Everton 0 - 0 Tottenham Hotspur

Half-time: 0 - 0

For Spurs, Everton's recent tormentors are missing: David Ginola has left for Aston Villa and Les Ferdinand is injured, among others.

The win against Watford should have given the team a much needed belief in themselves and Everton started well...  until David Weir limped off to join the walking wounded after just 7 mins.  Everton continued to press Spurs back, without tangible results.

Niclas Alexandersson had the best chance after beating a defender to go one-on-one with the keeper but sent his shot straight at him.  Later, Campbell had a great header brilliantly saved.

Into the second half, and more chances went begging, including Campbell hitting the post early on.  The pressure continued during a long period of total domination by Everton.  Lots of effort, lots of endeavour, but the goal just wouldn't come.  Tommy Myhre's first clean sheet since returning...

You don’t of course.  You tell them roundly to fuck right off, business or no business, so you can deal with decent people.  Might as well get that out of the way immediately – a bit like mucking out the stables well before you take your favourite hoss for a hack.  I’ll return to the hack(s) later....

Talking of horses, Radio Merseyside’s Country ‘n’ Western Saturday morning show featured a number titled There’s A Blue Moon Out Tonight – entirely appropriate considering the total lunar eclipse a couple of days ago.  It also included a little ditty called Where I Come From, the opening lines of which went:

Where ah curm frohm 
We eat cornbread an’ chicken 
Where ah curm frohm 
Lotta front porch sittin’

Death, my relegation haunted friend, where is thy sting?

None of which has any relevance whatsoever, except, I suppose, to illustrate why we go to footy matches. Almost anything’s better than home-grown “entrepreneurs” and Newt Gingrich’s Imperial Amerika kulture.

And how sad is this?  I WAS FIRST THROUGH THE DOOR!  The place was completely empty.  Emmie the bar maid looked at me as though I was a Deep Impact comet and said, “Christ almighty.  You look like a bear with a sore arse.”  I briefly considered telling her to fuck off but made a mental withdrawal when I realised she was in an important strategic position, i.e. next to the beer pumps and unlikely to serve me if I stepped outa line.  Women are made to be loved, not understood.  I bought a bevvy and a programme and retreated to the usual spot, solo, and waited for everybody to show up.

The programme contained a reprint of the April, 1970 programme, the night we won the title against West Brom.  I flipped to the team sheet at the rear and my heart ached at the team: West, Wright, Brown, Kendall, Kenyon, Harvey, Whittle, Ball, Royle, Hurst, Morrissey.  Only Labby and Jimmy Husband were missing.  How times have changed.

And in more ways than one.  Also on the back page was a jobs ad for Plessey saying: GOOD JOB, GOOD COMPANY.  Jobs for men.  Jobs for women….and it’s easy to find out more….

I hope those poor bastards in the Far East and the Latin countries take note of the latter. They’ll get the same treatment sooner or later.  Doubtless they too will get pilloried as militant when they have the temerity to try to defend themselves against the shithouses who run society.

Just before the kick-off, eight members of the 1970 squad came onto the park.  Poignantly, Sandy Brown walked on a stick and had a helper.  Memories, glorious, glorious memories, came flooding back of that wonderful season and that great team.  Some things are more precious than a balance sheet or the latest wittering of some bright-eyed commercial commissar or some other Young Fogey or Suit, or – worse – the usual mean-spirited shite from some unemployable hack.  At times like that, you realise why you still watch the game.

Then reality hit.  Hard.  The game started.  We were awful for the umpteenth time this season.  Not surprising, really.  Smiffy’s Rubik elected to have The Gravedigger and Yozzer playing centre midfield with Pembo wide left and Nic wide right.  Hey ho.  Nothing happened, well, not much.  Nothing we haven’t come to expect, anyway. 

Davey Weir got injured and limped off after a few minutes…. which probably means we won’t see him for about six weeks.  Dunno what to say about this injury business.  I’ve never seen anything like it in me life.  It has certainly contributed to a piss-poor season.

One highlight of the first half was a run and dribble from the right by Nic into the Park End in which he turned a hapless defender inside out but his snapshot unluckily went straight at Spurs’ admirable keeper, Neil Sullivan.

