Colm Kavanagh relives the lows and highs of Saturday's rollercoaster
Pride that comes with a fall
Fig
Why is it that we Evertonians feel enormous pride in our team when they've just conceded four goals at home? Why is it that, with 125 years history on our side, we mention games like THAT Wimbledon escape when we're recalling great games of the past? Why are we so masochistic in our love for one of England's oldest football institutions!
To state that being an Evertonian is a rollercoaster of emotion is to state the obvious.
With the disappointment of our exit from the FA Cup earlier in the week, another nail in our coffin (for season 2003-04) was firmly hammered home. To then face a visit from the Champions, a side who relish facing us — well, the omens weren't good. Would it be the perfect opportunity for the team to restore some pride? Or further confirmation that another horrible fight for survival is all we have to look forward to this season?
The opening 45 minutes more than suggested that the class of 2003-04 were on borrowed time, not good enough to grace the shirt. No pace, no heart, no fight? Was this the same group of players who had faced the local enemy seven days previously, at Anfield, and emerged with pride intact? On Saturday, during the opening period, we were as poor a side — particularly defensively — as I've ever seen. United toyed with us. No denying their quality but our collective ineptitude made them look better than they actually were. It's frightening to think we all knew that United had a few extra gears if needed.
Aside from the 'glory' that comes with scalping United (now nine years and counting...) the games versus our Mancunian neighbours are "derby-esque" in stature. We're all Lancastrians, y'know! With that in mind, you'd expect to see Everton players getting stuck in from the off. It didn't happen on Saturday.
Mr Gravesen, in particular, was guilty of continually ducking out of challenging for possession. I shudder when acknowledging that Gravesen still remains our most 'creative' midfielder — he is so Jekyll and Hyde.
Lee Carsley? Sorry mate — your days are numbered. His only contribution to proceedings was to continually be mistaken for Thomas Gravesen. Running on empty and bound for Division One in the summer.
Steve Watson looked a pale shadow of himself; still not match-fit after his recent injury. Only Kevin Kilbane appeared capable of offering something positive in that opening half. He ran his socks off.
Behind that "wall of resistance" we had Messrs Stubbs and Unsworth marked absent without leave. They were appalling for the opening 45 minutes. At left-back we had Newcastle United's Pistone — the player with no heart whatsoever. We all know the guy can play but it's frustrating to see him appear so oblivious to unfolding disaster! He is another I would offload in the summertime given the luxury of choice (bringing back Michael Ball perhaps?).
On the right flank, Tony Hibbert continues to gamely struggle to find the form of old. It remains a problem position, our Achilles heel. The team is crying out for leadership. With each United goal it was painful to visibly see the life drained from an Everton eleven. The sight of each and every Everton player traipsing back towards the half-way line, heads down and shoulders drooped, told it all. We had not one player trying to inspire the lads into some sort of token revival.
It was simple. Restart the game, a further goal behind, give the ball back to United and then stand off them as they sprayed the ball from side to side, Keane and Scholes forever creating so much space to have time to carve us open at will. Be thankful for small mercies, we ended the half only three goals down. Five or six would've been a truer picture of the gulf between the sides in the first half. The Manc following, in full voice throughout the first half, knew it only too well and three sides of Goodison Park booing off the home team only spurred them on to sing louder in the pouring rain.
The famed 'hair drier' technique, teacups thrown, expletive-filled rants — whatever works — each manager has his method in trying to restore some pride. "I told my players they had to show our fans they cared about wearing the blue jersey — that it wasn't just another job, they had a responsibility to the club and that they had to go out and carry the responsibility. They had to do everything possible to make sure that they and the fans could go home with their heads held high." I suspect Mr Moyes was not as placid as the quote may suggest when all were inside that dressing room at half-time. Changes after the break were inevitable.
The introduction of all three Everton substitutes for the second half spoke volumes for the manager's dissatisfaction with the first half 'effort'. Truth is, he could've taken anyone off (bar Kilbane). As it was, Pistone was replaced by Naysmith — affording him some quality time to reflect on a heartless performance. Wayne Rooney replaced a clearly unfit Steve Watson and Tomasz Radzinski replaced the ineffective Francis Jeffers who had fed off scraps in the opening half.
