I'm not sure, it could be one of those perception things, but Everton appear to get involved is silly games against Villa, usually coming off worst. I remember watching us get tanked at Villa Park in the late 80s / early 90s, losing 6-2 and I think one of our two was an own-goal. Mind you, Villa were an odd beast in those days, playing 3 hideous centre-backs, and David Platt. Kent Neilson anyone? Oh, and of course, one of my early introductions to Everton came as I ended up blubbing beside a radio listening to us lose the umpteenth replay in the '77 League Cup Final.
So Sunday saw us limp into a tough-looking fixture with just one recognisable forward on the books fit, play our best 90 minutes of the entire season, running Villa ragged for most of the first half and somehow managing to lose two goals in the 1st and 93rd minutes. In between, the team was mostly excellent apart from an aberration by Jags, and a crucial last 30 seconds when everyone collectively nodded off to allow Ashley Young to ruin our weekend. I still don't know how it happened and I cannot face watching it again, but it did seem to encapsulate Everton's entire season to date: we are seemingly unable to remain focused for the duration of the match. In addition, in every game, at least one player will stink the place out. Sunday was Jagielka's turn. After he played the best pass Ashley Young will get all season, he visibly went to pieces until the last 10 minutes of the game. Arteta seemed to be at fault for losing the ball for both Villa's first and final goal - he is having a nightmare season.
Dare I say it that we actually looked slightly better in the final 8 minutes or so after Shandy came on? I'm certain he delivered a number of more accurate passes into the box for our new front line of Fellaini and Lescott than Arteta had managed all game.
Surreal.
Thursday, 11 December 2008
Tuesday, 9 December 2008
Credit Crunch Pies
On Monday I got news that Pimbletts, a St Helens bakery since 1921, had gone into administration. The shops had been sold to a Leigh-based bakers, but the original bakery in College Street, St Helens, would be closing for good with the loss of 80 jobs. Now, I'm not from St Helens but my parents are, and various members of the family were born and bred there. A trip to the City Road pie shop was part of my childhood routine as it was a regular weekly aspect for my grandparents dating back to pre-war days. Even in 2008, I would stop en route to Goodison to pick up a selection of pies, vanilla slices, egg custards and a fruit tart (for Mum) and I live 200 miles away.
The business had been in trouble for some time, amazingly still family-run. It's seen off many recessions, some worst than the '08 version, war and the blight that badly affected the North West in the 1980s. St Helens is known as the home of Pilkington glass and a top-class rugby league side. It can seem a dour and unimpressive place to an outsider and the loss of a local institution like Pimbletts will do the town no favours and will have left locals shocked. A good illustration of the impact of the closure comes from St Helens' expats. My mother rang me at work having received a call from her bewildered brother-in-law from Canada who subscribes to the online version of the St Helens Reporter. At about the same time, a work colleague from St Helens mailed me the text transcript on the story. He wonders how life will be without another Pimbletts steak pie.
Saturday, 6 December 2008
The Steel City Tour, Brighton Centre
It’s a Friday night and about 3000 people are waiting for Heaven 17 to come on stage at the Brighton Centre. There’s a level of eager anticipation amongst the crowd as this is the first part of a trilogy of Sheffield’s finest pop bands that make up the touring Steel City Tour.
The band final emerge to a polite round of applause. A moments hush descends as the last of the crowd finish their mobile calls home giving promises to their teenage kids that they won’t be too late home, or similar homespun instructions to Friday’s babysitters. Glenn Gregory struts across the stage looking as debonair as I remembered, sporting a waistcoat and fedora hat. Only he and Martyn Ware remain. Ian Craig Marsh opted out of the tour, back at University or something. As youthful as Gregory is, Martyn Ware is not. He’s happy enough though tucked behind a bank of keyboards: a cross between your slightly seedy uncle and Roland Rivron. No matter, Gregory belts out a tune, the support band is professional – the drummer looks 16 - and the two backing girls hit every note. And Billie Godfrey is from Brighton too.