Another highlight was that we got through the half without anyone getting sent off or booked.  Since the referee was none other than Andy D’Arsehole, we can consider this a moral victory over an unreconstructed, well, arsehole, actually.

The only compensation – and a negative one, at that – was that Spurs were even worse than us.  Woeful, in fact.  Gawd knows how Bunger has managed to get himself into this tizzy....

The second half was better for a while.  Nic again showed why he could be a really good player in a better side; SuperKev hit the left post in the Street End and missed another easy chance; and we pressed hard for maybe 15 minutes.  Then Smiffy’s Rubik struck again.  He took off Nic and the Little Yank, and sent on Danny and Idan just when we looked like we might, just might, make a breakthrough.  If it was a gamble, it failed and failed badly because the whole flow of the game turned against us and Spurs finally managed to get in a shot and get more territory than us.  The substitutions turned the air purple around us.  Must admit I made me own contribution to it.

In the end, the game petered out into the undiluted mediocrity of the first half.  The final whistle was a mercy.

Back at the Black Horse, me, Squire and Dave engaged in a vigorous discussion about how to raise your kids.  The only thing we didn’t say we would forbid is watching a hour and a half of what we just put up with.  For the first time in many years, I bought the Football Echo when the little man came through the door.  What a mistake THAT was, never to be repeated.  It really is the most worthless load of appalling, mindless untalented twaddle you could find, even compared to the Mirror and the Sun.  No wonder it is roundly loathed.

With injury ravaging both squads, there was always the threat of a lightweight display by both sides.  In the end, lightweight was a kindness delivered by a benevolent correspondent as a drab, uninteresting display was served up for both home and visiting fans.

The first 10 minutes passed by unnoticed, save for a long delay for an injury to Weir, who caught a dropping ball on his shin and took no further part in the game.  Cleland replaced him and Watson took Weir's place in the centre (and the Captain's armband) with Cleland taking the right back berth.

A poor first half was punctuated by free kicks to both sides and three excellent saves from Sullivan in the Spurs goal, which kept Spurs in the game.  A vicious drive from Gravesen was pushed wide for a corner (how?), as was a fierce close range header from Campbell (how??).  Gravesen again forced a fine save with a speculative dipping volley and Alexandersson danced through the defence to see a goal denied him as his shot was easily collected by a grateful Sullivan, when any other placement would have seen him struggle to stop the effort.  

Four good chances, but we were poor, with only Hughes and Gravesen shining, and went in at half time with the score at 0-0.

And so it stayed.  We engineered our own luck – all of it poor by some lazy forward play as neither the forwards nor midfield followed up chances quickly enough.  Sullivan's defence kept Everton at bay, despite its inadequacies as Everton showed little potency in front of goal.  Gravesen again went close in the second half with two drives, but neither were on target.  Campbell headed over or past the post at least 3 times and Cleland and Alexandersson both spurned opportunities to shoot and passed into trouble.  Our performance didn't deserve a win, but Spurs didn't deserve a point.

At the end, with the score at 0-0 the main talk around the ground was of the substitutions made by Walter Smith.  Take off a midfielder (Alexandersson) who was beginning to run the opposition defence ragged.  Replace him with a forward (Cadamarteri), seemingly instructed to play it tight and don't press too far up-field.  Replace a forward (Moore) with a midfielder (Tal) who appeared to be in headless-chicken mode but who in fairness was very lively after his introduction.  Play them both in midfield and leave just one man up front.  Pardon me, but weren't we the home team?  What sort of tactics are these?

With warnings of dire consequences if finances don't improve, the quality of both football and tactics on display are driving the fans away.  With only 32,290 showing up to what was once a showpiece game, things are not going to improve.  Failure to hit the target is costing us dear in both points and attendances.  Walter has to do something dramatic and soon, or Michael Dunford's warnings about dark times ahead are only a months away.

