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Nineteen Eighty Big Four

"There will be no curiosity, no enjoyment of the process of life. All competing pleasures will be destroyed. But always - do not forget this, Winston - always there will be the intoxication of power constantly increasing and constantly growing subtler. Always, at every moment, there will be the thrill of victory, the sensation of trampling on an enemy who is helpless. If you want a picture of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face...for ever."

Orwell's novel 1984 perfectly describes the Premier League Big Four and their choke hold on domestic honours, aided and abetted by Sky Sports and the horrific carousel that is Grand Slam Sunday - a phlegm projectile in the face of supposed  'random' fixture  lists. Whilst the four fat cats scoff away at the Champions League spots the Premier League cur dogs scrap for the right to play in the UEFA Cup, an obvious attempt at anaesthetising the proles' ambitions.

I’m so bo-o-red with the M-L-S!

Over the weekend I watched the Superclasico - the legendary name usually given to the clash between arch rivals River Plate and Boca Juniors, a powder keg derby of passion and excitement. Even though the score was 5-2, the match that I watched didn't live up to its grand title and was a very long way from Buenos Aires. I saw the LA Galaxy vs Chivas Honda Superclasico - an addition to the name as absurd as when they stuck a Starbucks next to Canterbury Cathedral - grafting commercial money grabbing onto sporting history.

"Our Wayne" Is Better Than Yours.

  I am still haunted by Wayne Rooney. Even now, sitting in my exile in the rust-belt of the Midwest, his short Everton career boomerangs back into my mind again and again. I was there in the Park End the day Wayne scored that goal. Sat there, in what - looking back - felt like a Royal box seat for Rooney's coming-of-age - I wasn't sure exactly what I was witnessing. Was Wayne going to be another false dawn like Danny Cadamarteri, the dreadlocked 17-year-old who came into the world of football feet first and hit the ground running, like a precocious young chess champ seemingly intent on playing a pickup game of speed chess with the Grand Masters.   

Wish You Were Here!...

They came  into March like lions but threaten to close the month like lambs; the Merseyside derby is only days away and many are worried about Everton's Premier League slump - what we'd give for a fully fit Duncan Ferguson to put a pugnacious pigeon amongst the Reds right now?

Back down to earth for Everton...

Everton drank from the UEFA Cup midweek, with Moyes' boys turning what was quite possibly their worst performance of the season, being outplayed, outshot, and outfought. Suddenly the Toffees changed from robust brawlers into pliant youths, unable to handle their drink or pass the ball coherently.   

Why I Don't Ever Want Everton To Be "Big Four" Again

Gnawed lips, knotted entrails, throttled match day programmes, and for yesterday's Anfield game - cringing behind the sofa; as an Evertonian born at the wrong time I am not accustomed to success...but times are beginning to change.