The great thing about music is its ability to pass through time. It’s emotive and provides us all with nostalgic moments. I can still recall hearing Heaven 17’s Penthouse & Pavement album for the first time. I was with a group of teenage friends having a picnic in a sunny Berkshire field. A new lad from Merseyside brought his tape deck and a copy of the album south. It was 1982, and Alex had an older sister who was already living the New Romantic dream in Reading. I was hooked.
The 17 tore through their 40-minute set. I fully expected them to end with Temptation and they did just that. It was fantastic and exactly what the audience wanted to hear. They kicked off the set with Fascist Groove Thing and got treated to Come Live With Me, and Penthouse. We learnt that Let Me Go is both Glenn and Martyn’s favourite H17 track and that we’d been the best audience so far on tour. And because we’re in Brighton, we got a special high-energy, techno version Geisha Boys. Well, I think that’s what Gregory meant.
Twenty minutes later, after a glass of water and a sit down, we’re back in for ABC. In reality it’s just Martin Fry. No matter. Can anybody remember the other three original members anyway? Fry looks now like a Tory MP from Norfolk, or Max Moseley. But like Gregory before him, Fry can still sing. A bigger band supports him, and you get the impression more instruments means more sound. H17 relied more on keyboards – not a great surprise – whereas the men no longer in gold lame suits have got a guitar, keyboard and a rather too lively girl accompanying on percussion. She came into her own whilst imitating a rodeo rider on ABC’s new track ‘Ride’. It struck me at this point that these guys are attempting to write pop songs for a generation who don’t want pop music anymore. Pop is a young person’s game and the mistake reforming pop acts make is mentally dropping back into the era that first made them famous. Ride sounded like a watered-down Prince. And he’s 50. Fry ran through a 40-minute set of classics, hitting the high notes on cue and completing the show with the classic ‘Look of Love’. The audience lapped it up.
Yet another intermission and another opportunity for a breather. The Human League topped the bill. Aside from being last on, you got the impression Phil Oakey was behind the whole thing. That could have explained his appearance for the opening track ‘Seconds’, impersonating Morpheus from the Matrix. Behind him the set was serious. You could have been in the Apple Store in Regents Street, enough for me to be checking around for a brochure to take away. Dry ice and a deliberate build-up with just 3 mics visible from the pit below. The emerging stage was a two-level affair with a trio of keyboard players motionless on the higher level. As we moved onto Mirror Man we got our first glimpse of Joanne and Susan. It was refreshing to see that even after close on 30 years the singing is hardly improved and the dance moves beggar belief. Joanne is inexplicably wearing a flapper dress for the first couple of numbers. I can’t stop staring as she mouths the words verbatim over the course of the next 45 minutes, as aside from walking backstage and forward a couple of times, I’m not sure she lifts her feet once. She could be any 40-something mother of two at a family wedding after two glasses of Pinot Grigio. The other one is robotically turning left and right with her arms above her head. Phil is singing Mirror Man; Susan is dancing to Hey Mickey.
Four songs in, including dragging Empire State Human back from 1979, Phil stopped for a breather. The hushed audience listened as Phil applauded H17 and ABC. A cry of “I love you Phil” from the bloke behind me drifted away amidst the smoke. The gals returned and we were off with The Lebanon, (Keep Feeling) Fascination, more costume changes before arriving at Don’t You Want Me (Baby). Susan is still flinging her arms around and slightly off the beat but she’s dragged the original white fur coat used for the Don’t You video out of the wardrobe. As with both ABC and H17, the best was saved for last. The audience sung along with every word. I wondered how many of these people had seen any or all of these groups in their 80s hey-day? I didn’t. Just like catching Prince at the o2 Arena last year, I did it to make up for missing him first time round. I was slightly disappointed at Phil’s need to thank everyone one final time in the middle of Don’t You Want Me, but he was seemingly as euphoric as the middle-aged crowd in front of him.