Man of the Match:  Michael Ball had a good game at the back as did Steve Watson, but with no real threat from Spurs it would have been difficult to do otherwise.  The centre of midfield was where the plaudits, if there were to be any were won.  Gravesen and Hughes both had excellent games in the context of the overall performance.  Neither, though, might have shone on another day.  I'll give the laurels to Gravesen as he at least showed the spirit, urging on the crowd at corners, fighting tirelessly for the ball in the middle of the park and testing Sullivan on several occasions.

Since the 'program' became a glossy with a £2.50 price tag, it's dropped out of my 'worth buying' range, but today was a good choice to make an exception because an extra 50p cover charge was donated to Blueblood, the ex-EFC players' charity, and in return you got a replica of the 1970 league-clincher program v WBA. (Wipe a tear at this lineup: West, Wright, Brown, Kendall, Kenyon, Harvey, Whittle, Ball, Royle, Hurst, Morrisey...)

The match was so typical of our season so far.  The first half had the crowd sitting quiet as mice suffering mediocrity to rival Everton's worst historical doldrums, but the second half was a thriller to watch.

It would be nice to be able to feel encouraged that the first half saw some nice work (particularly on the right of midfield) and that EFC had THREE GOOD strikes and all the rest of the attacks (apart from a bullet Spurs free kick that Tommy did well to take at bar height) but temper that – I agree that it was the worst Spurs team I've EVER seen.

Got the impression the crowd silence is less 'boredom with underachievement' and more 'sorrow that we have no realistic way out of this situation'.  We've a collection of bargain-basement buys and we're going to be nothing more until we either solve the unsolvency or sink to a division where we're on equal terms.

Shame that possibly the Premiership's best shot stopper was in the Park End goal...  Sullivan regularly topped the saves/goals statto tables at Wimbledon, ahead of Seaman and over-hyped lemons like Schmeichel and James.  Perhaps if he could learn to kick properly he'd get the international consideration he deserves – he had a nightmare second half, making at least five kicking boobs.

Shame also that a copybook Campbell goal in the first half was offside.  A yard or so start made no difference whatsoever, Spurs were caught dead and the pass and finish were perfect.  When DID we last score a first-half goal???

Most recent games have featured improved second-half performances . 'Improvement' just cannot do justice to the waves of assault and siege the Blues mounted.  On 60 minutes, I realised the whole Street End had been on its feet for 10 full minutes.  The atmosphere was amazing and the football truly exciting.  Not *brilliant*, but it was a rare treat to see the Blue team winning the tackles, forcing possession and getting more attacking chances and shots than any coach could reasonably expect.

0-0 was twilight robbery...  a conservative estimate would indicate a 3-0 result on balance of play.  Most strange was that poor finishing cannot be blamed – ours made the most of almost everything, it only ever fell for a clear head or foot when there was a body in the way.  That the defence held out was a miracle on a par with Rourke's Drift.

Dunc's air-power would have been a big plus, but what if... what if... because so would a flash of Gazza genius or a Franny psychic read.

I just hope the players got a taste for the rewards their second-half effort got them from the crowd.  Just maybe they'll give us more of the same..? (yeah, I know – 'keep taking the tablets').

But didn't we say this last week too?  Is this some kind of money-saving idea – that we only pay half wages and they only give us one half of commitment?

So, on a day of nostalgia, we got a blessed few minutes of nostalgically standing up cheering Everton dominating an inferior opponent.  Thanks for the memories – they may be all we get to enjoy for the foreseeable.  God I love this club.

IT WAS a day when they remembered the title-winning team of 1970, a side of stout-hearted warriors such as Joe Royle, Howard Kendall and Colin Harvey, Evertonians to their core.  All for a good cause, of course, but in a footballing context those blue-blooded men have as much relevance to the present team as Paul Gascoigne has to the future of the national side.

At the end of a game which did nothing to enhance their chances of avoiding the drop, Everton were jeered and applauded in equal measure – evidence that Walter Smith is hanging on at Goodison, but only just.

Without a Premiership win since November, Smith knew that his side's brittle confidence would not be easily restored.  Before the game, he could count nine casualties, fielded one centre-back unaccustomed to the role, plus another who was carrying an injury, and still has not had the luxury of starting Kevin Campbell and Duncan Ferguson in the same line-up.

