"We enjoyed a good record against for a long time against Liverpool, but lastseason we felt the luck turned against us. Wemissed excellent openings at Anfield before Liverpool got into their stride and deservedly won,then at Goodison we felt we DESERVED FAR MORE THAN TO LOSE A 93RD MINUTE GOAL TO A CONTROVERSIAL FREE KICK." "People have been talking about this game since the fixtures were announced in the summer, because it has come around so quickly this season. We aim to make sure Evertonians are still talking about it for a few months after today aswell."
Those comments were from Walter Smith and Kevin Campbell respectively in their pre-match programme notes. If you required any lingering traces of proof that their on-going obsession with us is showing no signs of floundering then there you have it in black and white. Add to the aforementioned, the club eradicating 'Cheese & Owen' crisps, the fan who blatantly refuses to eat sausages and bacon because of their colour (how he tackles his better halves period problems when they surface sends the imagination into overdrive). Plus the usual comments concerning their terminal decline being brought about in the wake of Heysel.
After their perennial Worthington Cup exit at the hands of lower division opposition, this time in the shape of Crystal Palace, they were set up nicely to triumph in yet another high profile Cup final against the Red Shite from across the Park. Especially when you consider that we've come across a period of stuttering within the last few weeks, which certain fans, have compounded with outrageous knee-jerk reactions, then some feared the worst.
Upon boarding the 7-34 (which quickly became 7-50) train at Milton Keynes Central, the feelgood factor was certainly evident in carriage E. Within a matter of seconds I was contemplating a long overdue visit to the Priory clinic, following in the footsteps of illustrious company such as Stan Collymore and Jim Davidson. Hallucinations were beginning to swamp me from here, there and everywhere.
When I covered last seasons corresponding fixture in the fanzine, I pointed out that you'd never see an Evertonian travelling no further than five miles to their 'Pit', as they're all loyal locals. Therefore I'm very much hoping that one of their fanzine editors will be able to explain to me as to why at least ten-fifteen of them were suddenly sitting around me, ultra-confident of nothing other than a home victory.
My theory on the matter is that they've all been on holiday to Brighton. Because you can't obtain a direct service back to Liverpool, they decided to travel via Euston, as it would save all the hassle of driving such a great distance. So the first of many hallucinations was underway.
Not long before the train ascended upon on Lime Street, hallucination number two struck. Not being one who attends games decked out in fancy attire (today was for obvious reasons), a lone Bluenose put to me a rather intriguing as well as alarming question.
"Vare vue voing bo bte vame" he said in a rather incoherent 'Scouse accent'. "Yes I am", I replied. The alarm bells were really starting to bellow loudly at that point I can tell you. No way on earth was I going to admit to being a Bluenose, and because I value my features so much, I didn't fancy owning up to being a piece of Red Scum.
"Bould vou bhare va vabb", came alarming incoherent question number two. "Fine", I reluctantly replied. Oh come on now, we have to build bridges at some point. Now truthfully, I had no question of sharing a taxi to 'that ground' with him. All that was needed was someone I know to clock me then I'd be massacred on the spot, not a thought to relish.
Using my detective brain, I managed to nonchalantly avoid him, unlike Goodison Park has unsuccessfully managed to avoid foot-and-mouth (cue the banner in Porto). I did feel slightly sorry for the poor chappie (yes seriously) as he would now have to go through the degrading rigmarole of asking some unsuspecting soul of how to locate the ground. Then again it wouldn't have presented a problem because after all Goodison Park is Liverpool's number one toilet.
After laying to rest my hunger pains, I headed towards the bus bay. This is when I came across the Kop Bear in all his glory. Bumping into someone you know on such a day was rather reassuring because with someone else in tandem then it would pass the lingering time away.
And so we did by stopping off at the Albert for a couple of pre-match beverages. Completely out of the blue hallucination number three was on hand. Trying to obtain entry into the aforementioned at any home fixture takes a monumental effort. Attempting to box your way to the bar without being bashed about in the resulting melee is even more difficult. Imagine then how I felt when I was served within a mere forty-five SECONDS.
The Kop Bear being the cult figure that he is circulated talking to his many legions of friends and at the same time introduced me to Graham from TLW forum who looked so edgy that he could barely swallow his pint. I advised him not to feel so apprehensive as we were more than capable of taking something from the game.
With half an hour to go before the high noon showdown I said my good byes and embarked on the ten-minute walk across the Park. Midway through this traipse, hallucination number four paid me an unsuspecting visit. Three fans, consisting of two reds and a bluenose were in light conversation, when from out of nowhere red number one barked out "It says a lot when a red has to get hold of a ticket for a bluenose to allow him access into his own ground". Ah!
Before taking to my asbestos/rising damp/wood rot filled seat, I paid a visit to the lavvie. Whilst performing my ablutions, I suddenly realised that wearing jeans with buttoned up flies wasn't such a commendable idea. Once finished, my hands were fumbling all over the place (cue Sander) when attempting to button them back up. Not only that but amidst all the panic, to my shock horror I realised that I hadn't fully emptied my bladder. In a desperate attempt to camouflage the evidence, I performed an act that reminded you of an opponent who'd been on the receiving end of a Roy Keane X-rated tackle.
Now safe and sound, I prepared myself for the battle, which lay ahead. Not before we all took proper stock by paying tribute to the appalling atrocity that is still fresh in our minds. Kop bear had brought along his American flag, with a view to having it draped over the top tier of the Upper Bullens. A poignant touch when you consider that the game was being beamed live around the world.
The minute's silence was immaculately observed putting the cut and thrust of a Merseyside derby well into perspective.
