There was a time in my younger life when I didn't mind Everton.
Now, you've either closed your browser while muttering the words 'wool' or 'Judas' to yourself or are still here to see how I can defend such an obtuse and insane statement. Well, I can but try.
I grew up in a Blue household which was tinged with admirable glances to Anfield. I was never in doubt. I loved Keegan and Tosh more than I loved Space Dust and the French girl from Mind your Language but I also loved listening to anyone talk about anything football related. I can still remember my Dad telling me on the day Kenny signed to 'stop going on about it' as I bombarded him with questions. I knew that you were either Red or Blue and my uncles and Grandad mocked me for the colour of my rosette. This was all friendly banter, a ruffle of the hair and a 'get on with yer' when I asked why Bob Latchford didn't signed for the Reds.
I still have an underlying respect for their 1978 side. George Wood, Pejic, Goodlass and Latchford. I liked the shirt and more than anything I liked the fact that although they were nothing like as good as Liverpool, they made an effort and that the derby was still the biggest fixture in the calendar. It was Andy King who slowly turned the tide for me.
On Saturday, from the barren Bullens stand I tried to find the boyish enthusiasm and mutual respect for both clubs. Those who know me will know that I criticise Liverpool more than any other club these days and that, despite my generation, I'll always hate United more than Everton but I genuinely did try to see what I didn't mind about Everton back then. You'll note I didn't use the word 'liked' then as I don't want to go too far. Everton were always the team I beat in Cup finals while day-dreaming and when playing 'three and in' on the back field. They were more like a poor cousin. The sort you'd help out if he'd lost his bus fare or defend when he was being picked on. A rival, certainly, but usually a harmless one.
This has come back occasionally. The silence and subsequent applause at the Toulouse/Rhys Jones game and the Z-Cars theme showed that we still have it within us to remember the city more than the colour. The 1989 Cup Final and, in particular the 'LFC Thanks EFC - We Never Walked Alone' banner at the first game back after Hillsborough drew tears from me but that's gone now. It's either gone too violent or too washed out. Would your Dad have left a derby with twenty five minutes to go at 0-2? I wouldn't, not if we were five down and Duncan Ferguson was sodomising a Liver bird in front of me. The People's Club indeed. Would your uncle call you a murderer?
Of course, I love beating them particularly on their own ground and seeing their fans push imaginary walls without really knowing what it means doesn't really get to me. I can take that insult but putting your hand in front of your face and gasping for air? Is that The People's Club? The 'People' presumably incorporating members of your own family? Which city are you from again? The one you claim supports only one club and that ours is made up from Scandinavia? Hmm…
I still can't bring myself to hate them though. I've got more of a quarrel with them charging £35+ to put us in a wooden stand with a letterbox view. These days it's the actual clubs more than the supporters who deserve my vented spleen. It's all gone a bit too cartoon of late, too much of an excuse to be violent or stupid.
Thanks for the points though.
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