Have you posted ‘Why don’t they just wind the club up and put us out of our misery?’ online somewhere, same as every other summer? 

Rich people are doing what rich people do at the moment, it seems, as all sorts of Americans jostle and manoeuvre and bluff as they look for the best way to leverage Everton to make a fat return. The language is all couched in terms of ‘long term’ and ‘vision’ and all the cosy stuff that implies ‘safeguarding the future of the club and elevating to Europe’s top table.’

But really it all boils down to making a relatively short term killing. 

So it’s hard to get either excited or disappointed when someone like Dan Friedkin ‘has exclusivity’ or ‘withdraws interest.’ Just look at that big self-regarding bag of shit, ‘Sir Jim’ at Manchester United.

Next batter up.

The problems with Everton’s finances are probably best summed up by this:

One of the lenders, A-CAP, sound like one of them guest artists who raps – or ‘spits’ as me and the lads on the corner say – one line on a Wu-Tang album track. I used to do that, under the moniker the QZA, the East Side’s first trivia-based MC. Didn’t last long though, people started to see through the convoluted Red Dwarf references, but at the end of the day there’s really not many phrases that rhyme with ‘those motherfucking Eggheads.’

But that’s beside the point.

Incidentally, when you read about Friedkin and they always mentioned that he is an ace pilot and actually flew the Spitfire in Dunkirk, was there a very British part of you that thought ‘he sounds a bellend’?

Similarly, do you reckon there are arl arses in Sligo who sit in the alehouse fuming over getting had over for Saint Seamus of Coleman’s transfer fee? 

‘And the Brit fuckers even sing about it.’

William Friedkin buying Everton would have been much more exciting. But he might be dead. When interviewing new managers he would take them out in the alleyway give them a good hiding and demand ‘Have you ever picked your feet in Poughkeepsie?’

Let’s see how Graham Potter handles that.

In terms of new players, this Jesper Lindstrom from Napoli is apparently skilful with a good long range dig on him, but struggles when played out wide because of a lack of pace. He sounds a little bit like a certain indiscrete Icelander – and it’s always important to have someone like that who the supporters can argue over endlessly in terms of whether they are actually any good or not. 

After all, we have just parted ways with perhaps the ultimate jazz footballer in Amadou Onana. ‘It’s  the stuff you don’t see that is as important as the stuff he does.’ 

I can watch that at home.

There’s been lots of talk of Everton being a stepping stone for the Belgian. Clearly a dead damp mossy one seeing as he’s signed for Aston Villa.

New season, new kit. Blue again. And made by Castore. Is there any chance someone could have a word with the marketing people for essentially anyone who produces stuff associated with the club to suggest that it might be time to try something beyond the montages of blue flares and a Scouse voice-over saying something that boils down to ‘The team’s absolutely fucking shite but we still keep turning up, because it’s in our veeiiinnnns.’

We get it.

Incidentally, Willie Gnonto? I don’t know. Will he?

The diminutive Italian will sign on the pitch at half time during his Goodison testimonial if this drags on any longer. It definitely qualifies as a transfer ‘saga’ by any measure.

And talking of things taking for ages, it’s patently clear to you that this piece started weeks ago and has just been picked up again, after Everton have been laced at Salford and Coventry and signed long Irish defender Jake O’Brien.

As someone who shares a surname with the centre-half, it’s safe to say his nickname amongst the lads in the squad will be ‘that fanzine twat’.

Anyway, I know it’s only pre-season.

Correct. Stop there.

Nothing else you utter from this point is relevant.

Little book recommendation, an absolute cracker. Number Go Up: Inside Crypto’s Wild Rise and Staggering Fall, by Zeke Faux. Turns out imaginary nerd-pounds are even more bizarre than you even thought when you first heard of them.