As people drifted out into the cold December night air, everyone had a favourite track that hadn’t been played. Hardly surprising when each act had barely 45 minutes per set. Minor detail. All said, it was a solid show and we’d all gorged ourselves for just less than 3 hours of great songs and great memories from a time when such events would end with a lift home from your Dad.
The band final emerge to a polite round of applause. A moments hush descends as the last of the crowd finish their mobile calls home giving promises to their teenage kids that they won’t be too late home, or similar homespun instructions to Friday’s babysitters. Glenn Gregory struts across the stage looking as debonair as I remembered, sporting a waistcoat and fedora hat. Only he and Martyn Ware remain. Ian Craig Marsh opted out of the tour, back at University or something. As youthful as Gregory is, Martyn Ware is not. He’s happy enough though tucked behind a bank of keyboards: a cross between your slightly seedy uncle and Roland Rivron. No matter, Gregory belts out a tune, the support band is professional – the drummer looks 16 - and the two backing girls hit every note. And Billie Godfrey is from Brighton too.
The great thing about music is its ability to pass through time. It’s emotive and provides us all with nostalgic moments. I can still recall hearing Heaven 17’s Penthouse & Pavement album for the first time. I was with a group of teenage friends having a picnic in a sunny Berkshire field. A new lad from Merseyside brought his tape deck and a copy of the album south. It was 1982, and Alex had an older sister who was already living the New Romantic dream in Reading. I was hooked.
The 17 tore through their 40-minute set. I fully expected them to end with Temptation and they did just that. It was fantastic and exactly what the audience wanted to hear. They kicked off the set with Fascist Groove Thing and got treated to Come Live With Me, and Penthouse. We learnt that Let Me Go is both Glenn and Martyn’s favourite H17 track and that we’d been the best audience so far on tour. And because we’re in Brighton, we got a special high-energy, techno version Geisha Boys. Well, I think that’s what Gregory meant.
Twenty minutes later, after a glass of water and a sit down, we’re back in for ABC. In reality it’s just Martin Fry. No matter. Can anybody remember the other three original members anyway? Fry looks now like a Tory MP from Norfolk, or Max Moseley. But like Gregory before him, Fry can still sing. A bigger band supports him, and you get the impression more instruments means more sound. H17 relied more on keyboards – not a great surprise – whereas the men no longer in gold lame suits have got a guitar, keyboard and a rather too lively girl accompanying on percussion. She came into her own whilst imitating a rodeo rider on ABC’s new track ‘Ride’. It struck me at this point that these guys are attempting to write pop songs for a generation who don’t want pop music anymore. Pop is a young person’s game and the mistake reforming pop acts make is mentally dropping back into the era that first made them famous. Ride sounded like a watered-down Prince. And he’s 50. Fry ran through a 40-minute set of classics, hitting the high notes on cue and completing the show with the classic ‘Look of Love’. The audience lapped it up.
Yet another intermission and another opportunity for a breather. The Human League topped the bill. Aside from being last on, you got the impression Phil Oakey was behind the whole thing. That could have explained his appearance for the opening track ‘Seconds’, impersonating Morpheus from the Matrix. Behind him the set was serious. You could have been in the Apple Store in Regents Street, enough for me to be checking around for a brochure to take away. Dry ice and a deliberate build-up with just 3 mics visible from the pit below. The emerging stage was a two-level affair with a trio of keyboard players motionless on the higher level. As we moved onto Mirror Man we got our first glimpse of Joanne and Susan. It was refreshing to see that even after close on 30 years the singing is hardly improved and the dance moves beggar belief. Joanne is inexplicably wearing a flapper dress for the first couple of numbers. I can’t stop staring as she mouths the words verbatim over the course of the next 45 minutes, as aside from walking backstage and forward a couple of times, I’m not sure she lifts her feet once. She could be any 40-something mother of two at a family wedding after two glasses of Pinot Grigio. The other one is robotically turning left and right with her arms above her head. Phil is singing Mirror Man; Susan is dancing to Hey Mickey.
