I would appreciate it...
Wigan Everton 02-04-'12
Wigan's DW Stadium is just a short burst from Goodison Park if you take the Optimist Taxi there. However, Everton, though full of optimism after their last two matches, chose to hop Wigan's Midnight Express for the Three-O-Clock derailing, and they arrived just in time, as far as the home team was concerned. Certainly David Moyes rubbed his hands together as this match approached and the transfer window closed. He had just bought the top scorer in the Scottish premiership and traded his out-of-gas striker for the return of Steven Pienaar, Stracqualursi had the love of the fans behind him and goals in front of him, and Drenthe was both healthy and foaming at the mouth. If you add to this the fact that Wigan City had lost their last thirty-seven games in a row without scoring a goal the odds were in Everton's favour. Thus buoyed, Moyes put Drenthe on the bench and fielded a 4-5-1 formation.
This match almost didn't take place because snow was threatening to fall. I have no idea why snow should halt a football match when the yellow ball was invented for just such a purpose. However, there was no snowfall for the match, although sleet was falling. I have always lived in Southern California, so I don't really know what sleet is. I did take a moment to google it, though. So with ice-flavoured Slurpees gooping down from the skies onto the players this match kicked off. While it is no secret that I pop a few pills and slam a fair few beers, it was hard to tell whether the heavens were plopping on the pitch or if indeed, the players were the plop.
I sat down to watch this match with an eagerness I had not experienced in a long while, and now I fear I will not experience again. Fellaini was playing, I remember that. I recall Tony Hibbert saving a goal from a cross. To be honest, I drink so much and remember so little. I remember hearing Wigan fans banging on pots and pans to either signify halftime, dinnertime, or to tell their player “Man on!â€
I ask you: what is there really to tell you about this match? You could set off every bomb known to mankind and after the fallout, if you asked the survivors how their day was, this is what they would tell you:
“Woke up, face full of puss, the sky was white, drawing a breath made me scream, had a bite and then vomited up my testicles.â€
“Tim Howard, Tell me about Wigan's first goal.â€
“Woke up, face full of puss, the sky was white, drawing a breath made me scream, had a bite and then vomited up my testicles.â€
“Gibson, how do you feel about your performance?â€
“Woke up, face full of puss, the sky was white, drawing a breath made me scream, had a bite and then vomited up my testicles.â€
“Landon Donavon, you're returning to the states soon. Did that have any effect on your performance?â€
“Woke up, put on my toupee, some face lotion, prayed for powder, then woke up for real and had to go play soccer. Kind of a drag, whatever. Hey, are we done?â€
“David Moyes, could you tell me about your team selection?â€
“Woke up, face full of puss, the sky was white, drawing a breath made me scream, had a bite, vomited up my testicles, told the lads to go out and get a point.â€
Stracqualursi finally managed to create the void that was filled when Saha left, and Cahill returned to walking around the pitch like an accident victim trying to draw a whip-lash settlement from the ref. In fact, almost the whole of the Everton team resembled tumbleweeds blowing aimlessly across the pitch.This match, in fact, should lay to rest the wretched argument that it is the fans' responsibility to bring the players into the game. This is because the only sound in the stadium was made by Everton fans, and it was raucous, boisterous, and so loud that I almost left the house to run laps. Everton players seemed bothered by the noise. However, Fellaini, for his part, spent the afternoon tackling without getting carded, taking the ball from the opponents and giving it to his teammates, who would respond with a snarky, “Gee, THANKS.†and then mope around with the ball until it was taken from them. This match was so dreadful that at halftime the studio crew didn't show any of the highlights, choosing instead to show National Geographic clips of elephants “Doing it.â€
Halftime
The second half was more lively with wasted shots, corners and free kicks from Everton. Straqualursi was so vile that Moyes replaced him with a player named Jelly, who spent the rest of the match living up to that name, and oh look, here's a goal from Phil Neville's backside that back spun its way across Howard and into the Everton net. For some reason the match was stopped while the city of Wigan put on a production of “Everybody Polka!â€
When the music died down, the dancing stopped and the lights came back on Victor had replaced Hibbert on the pitch. I don't know what is wrong with Victor, but he scored again. Baines took a free kick from the right corner that was blocked, the rebound coming back to Baines, who moved in closer and put another perfect cross into the area that Victor rose for, turning it off his head perfectly for a picture book bullet header into the net. A jaunty accordion tune began playing but quickly died out when the rest of the band just stared at the poor fellow.
I suddenly knew, knew in my heart of hearts, in the secret, quiet part of my soul, that Everton were going to win this match, and in fact, when Jelly fell over just outside the area and Baines stepped up for the free kick I broke into gooseflesh as the DW stadium hunkered down, hushed. 30,000 pairs of hands clenched in prayer. Half for “Please, dear God...†the other half for, “Please, dear God, no...†Then Leighton slammed the ball over the net and an accordion broke out into the “One Point Shuffle†that got half the stadium dancing. I turned off the TV and walked outside. I took a drink and looked at the sky. It was white. I touched my face with my hand. God, I felt sick.
