There’s nothing like watching Everton fail to beat Hull to remind you football’s a game designed to make Scousers question our life choices. Picture it: Barry one-on-one, a gaping net, and me clutching me head, muttering about how one of our old fellas from the Waterloo leagues would’ve buried that in their sleep. Instead, the highlight reel’s just a big blue sigh and some daft officiating that’d make your nan laugh, if she hadn’t already switched to Roy Orbison on Gold.
I know, I know – Everton are now unbeaten in their opening six league games for the first time since 2013-14. That info’s meant to make me feel sound. But let’s be honest, unbeaten doesn’t always mean boss. Sometimes it just means you’re hard to watch. Ask anyone trapped on County Road at five on a Saturday.
The Curse of the Offside Flag
If you had asked before: “Would you take a point at Hull?” I’d have said aye, if you’d promised not to mention VAR, or whatever the linesman was drinking. But we’re not talking about being robbed by a title contender. This was Hull – Hull, la! And still, the offside flag pops up like it’s sponsored by Sky, chalking off what looked a dead-cert for some blue happiness. The only thing offside was that decision. Refereeing in this league? Absolute shambles. Bring back the fella with the heavy moustache who’d ref after bouncing at the Grafton, I say.
Barry’s Masterclass in How Not to Score
Every season needs a scapegoat, and Barry put himself forward with the sort of finishing that’d see him dropped to the bench for our seven-a-side. Two guilt-edged misses – honestly, me ma could have had one of them and she’s not run anywhere since she legged it for a bingo seat in ‘92. There’s pundits on Match of the Day giving it the big analysis, but all you need is proper Scouse wisdom: put yer laces through it, la. Not a fan of the sidefoot, me. Not unless you want to hoof the ball at the Gladwys on a cold night.
Still, you look at the table, and we’re unbeaten. Everton in “good form” apparently. That’s the sort of phrase that covers a multitude of sins, much like me Sunday roast gravy.
By the end, every Blue in the living room has their arms folded, remote in hand, declaring this is why we don’t get carried away with nice starts. Seen it all before, haven’t we? It’s like promising yourself you’ll only have a quick bevvy down The Elm Tree then rolling home singing ‘Z-Cars’ at midnight after they’ve let you down again.
Anyway, if you fancy reliving it or you’re a glutton for punishment, here’s the BBC’s take on the carnage. Don’t get me started on modern linesmen. They wouldn’t spot a thing at Sefton Park let alone in the Premier League. Ta-ra until next week, unless Barry finally learns to shoot.
