walker who just discovered that fire burns. This caused a massive gap
in front of the Spur's net filled by the presence of Jelavic. The frantic Osman sent the ball
bouncing across the pitch to him, and without hesitating, Jelavic filled the Spurs net with ball.
The ensuing celebration was so huge that Moyes even let Tim Cahill out of his little wooden box
to run about the pitch and party with the players. This gave the Spurs the slap in the face I wish
I could give them, and they responded with a few long balls and through passes that created
calamity around Everton's net, but Tim Howard used his new contract like a diner uses the menu
to swat flies away from his soup. Then it was halftime.
***Interesting that Everton have replaced "Forever Everton" with "Dream of the Blue Turtle" by Sting.
Well, well, well, the second half arrived and guess who was on the backfoot? Everton, that's who.
But this time they moved on defence as they had on offence in the first half. Each Spur's move
was met by sliding defenders, quick boots, solid headers, jarring tackles and firm shoves. Under
the lights the hovering Spurs' players resembled quivering black and white moths, flapping
about and waiting for something to happen, but nothing more did. Moths are attracted to light,
and for the last twenty minutes Spurs slammed themselves into the Everton net to no avail. In the
76 minute Defoe broke through, but he was offside.
Everton made some subs, bringing on the old and taking off the new, Jelavic was gassed, Straq
was gassed up, but did little more than create a few cheers from the Fellaini fans is Straq wigs.
The match wound down, but the ref wound up five minutes of stoppage time and the match
became a real firefight, with most of the flames scorching Everton's net. However, neither
corners, free kicks, nor Saha hitting the post could cause Everton to come apart as the match
came to an end. The Londoners filed out, Cahill trudged past the corner flags, and Saha slinked
off the pitch, his hands on his hips.
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