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Wigan Everton 02-04-'12
Wigan's DW Stadium is just a short burst from Goodison Park if you take the Optimist Taxi there. However, Everton, though full of optimism after their last two matches, chose to hop Wigan's Midnight Express for the Three-O-Clock derailing, and they arrived just in time, as far as the home team was concerned. Certainly David Moyes rubbed his hands together as this match approached and the transfer window closed. He had just bought the top scorer in the Scottish premiership and traded his out-of-gas striker for the return of Steven Pienaar, Stracqualursi had the love of the fans behind him and goals in front of him, and Drenthe was both healthy and foaming at the mouth. If you add to this the fact that Wigan City had lost their last thirty-seven games in a row without scoring a goal the odds were in Everton's favour. Thus buoyed, Moyes put Drenthe on the bench and fielded a 4-5-1 formation.
This match almost didn't take place because snow was threatening to fall. I have no idea why snow should halt a football match when the yellow ball was invented for just such a purpose. However, there was no snowfall for the match, although sleet was falling. I have always lived in Southern California, so I don't really know what sleet is. I did take a moment to google it, though. So with ice-flavoured Slurpees gooping down from the skies onto the players this match kicked off. While it is no secret that I pop a few pills and slam a fair few beers, it was hard to tell whether the heavens were plopping on the pitch or if indeed, the players were the plop.
I sat down to watch this match with an eagerness I had not experienced in a long while, and now I fear I will not experience again. Fellaini was playing, I remember that. I recall Tony Hibbert saving a goal from a cross. To be honest, I drink so much and remember so little. I remember hearing Wigan fans banging on pots and pans to either signify halftime, dinnertime, or to tell their player “Man on!â€
I ask you: what is there really to tell you about this match? You could set off every bomb known to mankind and after the fallout, if you asked the survivors how their day was, this is what they would tell you:
“Woke up, face full of puss, the sky was white, drawing a breath made me scream, had a bite and then vomited up my testicles.â€
“Tim Howard, Tell me about Wigan's first goal.â€
“Woke up, face full of puss, the sky was white, drawing a breath made me scream, had a bite and then vomited up my testicles.â€
“Gibson, how do you feel about your performance?â€
“Woke up, face full of puss, the sky was white, drawing a breath made me scream, had a bite and then vomited up my testicles.â€
“Landon Donavon, you're returning to the states soon. Did that have any effect on your performance?â€
“Woke up, put on my toupee, some face lotion, prayed for powder, then woke up for real and had to go play soccer. Kind of a drag, whatever. Hey, are we done?â€
“David Moyes, could you tell me about your team selection?â€
“Woke up, face full of puss, the sky was white, drawing a breath made me scream, had a bite, vomited up my testicles, told the lads to go out and get a point.â€
Stracqualursi finally managed to create the void that was filled when Saha left, and Cahill returned to walking around the pitch like an accident victim trying to draw a whip-lash settlement from the ref. In fact, almost the whole of the Everton team resembled tumbleweeds blowing aimlessly across the pitch.This match, in fact, should lay to rest the wretched argument that it is the fans' responsibility to bring the players into the game. This is because the only sound in the stadium was made by Everton fans, and it was raucous, boisterous, and so loud that I almost left the house to run laps. Everton players seemed bothered by the noise. However, Fellaini, for his part, spent the afternoon tackling without getting carded, taking the ball from the opponents and giving it to his teammates, who would respond with a snarky, “Gee, THANKS.†and then mope around with the ball until it was taken from them. This match was so dreadful that at halftime the studio crew didn't show any of the highlights, choosing instead to show National Geographic clips of elephants “Doing it.â€
Halftime
The second half was more lively with wasted shots, corners and free kicks from Everton. Straqualursi was so vile that Moyes replaced him with a player named Jelly, who spent the rest of the match living up to that name, and oh look, here's a goal from Phil Neville's backside that back spun its way across Howard and into the Everton net. For some reason the match was stopped while the city of Wigan put on a production of “Everybody Polka!â€
When the music died down, the dancing stopped and the lights came back on Victor had replaced Hibbert on the pitch. I don't know what is wrong with Victor, but he scored again. Baines took a free kick from the right corner that was blocked, the rebound coming back to Baines, who moved in closer and put another perfect cross into the area that Victor rose for, turning it off his head perfectly for a picture book bullet header into the net. A jaunty accordion tune began playing but quickly died out when the rest of the band just stared at the poor fellow.
I suddenly knew, knew in my heart of hearts, in the secret, quiet part of my soul, that Everton were going to win this match, and in fact, when Jelly fell over just outside the area and Baines stepped up for the free kick I broke into gooseflesh as the DW stadium hunkered down, hushed. 30,000 pairs of hands clenched in prayer. Half for “Please, dear God...†the other half for, “Please, dear God, no...†Then Leighton slammed the ball over the net and an accordion broke out into the “One Point Shuffle†that got half the stadium dancing. I turned off the TV and walked outside. I took a drink and looked at the sky. It was white. I touched my face with my hand. God, I felt sick.
http:www.schoolofscience.eu
