Never Again
Today's guest article is by Len Capeling, masquerading under the pseudonym, TDK

18 November 2003

"Never Again."  A phrase undoubtedly common to every Evertonian over the past 13 years or so.  Enduring the seemingly futile occupation of following the Toffees has resulted in the boo-boy in all of us rearing his ugly head more often than not. 

The 90s for the most, was a crucifying experience, with a long list of false hopes, financial humdingers, and a long line of failed leaders.  David Moyes, as our supposed saviour, for a few months last season, promised a resurrection of Everton’s glory days.  And now, we are faced with the frying pan smack in the face that is reality: we are shite and have as much chance of scaling the heady heights of Europe once again, as Frank Bruno does of winning the heavyweight title.

Of course, we are always aware of what happens following the true Evertonian’s motto of “Never Again”:  two weeks later he trudges down to the corrugated iron arena of tedium to hand in his hard earned pay-packet… only this year is different.

With perhaps an event which was recognisably inevitable to the foresighted, the last dregs of footballing integrity were poured unceremoniously down the gutter last summer.  A revolution took place: a Russian revolution, ironically antithetical of past Russian revolutions we have known and loved.  An invasion of monumental horror, dwarfing all poison so far injected in to the game which once sported an inherent sense of fair play. 

Beforehand, our enemies came in the guise of a sheep-like reformists, baiting us with visions of football utopia.  Now they come unmasked with utter disregard for what has gone before, shattering all ambitions, building on the ruins a monolith gathering of Supermen.  The mafia have arrived and there’s fuck all we can do about it.

In the harsh light of day, this, I feel, leaves the awakened Evertonian with only one path, that of abstinence.  For what could be more heartbreaking, criminal and utterly pointless than the delusional supporter returning and returning for eternity by the dangling of a non-existent decomposed carrot, tragically hoping for the day when he can gorge upon its delights? 

We are Sisyphus, bearing the weight of a colossal rock on our shoulders, anticipating the achievement of reaching the zenith.  It is only now, as we find ourselves once again standing at the foot of the mountain that we can stand back, take stock, evaluate the purpose of such an endeavour, and opt out. 

I for one cannot stand the prospect of breaking my back with a burden increased tenfold, relying only on the back page crumbs of the Echo intermittently spurring me on.  My money is staying firmly in my pocket from now on and this time, when I say “Never Again”, I mean it.

TDK

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