Without further ado the action was well under way. Everton made their intentions clear from the off that it would be business as usual, which could only mean one thing. Their pugnacious kick and rush style, with the soggy Tampon taking centre stage, would be their only objective.
With only four minutes on the clock yet more success was obtained. A long ball was hurled onto the Tampon's head. One knockdown to Campbell, who turned a rather static Sami inside out to plant a low drive into the bottom corner, giving Jerzy no chance. The caldron of paranoia was in raptures, celebrating the moment, as it was a European Cup final winner. They will tell you that it should've been if it wasn't for our cold-blooded malevolence all those years ago. This definitely wasn't hallucination number five, I half expected this.
If anything it was the wake up call we so desperately needed. The travelling hoards were in no mood to be patronised by a bunch of deadheads with the IQ of a Sun reader. The support at Villa last week was nothing short of abysmal. Today it was nothing short of exemplary.
From that moment we took over the proceedings both on and off the field. Twelve minutes on the clock, sublime Stevie produced another ingenious moment. With the ball arriving to him towards the right-hand side of their penalty area, he flicked it to the right of his marker before unleashing one of those unstoppable pile drivers that nestled into the roof of his name-sakes net, leaving the bluenoses close to tears.
Those tears were to become reality as we took centre stage to show them how the game of football should be played. Collectively we conjured up some exquisite passing and movement, which for once made them look what they actually are shite. It was surely only a question of time before the well-deserved second goal arrived.
After a few guilt-edged chances being squandered by Heskey and Hamann, the ghastly obese figure of David Unsworth showed just why Aston Villa were rejoicing when he left them for his pie and mash. He rugby tackled Emile to the ground, conceding the most blatant penalty you're ever likely to see. After the celebrations had died down me and the fan sitting to the left of me wondered who was going to take it. With no Jari or Gary Mac, the dubious honour fell to St.Michael.
His record from the spot hasn't been the best of late but I had faith in him. Nonchalantly he stepped up, sending Gerrard the wrong way and the away section into fits of delirium. Cue hallucination number five. Chris Bascombe, the reds' journalist who works for the Echo has been drumming up a campaign pleading with the fans to give Owen the praise he so richly deserves.
At last they were answered with a vengeance. Those forgotten words "Michael Owen scores a goal, hallelujah!" and "There's only one Michael Owen" reverberated around Liverpool 4, and how we dished it out to those illiterate cretins who were occupying three and half sides of the ground. Another memorable landmark had also been reached, as these were the only opposition he'd yet to break his duck against. You couldn't have picked a better time Michael lad!
Bluenose paranoia was now running at an all-time high, and come the restart they were even desperate enough to throw the ageing illiterate Geordie into the 'thick' of the action. Not as though it made any difference as we continued in much the same vein. John-Arne was having a barnstorming game when his performance was capped in the best possible manner. Collecting the ball midway in his own half he embarked on a mesmerising run, taking the absolute chocolate biscuit out of Steve 'Ginger pubic hairs' Watson before slotting the ball past the trailing left arm of Gerrard to spark off yet more manic celebrations.
Durkin may as well have signalled the end of the game there and then because they were now prostrate on the canvas. The only notable acceptions were a few saves that the dependable Jerzy pulled off. I always maintain that the sign of a top goalkeeper is one who has been redundant for long periods but when called
upon pulls off some heroics from the top drawer. It makes a refreshing change to also witness one who is aware of what's going on around him. Hallucination number six was as large as life.
Hallucination number seven wasn't long coming either. Stephane has been the subject of some fierce criticism in recent weeks. Despite an indifferent start to the campaign I've never doubted him and the goal line heroics he performed went far to silence the pessimists. That wasnˇt the hallucination though. No, that took place in the shape of his name being given a long overdue airing. "When they attack he's always back" was the icing on the cake.
With five minutes left, the Park End cronies were leaving in their thousands, a sight as welcome as John-Arne's scintillating finish. We took the perfect opportunity to liven them up with a rousing rendition of "You'll Never Walk Alone", which was beautifully sung. They responded to it with some colourful gesticulating. Ah bless, bless!
Come full time our heroes came over to quite deservedly lapped up the applause with Jerzy the last to leave the pitch. John Arne was the start of the show. He provided us with some stirling work up and down the left flank. That's not to say that he purely and simply played the part of the water carrier. He also had the prowess to go with it, aided and abetted by young Mr Vignal. Showing maturity well beyond his nineteen years, the left-hand side hasn't looked more balanced for as long as I can remember.
Along with the manager, the lads have come in for a lot of criticism in recent weeks. Some of it has been fully justified, the other damn right preposterous. The pessimistic sceptics seem to be forgetting a key point here.
Last season they provided us with some of the greatest moments of our lives. We have a couple of poor results and all of the sudden the manager is tactically inept and has no idea on how to play entertaining football, that player is shite, so is he and so is he.
I'm not suggesting that one victory will be the catalyst for a significant renaissance, and that leaving Litmanen out of the frame as well as playing quartet of central midfielders is correct, far from it. What I will say is that we should give them our full backing, as they deserve it, and today was how it should be regardless of who the opposition is. Those who are quite content to hurl colourful expletives towards certain individuals are only letting everyone concerned down.
I shall end on a more positive note. Upon departing the Pit, a couple of songs were being aired that perfectly epitomise their existence. "You're Blue and u love Man u", along with "3-1 at Jurassic Park". And there was me thinking that all the witty little ditties were long defunct.
TEAM: Jerzy Dudek; Jamie Carragher, Sami Hyypia, Stephane Henchoz, Gregory Vignal; Steven Gerrard (Vladimir Smicer), Dietmar Hamann, Danny Murphy (Gary McAllister), John Arne Riise; Michael Owen, Emile Heskey:
