Dave’s Ramblings – Everton

We were sat at table 5.

The next table? 210.

The one after that? 11.

 

At this point there was only one possible explanation: Enzo Maresca is working part-time at Wetherspoons and is in charge of table rotation.

 

This theory was immediately confirmed when, without warning or reason, table 5 was removed and replaced with table 311. A change that made absolutely no sense to anyone except, presumably, Enzo. 

 

Because of these completely pointless changes, we were brought various food items that we hadn’t ordered. Everything from a full English breakfast to chicken and orangutan on toast.

 

Based on recent performances and results, it remains one of football’s great mysteries that Maresca was named Manager of the Month for November. Presumably everyone else was unavailable.

 

So today was our chance to get back to winning ways. We were unbeaten in our last 30 home games against Everton and David Moyes has never won at Stamford Bridge. Plus Everton had failed to score in 27 separate games against us. (You will have guessed that I recently swallowed the boys book of useless facts!) So naturally, nothing could possibly go wrong.

 

The facts are simple. We have a squad overflowing with extraordinary talent. On our day, we can (and do) put together passages of football so slick and effortless that you briefly start Googling open-top bus route, and checking whether May is still free.

 

Unfortunately, our day often arrives in short, unpredictable bursts, often separated by long spells of complete mayhem and confusion.

 

Today we won comfortably. In fact, we could have won more comfortably. At times we played like a team that had finally cracked the code. Then, without warning, we also played like a team that had forgotten where the code was written, what language it was in, and why footballs are round.

 

There were spells when the game threatened to slip from our grasp, despite us being visibly better, which is very much our brand now. Every time it looks like things are finally clicking, the system working, the players understanding each other, the title challenge quietly increasing in speed, we immediately trip over our own feet and fall face first into reality.

 

Equally, every time it looks like a minor blip might become a full blown crisis, we suddenly remember how to play football and go on an inexplicably good run. November being a case in point. A month in which we were apparently the best team in the country, for reasons no one has been able to replicate or explain since.

 

Supporting this team is less like following a football club and more like riding a dodgy rollercoaster. It’s thrilling, baffling, occasionally brilliant but at no point does it feel safe.

 

It was great to see Cole Palmer, finally reappearing at the Bridge for the first time since the opening weekend of the season. He hadn’t forgotten that he’s actually really very good at football and scored his first goal in forever. He did this by calmly latching onto a through ball from Gusto, in the 21st minute, presumably just to reassure everyone he remains amazing.

 

Gusto then decided this was his afternoon, popping up just before half-time to turn in a cut-back from Pedro Neto and double the lead because nothing says end of half dominance like your right back casually finishing moves better than most of your forward players.

 

The reality is that Everton spent the opening 20 minutes of the half very much in charge, and on another day could have been two goals up before Palmer scored. The fact they weren’t was less down to our defensive solidity and more to blind, almost reckless good fortune. Which, in many ways, summed up the afternoon.

 

We, meanwhile, took our chances like a team that absolutely had to. Our finishing proving the decisive difference and allowing us to cling on to fourth place with the white knuckled grip of a man hanging from a cliff edge.

 

The second half was essentially a rerun of the first with both sides creating chances, Everton hitting the woodwork, and everyone in blue collectively holding their breath while pretending this was all part of the plan.

 

This was not a comfortable win. It was not especially entertaining. It was the kind of victory that leaves you more relieved than happy.

 

But it was a win. And given the last few matches, we will take that, smile politely, and ask absolutely no follow-up questions.

 

My takeaways…

 

Our one consistent is our level of inconsistency. In truth that’s inevitable with such a young squad. And thats really important to remember because this youth revolution isn’t born out of necessity, belief, or some noble long-term vision. Not a chance. It’s a policy where footballers are viewed less as players and more as assets with hamstrings, carefully acquired with the sole aim of being spun, flipped, and sold at a tidy profit once they’ve learned which way we’re attacking. So we may win a thing or two along the road, but while that policy continues (and under this ownership it clearly will) the days of Premier League titles will sadly remain a distant dream.

 

Everton have traditionally been a team that plays hard but fair. Based on today, however, they appear to have abandoned that entirely in favour of a new tactical approach. That’s competitive falling over. At various points it resembled an Olympic event, with points awarded for distance travelled, facial expression, and how long you stay down clutching absolutely nothing. 

 

Jack “Jelly Legs” Grealish would normally be leading the field in this category. One can only hope he’s more stable off the pitch, especially when navigating everyday obstacles like doorways, pavements, and the considerable weight of his beauty products and outfits apparently woven from the feathers of endangered Mongolian larks or something equally as daft. 

 

As much as I hate to say it, João Pedro is starting to look like an Everton player. Strong when he wants to be, but capable of amazing falls for no apparent or obvious reason.

 

Maresca is forever talking about the long season and the need to rest players. In practice, however, his rotation policy appears to extend to roughly half the squad, while the rest are played until they physically dissolve.

 

Based on the last couple of games, both Fernández and Cucurella are crying out for a rest. Although, with our coach, nothing is ever certain, I can only hope they’re left at home when we head to deepest Welsh Wales on Tuesday.

 

Ah yes… I can almost smell the mint sauce already.

 

Onwards and upward, UTC 💙

 

Dave M

 

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