Straight away we had an injection of (relative) pace throughout. Kilbane and Rooney had license to roam. Blue shirts began to find blue shirts with some regularity! Four minutes into the half, we'd pulled a goal back. Gary Naysmith's corner found the head of Duncan Ferguson who flicked onwards for David Unsworth to head home. No wild celebrations as Unsworth grabbed the ball and placed it back on the half-way line. Consolation? Aye, probably...
What transpired for the remainder of the game will live long in the memory. Everton absolutely rattled the Champions. Kevin Kilbane kept going and going, ever willing to drive at United. Gary Naysmith his able assistant down that left flank. Duncan Ferguson became the central figure up front, pivotal in everything good about our forward play and ably assisted by the pace and thought of Tomasz Radzinski who kept Silvestre on his toes.
However, it was a certain youngster — a local lad — who dazzled throughout the half. Wayne Rooney was, quite simply, magical. He was a joy to watch, his first touch nothing short of superb.
At 1-3 down, we were in danger of turning a rout into a game. Scholes and Keane continued to make space available with ease but now Everton applied some vigour. Stubbs and Unsworth no longer looked as porous a partnership, Naysmith showed Pistone (if he was still inside Goodison Park) how to knuckle down and get on with it. But it was all about Rooney. He put United on the back foot; Goodison noticed and found a new voice.
He broke through United's increasingly fragile back four to shoot. Only a magnificent save from Tim Howard denied Rooney his glory and a second 'consolation' goal. From the resulting corner, we grabbed that second goal. A tussle for the ball, between Ferguson and O'Shea saw the ball cannon off the United defender and into the net. 2-3 and game on!
In the week of famous comebacks, we dared to dream... Everton piled on the pressure but being an Evertonian automatically means you just know they'll break away and further our pain. It didn't matter though. This was a totally different fixture to the first-half ineptitude. Goodison Park was on its feet, roaring on our own boys. The wall of sound encouraging the home side had beautifully silenced the vocal away support. Ruud van Nistelrooij no longer waltzed through the heart of our defence with ease. Everton continued to push for that elusive equaliser. Kilbane, despite being goosed, kept on running. Rooney continued to orchestrate the continuing comeback despite the attention of Keane and Scholes. Is he really only 18 years old?
And then it happened. A push by Fletcher saw Kilbane hitting the deck. Gravesen floated a telling ball over and Kilbane himself superbly connected, leaving United with no chance. He buried it and Goodison Park went absolutely mental! United were punch drunk, reeling on the ropes not knowing quite what had hit them. The unlikeliest of comebacks had been achieved and Goodison was in rapturous voice. However, there was still the small manner of 15 minutes left... if there's one team capable of pissing on your parade, then it is Manchester United.
It's harsh to say we retreated, sat back; but that's how it looked. So much energy had been spent digging our way back into the game; without the option of replacing a tired body we had to make do with what we had. United meanwhile chucked on Kleberson and Ronaldo. Oh for such luxuries!
Just as we were about to celebrate the comeback of all comebacks, the knife was stabbed through the heart of all Evertonians. Ronaldo, for once, opted to whip in a ball instead of dancing with it. A quality ball, which caught Tony Hibbert rooted at the back post, found the head of Ruud van Nistelrooij who headed home. Relief for United and heartbreak for Everton. It's a cruel game when this happens. You have to admire United's resilience and their sheer bloody mindedness in forcing a result back their way when they were on the back foot. It left me feeling absolutely gutted though.
The beauty of football is the forgiving nature of even the most fickle of fans [except those who compelled to moan about the opposition's goal celebrations]. We departed Goodison Park feeling pride in the way a team of beaten Evertonians fought their way back into a game, making a right contest when a meek surrender was likelier. We forgot the dreadful first half. We shared the players exasperation at full time, as they came to terms with the fact that we'd ended with nothing from the game.
We ended with nothing?
Wrong! We had pride renewed. Pride that came with a fall at the last.
Those who understand need no explanation, those who don't, don't matter!
Colm Kavanagh 8 February 2004