“Everton's” first game

Many people or things on God’s great Earth are named after, well, famous people or things, following on from the Scott Baio sandwich, Christiano Ronaldo (Ronald Reagan, apparently), Arthur Conan Doyle (a Barbarian, apparently not) and my lad, whose middle name is named after the greatest football club on the planet. He has the honour of writing it down in every school book, application form, cheque, cash card etc.....for his name is Gavin Everton Kelly, and I had the honour of our first father/son (live matchday) Everton match together.

The poor lad had to wait until the tenth year of his life – "scandalous" I here you say, "no kid should wait that long" . Agreed, I always wanted our first game to be at the Old Lady, but being an ex-pat Scouser now living in Kent, coupled with ill health (a sScouser on the sick, you can take the boy out of Liverpool...) for the last few years, it just didn’t happen. But today, 21/09/2013 it was going to happen; me and Gav’ were off to the Boleyn Ground.

I acquired the tickets at 10 o’clock that morning at Victoria station, (thanks to Paul Withe and Matt) and thanks to Toffeeweb’s Miscellany section, a quick ’Nelson’ in the Wetherspoons and a brief chat to two Evertonians from the Northern Ireland Supporters club and it was off to pick up my soon to be overthemoonjumpingforjoydeliriouslyecstatic little Evertonian. How wrong could I be? The little squirt had had a sleep over and after a little less than four hours’ shut-eye it was like presenting the tickets to a pint-sized Victor Meldrew. "Oh, Everton tickets," he said in a sleep-deprived monotone voice. To say it wasn’t the reaction I was expecting is a slight understatement; I’d envisaged cartwheels, back flips, singing, dancing, ticker-tape parade. There were only two things for it: A – "I’ll take your sister," I told him .Cue coat on and he was out the front door and match bound within 10 seconds; B – Red Bull.

Our journey from the sunny southeast took us via (Wetherspoons) and the first McDonalds in London, Woolwich – if this place could be twinned with anywhere it would be the Mos Eisley Cantina, better known as the Star Wars Bar, and that’s being kind. After we’d polished off our horseburgers, it was time to leave Mos Eisley and hit the DLR towards Canning Town.

Up until this point the logistical side of the journey had been running like a well-oiled machine, and now, the cogs were about to come off. Faux pas #1: I took the decision to avoid the tube and get the bus to Upton Park. I mean, how busy could the Barking Road be on a Saturday afternoon whilst West Ham are at home? Jesus, was this bus ride slow. I’m talking continental drift slow; fuck, I know glaciers that moved faster than this traffic. So it was off the bus and time to give it ’toes’ to make the kick off, which we would have made with time to spare had we stayed on said bus, as it passed us only five minutes later and disappeared into the distance.

We arrived sweaty and breathless (one of us anyway and it wasn’t the kid) and took our seats some thirty seconds before kick off, with myself (unselfishly) neglecting the customary alcoholic pre-match beverage (as parched as I was) so as the boy didn’t miss the start of the game. (I know what you’re thinking at this point: Father of the Year Awar. Me too. Put in a link, editors). The things we do for our kids...

So, the game kicked-off and at this point I will fast forward to half time, and let’s say for arguement’s sake that West Ham scored a lucky deflection and me and Gav’ possibly witnessed the worst 45 mins I care to remember, sort of reminding me of when Mike Walker had us passing round the back with no end product. I apologised about the performance to the boy, this isn’t what his first game should be like. Even the bloke next to Gav’ asked him did he have an Everton shirt under his hoodie, as they (Everton) could have stuck him (Gav’) on the pitch as he could have done better given his tender age. Our response to said stranger was that Everton had no chance as the lad wouldn’t wear any kit with that God-forsaken badge on it, same view shared by his sister, and that is with no input from me, I swear.

Half time was my chance to de-virginise the boy to match-day food, drink (and alcohol for his dad), but judging by the queue and the fact there were only three staff serving at the refreshment stand (so close yet so far) we re-took our seats for the second half.

Two subs’ – fuck me – and then a forced third substitution only seven minutes in. Three changes, no more personnel to come on and change the game. Did we need them? Did we fuck. I ain’t going to give an in-depth match report; we all know about the game, but the play and passing was all coming together, a foul and then a free kick. Baines shoots, he scores. The Toffees in the away end were ecstatic, shouting, kissing and cuddling but none tighter than me and Gav’. I’ve witnessed some fine moments over the years, notably Wimbledon, last day of the season, Bolton too and the ’95 Cup Final, all at the game with my mates, but that goal going in beat them all, for I was there sharing it with my boy. Hearing how Gav’ reacted, feeling the bear hug we gave each other,the euphoria and every fucking great emotion... I don’t know how to put into writing. It was unbelievable, and, unbelievably, it got better. Gavin Everton Kelly turns to me and says – and I quote – "Dad, this is the best day of my life". Firstly I couldn’t reply, I just smiled and hugged him, then came out with "Mine too".

Well, if Everton, the comeback, the fans and the atmosphere had given my lad the best day of his life, judging by the look on his face when we conceded the penalty, it had suddenly, possibly, turned into his worst. "Dad, have they got a pen?" he asked. "Yes, son".

"FOR FACKSAKE," came the reply (Cockney accent), obviously forgetting he was in the company of his old man (yours truly). I seen the better end of, well, just letting it go. My language when Barkley was fouled for the Baines (first) free kick was, quite frankly, disgraceful (normal); the look on the little lad in front of us because Master G Everton Kelly hadn’t been told off was priceless.

Cracking atmosphere, good performance too; kind of had the feeling we were going to get something out the game. Hindsight is a wonderful gift but that was what I genuinely felt at the time, that we would get a result. We had too, it was my boy’s first game, for crying out loud.

And then Super Ross gets fouled, red card, free kick, Baines and Mirallas lining it up. Gav’ shouts out "come on Baines!" I had to step in at this moment and give the kid an insight to my supeior knowledge on football. Faux pas #2: "The keeper is expecting Baines to take it, we’ll see Mirallas step up and put it in the top corner son." Baines, 2-2. Who’s the wanker now, but who cares? Not me, not Gav’, certainly not anyone within an earshot of my (piss poor) comment and definitely not the two thousand-plus Blues because of the euphoria, the ecstasy, the kissing, the cuddling and me getting to spend another quality moment with my son as Everton scored again.

This day couldn’t genuinely get any better. Fuck, genuinely, yes it could! A couple of minutes later it’s 3-2 to us. One of Gav’s favourite players, Mirallas, twists and crosses it for Lukaku who heads it home for an emphatic winner. OMFG (to coin a phrase), the noise, the euphoria, the ecstasy, the kissing, the cuddling it was all back but ten-fold as me and Gav embraced each other and went berserk along with the rest of the travelling Blue army!

We left shortly after the goal as to beat the hordes back home via Mos Eisly. We exited onto the Priory Rd and it was at this time Gav’s delayed reaction to receiving the match tickets kicked in as he started to dance and sing Everton songs on the walk to the Barking road right infront of several hundred disgruntled Hammers fans. I had to tell the little fella to hold off on the victory dance until we were a little further away.

So there we have it, a day that had everything; agony, ecstasy, shit-hot free kicks, Star Wars characters, near-death experiences,Victor Meldrew, 5 goals and a superb win for the Toffeemen. But most importantly, I had my son by my side to share it with. A little later in the evening Gavin, whilst recapping the day, admitted he had tears of joy when the third goal went in. I think I had tears of joy too, but for a totally different reason. Can’t wait for the next time.

C O Y B.

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