Saturday night and Frank Lampard was definitely poking Christine in the arm while she’s trying to do her Wordle, desperate for attention.

‘You know what that is, Chrissy babe?’ Another poke.

‘No Francis, what is it, apart from annoying?’

‘That’s the fackin’ Midas touch, that is.’

My, how long ago that seems now. Delle Ali dressed like the lady in the van, ‘Tosun and Iwobi combine to set up Townsend’, and Yerry Mina scoring a goal so old-fashioned it still uses the term ‘wacky baccy’.

Glory days.

It’s a crazy world we live in though, and on Tuesday night the Lampard revival got drop-kicked like Kurt ‘not so happy now’ Zouma’s cat. A lot’s been said about that incident – as there always is, about everything. But what no one has asked is, how do we know that kitten hadn’t said something racist?

Makes you think, doesn’t it.

Anyway, the defeat at St. James’ Park saw the Toffees submerged in yet another existential crisis. 

It’s just sport though, really, isn’t it? Without jeopardy there’s no drama. If Rocky doesn’t get volleyed for eleven rounds then he never makes a stirring comeback. There’s a reason why there’s no Floyd IV where the protagonist jabs and spoils his way to a comfortable points decision in Red Square on Christmas Day. 

Our reward for the club making more poor decisions than Marty Byrde is that we get a blockbuster of a game lined up on Saturday at three o’clock with Marcelo Bielsa’s Leeds Leeds Leeds. 

Goodison will be sulphurous. It’s literally the essence of what makes football ace. 

‘Francis, Christ. I’ve got it now. I can’t believe what they’ve done here. I’ll give them a five letter word with only one U in it, the shower of….’