Let’s just get things straight. Everton will not win the league. They will not even compete unless the top two teams leave for the fabled Qatari Dream League Super Football Extravaganza™, and even then they would probably blow it at the start, or blow it at the end (after being quite good in the middle). Secondly, Everton will not qualify for the Champions League. Unless Arsene Wenger is finally carted away to a safe, secure place after they fail to ever shut him up about his team’s spirit; unless Chelsea fill their inevitable future managerial vacancy through an ad on Gumtree; and unless Daniel Levy quits as Spurs chairman to indulge his compulsion for negotiation by only working on Gareth Bale’s transfers, they will not come close again. They’re not going anywhere, they don’t seem to want to go anywhere, and they haven’t got any money to even if they wanted.
The most frustrating thing for people who actually still care about this team must be that there are occasional Russian meteor-like flashes of brilliance – Fellaini’s opening day bullying of Manchester United, or their recent ten-man defeat of reigning champions City. But we all know that the spanking that Wigan handed this team in the FA Cup Quarter Final a few weeks ago is what really defines them. The talent and desire to beat the top teams is sometimes accidentally uncovered, but then is hurriedly concealed when a game actually matters, as if they are worried what might happen were they to actually win something; you can did a hole in the ground and bury your shiny coins where they can’t be stolen, but you can’t use them either.
Ha! Everton! Winning a trophy! FA Cup Semi-final 2011/12 – lost 2-1 to Liverpool despite taking the lead. Premier League 2011/12 finished lower than Newcastle. League Cup 2012/13 – lost 2-1 to Championship Leeds. And the League this year? Sixth. An utterly pointless, worthless position. No hope of Champions League, not even a Europa League place.
David Moyes and Everton are stuck together, directionless. They’ve tried a few different positions out, and a couple of times it felt great and they thought it might be a breakthrough; but they always end up going back to plain old missionary-style, humping away joylessly while they think about what they have to pick up from the shops later. Moyes is typical of the man in a stagnant long-term relationship, a long 11 years now. He knows there’s no future and he’s seen all the prettier, richer girls around him be seduced by other men – Mancini?! What’s he got that I haven’t?! Benitez! Oh come on! But he’s scared; scared that they won’t want him, and will laugh when he turns up on their doorstep looking awkward in his rarely worn suit, and without a single piece of silverware, or goldware, or any kind of metal ware, to show for over a decade’s work.
Moyes has said that he will look at his position at the end of the season. We all know they’ll go into the relationship counselling of contract negotiation, and come out having decided to give it another go and work on accepting each other’s faults. Well, this is bull****. And, more importantly for us football fans, it’s all so boring. What is the point of coming just above mid-table every year, of occasionally beating the good teams, occasionally beating the bad ones, and just being…alright? When was the last time there was actually anything interesting happening at Everton? At least do something.
Get yourselves into a crisis (even a media-made one); have a dressing room revolt where stories are leaked and boots are kicked or teammates’ wives get shagged; get caught in a classic relegation dogfight. In fact, why not even get relegated for a year, have a laugh scoring a million goals in the Championship and then come straight back up, just because you can. Football is a soap opera, it’s meant to entertain us; Everton are a storyline where someone goes missing, then they find out they’re at home and they have a cup of tea and everything’s fine. It might not make business sense to just say **** it, let’s have a proper go, all or nothing; but it’s a lot more fun than eighth, eighth, seventh ad infinitum.