Yet the Everton manager did not have the monopoly on misfortune.  For their part, Spurs were short of six regulars including key figures such as Stephen Carr, Les Ferdinand and Sol Campbell.

Everton had lost all but seven of their previous 17 Premiership encounters with Spurs, a pitiful record.  With a little more craft and clinical finishing they could have gone some way to restoring the balance.

Not that they were particularly bright or inventive.  In Spurs they faced opponents who have not won on their Premiership travels for nine months and were so toothless that they could not muster a single opening of note during the entire 90 minutes.

Everton should have kicked themselves for not being at least one up by half-time and who knows what confidence a goal might have instilled.  As it was, only their own sloppy finishing and some heroic saves by Spurs keeper Neil Sullivan prevented it.  That it took Everton 28 minutes to produce their first clear-cut chance was indicative of the standard.

Although Niclas Alexandersson's deft flick to put Thomas Gravesen through on goal was out of the top drawer, Sullivan reacted smartly to tip Gravesen's drive behind.

Five minutes later, Campbell sent Alexandersson on his way with a pass that split a square Spurs defence.  The Swedish international turned Stephen Clemence smartly but his shot from no more than eight yards was too close to Sullivan.

Gravesen was Everton's driving force.  Though vilified for his performance on several occasions this year, the Dane was inspirational yesterday.  Time and again he drove his team forward in a manner that might even have charmed the watching heroes of 30 years ago.

He tested Sullivan with a long range drive after 39 minutes and, on the stroke of half-time, whipped over a teasing cross that Campbell met with a firm header.  Sullivan's instinctive save managed to keep Spurs alive.

How Everton would pay for their failure to secure an early opening.  Seven minutes after the restart Campbell somehow managed to find the post from eight yards when it looked easier to score.

By the hour mark, Spurs had withstood the best that could be thrown at them and even began to string a few passes of their own together.  It did not amount to much. And it would have been a travesty if they had managed to steal a game which they had graced with no offensive or artistic merit.

A PRE-MATCH parade of stars from Everton's 1970 Championship-winning side served only to underline the paucity of character and flair in the present team.

Hard as the tireless Thomas Gravesen and the nimble Niclas Alexandersson tried to unlatch Spurs' increasingly pressurised defence, it was tempting to imagine that the celebrated Goodison midfield trio of Harvey, Kendall and Ball would have found the necessary inventive spark to find a way through such stubborn opposition.

As it was, Tottenham, without ever looking like ending their nine-month wait for a Premiership away win, held on to bag a point while the relegation spectre continues to hover over Goodison.

Everton's outlook was looking less than bright before the start, despite the cloudless sky.  Duncan Ferguson's efforts at crime prevention had left one suspected burglar in hospital and the big man himself nursing a hand injury.

Despite much midweek speculation about a romantic return against his old club following 10 weeks out due to a hernia operation, Paul Gascoigne also remained on the sidelines and, within eight minutes, David Weir joined him there.

The Scottish defender fell awkwardly and limped off to be replaced by Alex Cleland, who slotted in at right-back with Steve Watson, Everton's match-winner in their FA Cup match against Watford last week, moving inside to take over both Weir's centre-back role and captain's armband.

Watson's mettle was tested as Merseyside-born Stephen Clemence raced through only for his abrupt challenge to be deemed a foul, enabling Tim Sherwood to test Thomas Myhre's reflexes with a powerfully-struck free kick.

Few clear-cut chances were created from open play in a scrappy first half and Stephen Hughes, scorer of a spectacular goal from distance against Watford, went close with a free kick.  With Sol Campbell and Les Ferdinand failing fitness tests on hamstring strains, Tottenham were likewise depleted and the home side could easily have gone ahead had a fierce drive from Gravesen not being deflected wide and had Alexandersson's shot been hit with more conviction.

Just before half-time, Kevin Campbell, back after several weeks laid low with a virus, looked to have broken the deadlock but, as his header arrowed towards the bottom corner, Neil Sullivan flung out a hand and diverted the ball for a corner . Soon after the restart, Campbell was denied again, this time by a post after good work by Mark Pembridge.