Throwing the Baton

I’d imagine a question that preys on the minds of those walking circles on the 7th floor of the Royal Liver Building might be along the lines of “Where’s the next generation of bluenoses (aka customers) gonna come from???”  If it’s not, well it probably should be.

Long gone are the days of a weekly trip to the ground of your local side, with an occasional away day if you were lucky, being the only way to see decent footie with any regularity. In that bygone era, exposure to other sides was limited to sparse TV coverage and MotD highlights unless seen from your home stand, where flexibility in allegiance was not exactly an option. 

Perhaps a little more in the way of choice was afforded kiddos born in cities with more than a single club but, as a rule, you supported the side of your dad and never wavered.

I wasn’t born, nor manufactured, but rather chosen by Everton stickers on a banjo case that my dad had made to look used to avoid VAT bringing the instrument back to Ireland from the UK. He let me peel them off and that was that. Having grown up in the border county of Monaghan, he was a Man Utd fan by virtue of a certain George Best but never pushed me to be the same. 

I worked delivering furniture with him from a young age and convinced him (in lieu of wages) to take me via a 13-hour bus and ferry trudge to Merseyside in 1987 to watch us dismantle West Ham Utd 4-0 with my hero Peter Reid bagging one just to sweeten what remains the most memorable event of my childhood. 

Nothing can erase the memory of my first exposure to Goodison Park. My Dad nipped into the Winslow while I lingered outside the Main Stand to catch a glimpse of players who arrived one by one at the main entrance. The smell of chippies, fag smoke, ale… and then Dettol from the steps leading up into the stand and finally, the glorious site of E V E R T O N emblazoned across the seats of the Bullens Road stand. Magic. And then to add to the smells and the sights, the sound of “Champions, Champions, Champions” booming from the Street End after our 3rd goal. Something of dreams. 

The bus to the ferry didn’t leave ’til 2 am so we strolled the streets of Liverpool, a city very much down on its luck but with a lot of pride, attitude and fight, and with a people of generosity and wit. The club embodied all that the city exuded and, to me, the club’s identity was a continuum of it and this was reflected on the pitch.

Times have changed, a lot very much for the better – both for the city and the supporter experience, but that’s not what I’m writing about. The game is almost unrecognizable from where it was in the 80s and is consumed in very different ways and on a worldwide stage. Kids can now watch any team they wish on demand and feel liberated to go against the family grain and choose to support teams they actually enjoy watching, or sides that even win trophies!

My lad is seven. We live in the USA where all Premier League games are televised live and also available for replay. He loves the game, mostly the playing of it rather than spectating, for which I’m grateful. I’m also very happy then, when it comes to watching, he’s not a glory hunter. 

I can tell he wants to be a Blue but finds watching us dull and sees the negative way in which results impact me. “Papa… they’re terrible… they don’t seem to want to win.” That was his last comment when we watched together.

Unfortunately, he missed the Arsenal match and fortunately was at school for the derby. I don’t tell him when we lose and he now rarely asks how we did. I had the Royal Blue Podcast playing on the way to school this morning and, before any commentary on the result, he said, “They lost to Liverpool, didn’t they?”

His first game at Goodison will be Spurs in April, followed by a trip to Old Trafford the week after. I can only hope that Goodison will grab him as it did me because, despite how agonizing being a Blue can be, it still holds a pride like no other to be part of its family.

But we’re running on the fumes of a past to which we so dearly cling. My lad has little interest in folklore. He wants heroes of his own. It feels like I’m throwing rather than passing the baton and hoping he’ll catch it.

Despite being instrumental in the formulation of the Premir League, we allowed ourselves to become left behind on all fronts not least in expanding the fanbase internationally. Instead, it seems we’ve been in ‘managed decline’ for decades, tempering expectations and without ambitions above the lofty heights of ‘best of the rest’.

And then arrived Farhad Moshiri with sights set on buying our way to the top but alas, without a plan or a clue. Years of mismanagement have led us to where we now stand, on the brink of relegation with no identity and no unity.

And so, from where will the next generation of blues come? Expansion internationally will likely only follow some success on the pitch and that seems like a very distant proposition.  On Merseyside, passing of the baton will likely continue as it always has but scouse kids too will want to see success, or at the very least an identity and a path that offers hope that next season we’re in with a shout at something. 

I’m going to get pelters for this: I used to dislike Jamie Carragher simply for being a red, and not just a red but a turncoat. When I’ve heard him comment of late on Everton being the worst-run club in the country, a soft touch, having no identity and a side that will roll over in the derby, I’ve simply had to agree (granted, over here I don’t have to listen to his commentary during the game). 

He’s said if we want to be treated like a big club, we’ve got to be able to take such hard criticism. He grew supporting Everton in the '80s & '90s in Bootle when both clubs were killing it. He knows what this club and the rivalry mean to the city and I believe he and many other Reds of his generation and prior would be gutted if we were relegated and the derby lost in its wake. I think he’d love nothing more than the two clubs duking it out at the top like in the ‘80s. 

Currently, I don’t believe he hates us because we’re Everton; I believe he hates us because we’re not Everton. I think that’s something we can all relate to. 

And so we now have a new dawn under Sean Dyche. Aside from the obvious priority of attempting to keep us in the top flight, I believe restoring the cub’s identity as a no-nonsense, grafting unit who can also play some footie when required and who will go toe-to-toe, no-quarter-given with any side, especially Liverpool, should be his and Thelwell’s mission.

Our identity should not be ambiguous and should run from the very top, through coaching, playing, medical staff to the tea lady and the kitman. Supporters, whether current or prospective, need something they can identify with in order to get behind it. I know my lad does… I just hope it’s not too late. 

 

COYB

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