Do you reckon the Hackney Branch of the Old Golds’ Supporters Club have their own Warren Zevon-themed chant?

That one’s for you, Dave.

Obviously it’s no ‘There ain’t no party like an ESCLA party.’ But then, what is?

The elephant in the room, or more to the point the mate who isn’t, concerns the passing of Dave Wiggins, one of the most decent men you would ever have the fortune to meet.

I admired him enormously, not just for how hilarious and seemingly effortless his writing was – and it was – but because I never met anyone so comfortable in their own skin. He liked what he liked and believed what he believed – he was just genuine.

He bothered no one – he just quietly chuckled at everyone – and that confidence allowed to him to be as warm and generous, with his time and his kind words and encouragement, as he was with his tea and his chocolate biscuits. And anyone who ever met him will attest to that.

Especially anyone who ever missed a penalty on a big occasion.

I’m not going to get all dewy-eyed over a magazine from years ago, but When Skies Are Grey was at its very best not when it was angry – anyone can do that – but when it undermined expectations but managed to be warm-hearted at the same time. That’s what people remember fondly.

So much of that was Dave.

I was going to write some stuff about the game on Saturday but there doesn’t seem much point other than let’s hope they win, obviously.

Up the Toffees.