Four songs in, including dragging Empire State Human back from 1979, Phil stopped for a breather. The hushed audience listened as Phil applauded H17 and ABC. A cry of “I love you Phil” from the bloke behind me drifted away amidst the smoke. The gals returned and we were off with The Lebanon, (Keep Feeling) Fascination, more costume changes before arriving at Don’t You Want Me (Baby). Susan is still flinging her arms around and slightly off the beat but she’s dragged the original white fur coat used for the Don’t You video out of the wardrobe. As with both ABC and H17, the best was saved for last. The audience sung along with every word. I wondered how many of these people had seen any or all of these groups in their 80s hey-day? I didn’t. Just like catching Prince at the o2 Arena last year, I did it to make up for missing him first time round. I was slightly disappointed at Phil’s need to thank everyone one final time in the middle of Don’t You Want Me, but he was seemingly as euphoric as the middle-aged crowd in front of him.
As people drifted out into the cold December night air, everyone had a favourite track that hadn’t been played. Hardly surprising when each act had barely 45 minutes per set. Minor detail. All said, it was a solid show and we’d all gorged ourselves for just less than 3 hours of great songs and great memories from a time when such events would end with a lift home from your Dad.
Thursday, 4 December 2008
Berks
I forgot to say. Here's a perfect reason for avoiding the internet. A post on the caughtoffside site.
Jsug - December 4th, 2008 at 8:05 pm
everton dont av a say as u r 2 dreadful.
You just have to pray he's about 12.Nonsense report on forums. Shock
A friend of mine reported today a list of utter nonsense appearing on the various forums found at Everton fansites on the web. Varying ideas on who we should be signing in January. I hope he wasn't having a go at me now I think about it. Anyway, three of his highlights were -
Looks like Fowler is going to opt for Grimsby. Gutted.
- Bring back Marcus Bent
- Sign David Nugent
- What about giving Castillo a game? He looked good in the matches I saw
Looks like Fowler is going to opt for Grimsby. Gutted.
Wednesday, 3 December 2008
Owen
Let's face it, the fact that we can all set up a website or start writing our own blogs doesn't mean any of it is any good. It's public time-wasting. And football rumours are the epitome of time-wasting on the internet. Even the BBC has a 'football gossip' bit.
Tribalfootball specialises in hashing, and re-hashing football nonsense. It's a reason why people call radio phone-in shows like 606 demanding manager of Club X be sacked after 3 games in charge, having never seen the team play except via the google-box. Today, I came across this pearl of wisdom from caughtoffside, working from a piece of rubbish from tribalfootball about Michael Owen possibly moving to Everton in January.
And another thing. Message to the England cricket team. Get a grip, get back to India and play the two tests. Either that or give back the money you're paid to play.
Tribalfootball specialises in hashing, and re-hashing football nonsense. It's a reason why people call radio phone-in shows like 606 demanding manager of Club X be sacked after 3 games in charge, having never seen the team play except via the google-box. Today, I came across this pearl of wisdom from caughtoffside, working from a piece of rubbish from tribalfootball about Michael Owen possibly moving to Everton in January.
And another thing. Message to the England cricket team. Get a grip, get back to India and play the two tests. Either that or give back the money you're paid to play.
Monday, 1 December 2008
Super Swede
From hearing the news about Yak's injury and Saha's hammy last night, I put the stopwatch on how long it would be before I heard about Everton being linked with Emile Heskey and Henrik Larsson. It was about 9 hours. Officially like. Heskey will be sold in January, Larsson a likely loan option (stop me if you've heard this one before)... Oddly, Helsingborgs IF are not saying anything official on their official website like. Official. Not even in Swedish.
Over the next 48hrs, watch out for links to Riquelme, Michael Owen, Mido, Tony Blair, that bloke tearing it up at Leeds, the Hunt Bros at Reading, maybe even Robbie Fowler if the mighty Blackburn can spare him?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
