Happy New Year! Meh...

The rambling of a middle-aged man

So 2022 came roaring in and, over the Holidays, I had a very wonderful thing occur.

Numerous folks on this lovely site known as ToffeeWeb reached out to me via email or Facebook and asked if I was okay, and if everything was well. I'd not been on TW in weeks and months, and they were concerned so they were reaching out.

It truly warmed my heart. What a nice gesture. There's seriously some really wonderful people on this site.

All's well at the Crowley Compound. We're all healthy, everyone has gotten Covid and been just fine. Of course, the only exception to that is myself as I am unvaccinated and have yet to contract Covid. I'm considering licking a Covid Petri dish just to stick a middle finger up to the Covid gods and see if I can actually get the damn thing, but I digress. [For those of you who've lost loved ones to Covid, the aforementioned was a joke only, and believe me I mourn your loss and ask you to find your dark sense of humo(u)r]

Over the mid and tail end of 2022, I built a backyard pub on a 16-ft x 20-ft deck, replete with bar, glasses, liquor bottles everywhere, two mounted TVs, etc. It's an open-air concept with a roof and a finished back wall to let all the Florida warmth just blow through its three open sides, north, east, and west. It's brilliant, quite honestly!

An Everton flag flies proudly from the ceiling in the very center of the bar. I'm very proud of the pub, as I built the whole damn thing myself, sans the bar I bought second hand, which is just amazing. My family and I spent hours upon hours out there over the Holidays watching College Football ('Merican style) and the NFL. Drinks with the Mrs and the boys late into the night, discussing all manner of topics: life, God, politics, sports, all of it.

Why do I mention "Cuigear Mac", our "Five Sons Pub" just outside the very door I pen this submission to TW?

We didn't bother going outside to watch Everton in our pub. Not a single time did we feel arsed to "open" the pub and watch our beloved Everton where our family heart now shines and family time runs rampant. The games were on, when played, but they were on inside, almost as background noise. Why?

I can't be arsed. It's all so "Meh".

The season started with hope. We travelled to Orlando to see Everton play pre-season. I met Dr France and his wife Elizabeth, Lyndon, Kristian Boyce, Jay Harris, it was a fantastic day (albeit hot as fuck!) and should have been a springboard into a new season full of hope. But it was not to be, and the little voice in the back of my head told me it was all in vain.

Rafa.

We're a fucking mess right now. And when we hired that red bloke, we just ransomed our pride. We could have hired anyone else, but no, we hired Rafa the Red after Carlo fucked us off to tag his Mistress, Real Madrid. I was furious. And after the anger came the complacency.

Meh.

How do you get excited with an ownership group who settles for a safe pair of hands to protect their stadium investment, and that safe pair of hands came from the Eternal Enemy?

Everton - Liverpool is one of the biggest rivalries in world sport. It's not the biggest overall, thanks to humanity's seemingly insatiable desire to bandwagon jump to the big teams, but I'd argue it means the most, and is the most dear to its supporters. And we fucking hired the manager from their club after an elite manager left us to fuck the mistress.

Good God, do we really have such little pride in ourselves? Such debasement and lack of self-worth I can't remember in any hiring in any sport in my entire lifetime. Our owners should be ashamed. They sold out, and fucked every single supporter, for the investment at Bramley-Moore Dock. I get it. They need to protect their investment!

But they could have hired a multitude of other safe hands to do so.

Meh.

Then, we screwed our future and fired Marcel Brands.

Yes, there's many who didn't like him and didn't want him. But in Marcel Brands we had a real chance to change the approach and ethos of the club and go "straight Ajax". Buy young, play young, sell high, make money, and then, by making money, be able to compete more with those other "big" clubs. I honestly put so much hope in a new recruitment policy, à  la Ajax via Marcel Brands, that would over the longer years, see us push up to compete. But we then ran his ass out of town, to the long-term detriment and future of Everton in my opinion.

And if you disagree with that last paragraph, that's just fine! I understand your argument and fully recognize your stance. But let's look a bit closer at the situation, and this one stings. Everton pushed Marcel out and put Rafa in charge of recruitment completely. They've doubled down on Rafa the Red.

Meh.

Hope springs eternal. Rafa's signed some younger players that I pray come good in a big, big way! He's also run Digne out of town, and played Seamus — my Everton all-time hero and all-around loyal, fantastic Blue — at left-back, due to a grudge.

Ah, fuck hope. Meh.

For the next 2-3 years, we will see midtable mediocrity in the red fella's safe hands while that big 21st-Century pyramid known as the new stadium at Bramley-Moore Dock is built, to ensure the owner's investment, and to create what they really crave: profitability.

And it's the profitability they want, 'cause they ain't got any fuckin' pride — that's for damn sure! That or they just don't give a shit about the supporters. Pick whichever is worse and just run with it. Or pick both, I don't care.

Meh.

I watch the games. I lurk on TW. I love you all.

I dream of Dunc running down the touchline and hugging the ballboy. God above, that made my heart sing and joy runneth over.

And now?

Meh.

Happy 2022. May things improve quickly.

"Once Everton has touched you, nothing will be the same."

Up The Fucking Toffees!!! The sun still shines. My family is healthy and wonderful. I'm here, I lurk. I can't leave, Everton and TW are heroin and I'm an addict. Best thing to ever happen to me outside of personal life, despite the roiling dark clouds that beset this great club at present.

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