Well that was fun. 

The derby is normally something to endure rather than enjoy, such has been the disparity between the two teams for some time, but this was a bit an early afternoon barn-burner, with the Toffees giving as good as they got.

Goodison has ‘smelled’ different for a while now. Something happened last season, or maybe even earlier – was it when Spirit of the Blues went nuts that week? Or even when someone played Baker Street on a saxophone outside the ground during the first televised lockdown game? There’s just a younger, more light-hearted ‘vibe’ – fucking hell – about the place. Maybe it’s the subconscious knowledge that time is limited at Goodison and it’s not going to go gentle into that good night; it’s going to burn and rave at the close of that day. 

Whatever, there’s definitely been something in the air for a while, and finally it looks like that renewed joie de vivre is seeping onto the pitch. Obviously buying a load of new players helps too.

Looking at the side that took to the field, and the players in reserve, you could see the makings of at least some sort of plan and coherent ‘vision’. Competition for places in most departments, and more players with, in the words of Frank Lampard, ‘bollocks’.  

We know James Tarkowski and Conor Coady are fellas who get the ale in, but Nathan Patterson looked anything but intimidated – despite being up against a right handful in Luis Diaz – and even Neal Maupay, the second most school-bully-from-The–Inbetweeners looking fella in the squad after James Garner, brought a welcome ‘spikiness’. Fears that Idrissa Gana Gueye would return stooped and greying like Red at the end of The Shawshank Redemption were also allayed when he entered the game in the second half and just looked like a proper player.

Because he’s ace.

Liverpool had some boss flags too. The massive one that the cheeky fauxialists were absolutely made up with that no one else could really read and so just raised a collective, squinting ‘Yer wha?’ from the rest of the ground. After they went to all that effort as well. There must have been a committee meeting where they raised the money, agonised over the (lengthy) text and brainstormed their suggestions.

‘Hey guys, there’s no bad ideas at this stage. Let’s just throw them at the wall, see what sticks, yeah?’

‘Next point on the agenda – a fuck off Steaua Bucharest flag.’

Massive wince.

‘And before anyone says that this could be construed as using the aftermath of a tragedy for point-scoring, well, that’s like the point isn’t it. It’s irony, the joke is actually a really, really clever, subtle one about how the Blues bring it up all the time and their resultant persecution complex. If it triggers you then the problems yours as you don’t really get comedy. I’m starting to know how Ricky Gervais and Dave Chapelle feel here.’

‘Resolution passed! I’ll get onto WHOPPINGFLAGS4U straight after we adjourn.’

Anyway, flags are so old hat. It’s all about lashing bottles and defacing murals now, Grandad.

One of the most noticeable aspects of Everton’s performance is how well they, gulp, ‘pressed’. It looked organised and like they actually practised it – as opposed to one forward making an effort, getting the ball passed around him, then clearly deciding ‘what’s the fucking point here, really?’ 

Which again made a lovely change.

Tom Davies, who played well alongside the quite marvellous Alex Iwobi – now first on the team sheet on ability not alphabet – hit the woodwork, as did Darwin Nunez and then Diaz for them, before another load of shite with VAR. Apparently Coady was just offside when turning home Maupay’s low cross, but just the whole pantomime around coming to that decision, which was only emphasised by what went on elsewhere at the weekend, reinforced the feeling for many supporters that the Premier League is heading down the same road as boxing in terms of the way it’s set up to protect the interests of the ‘ticket sellers’. 

A baby angel bunny rabbit dies every time a set of supporters celebrate a goal being disallowed by VAR.

And while we’re on the subject, how on earth did enough clubs vote for these vile new substitution rules that allow the throwing on of half a team of internationals to run you into the ground for the last half hour? It’s absolutely staggering.

Staggering, I tell you.

As was aardvark-head Virgil Van Dyke going over the top on Amadou Onana’s shin and getting nothing more than mild rebuke.

Mohammed Salah hit the post in the dying minutes, but it would have been harsh – although not surprising, right kids – if they won it there, especially giving the performance of everyone’s favourite big daft woolly, Jordan Pickford.

The fixture list looks a bit tasty, and we need to start winning games, clearly, but there were enough good things on show here, against a very good team, to suggest that we can approach the remainder of the season with, dare we say it, hope.

Everton man, off its barnet.