It’s only Wednesday but what the hey, we can be wild, we can be free, we can post something akin to a match preview a couple of days earlier than what has become custom and practise.
A quick recap on what has been going on in the world of Evertonianism reveals, well, very little, with all the news outlets reduced to regurgitating dismal snippets of quotes from the players left rattling around Finch Farm during this interminable international week. The training ground is probably like The Breakfast Club while most of the squad are away – Sylvain Distin, Steven Pienaar and Leon Osman spend a large portion of every day sliding up and down the corridors in their ‘stocking feet’.
Distin probably said it reminded him more of the scene in the Louvre from Bande A Part, and if he did then Tony Hibbert might have pulled his ‘don’t start on the culture shit’ face until he shut up.
You just never know.
There was a behind-closed-doors game against Huddersfield Town which the Blues won 2-0 thanks to goals from Shane Duffy and Apostolos Vellios. It makes the whole scenario sound really furtive and clandestine when they play behind closed doors, as if they are trialling some prototype throw-in or revolutionary coin toss away from the prying eyes of the public and Kopite spies. In truth it was almost certainly just a competitive training match.
Again though, you never know.
What else, what else, what else… Ah, yep, it looks as if Darron Gibson is well on his way back to full fitness after qualified translators interpreted his gibberish-to-the-untrained-eye tweet to mean that a scan on his thigh showed positive results. Actually, we say full fitness, but has the hairy Irishman ever actually been totally fit since he’s been at Everton? No one wants to be responsible for him going all Karen Carpenter, but he does always look a bit heavier than you expect from someone working under the David Moyes regime.
Maybe he’s just big boned, or ‘husky’ as Peter Kay once said.
The actual internationals are too boring to discuss at any length, with Leighton Baines predictably impressing against San Marino before Ashley Cole was recalled following a one match period of penance. A waterlogged pitch in Poland meant that game never took place as scheduled, and so the British public were treated to those four fucking Hieronymus Bosch gargoyles Adrian Chiles, Gareth Southgate, Lee Dixon and Roy Keane sitting in the studio like a crowd of knobhead Brits abroad gathered around a table full of ale deriding the competence of their hosts.
Keane especially, the absolute no-mark, used to struggle to get to the end of the day without drunkenly soiling his kecks, but all of a sudden he’s an authority on civil engineering. And while we are on the subject of this famed hard case – and apologies if this has been covered before – how did anyone ever manage to interpret his supposedly menacing Ray Winstone ‘See you out there’ threat to Patrick Viera in the tunnel at Highbury as anything but the posturing of a rumbled shithouse?
Why do ITV pay the twat to sit there looking contemptuous, offering no insight other than ‘none of these cunts are anywhere near as good as I was’? The only entertainment he provides is watching Chiles trying to buddy up to him like the worm who inexplicably hung round with the school bully and spent his time looking for targets who would provide him with some brief respite from the sustained sadism.
This one just has some bad Juju about it. And we’re not talking about a stammering anti-Semite.
They are rock bottom, without a win, whereas Everton have become, temporarily at least, the Premier League darlings. They have got a load of problems in defence and their manager, the charming Goodison favourite Mark Hughes, is under a whole heap of pressure, especially after spending a stack of cash on 12 players in the summer.
The head says that this should be a straightforward task for Everton then, at a ground where West Ham and Swansea have already triumphed this season. The heart though, or more accurately the stomach, just has a dicky feeling. Weird things can happen in Sunday teatime games and it’s hard to shake visions of Bobby Zamora, like Aroune Kone at Wigan, using his power and mobility to upset the less-than-convincing Everton defence.
Hopefully that’s all completely unfounded and Everton just go there and assert their authority and play the kind of football that everyone knows they are capable of.
Still though, it’s hard to shake that nagging feeling about this one.
It must be frustrating for QPR supporters, after spending so long in the Championship – otherwise known as ‘the wilderness’ – to see their club get promotion and a stack of cash courtesy of some unfeasibly tangled ownership and ‘investment’ dealings, only for big time Sparky to make a complete arse of the whole thing. Rest assured, if they don’t start to make hay now while the sun is shining – financially speaking – then they are goosed, because as sure as Jimmy Savile touched kids, and he did, at some point in the future that club is going to be sold for a quid.
Which will be a fucking blow for Brazilian World Cup winning captain Dunga, who is apparently owed three quarters of a million quid by them. Seriously, look it up. It’s the most ‘random’ football story since Matt Le Tissier’s spanking games with Marilyn off Home and Away.
It’s incredible how there is even a level of cuntiness connected now with a word as seemingly inoffensive as that R one back there in that last sentence.
And talking of C words, it’s apparently common knowledge that Pete Doherty, lead singer of pop group The Libertines, used to write a QPR fanzine called – possibly the most predictably fanziney name ever – All Quiet On The Western Road. That explains why Kate Moss was so keen to throw her leg over him. In 2009 she famously told Fashion Flap ‘I fackin’ lav geezers who write homemade footy mags. They get me ‘ornier than a Viking’s hat’.
The controversial model now goes out with the editor of Bradford’s City Gent.