Liverpool, 14 March 2009

Off, then, to Everton for the first time in a wee while. I've missed them, but it seems safe to assume they haven't missed me. Oddly they were kind enough to call and confirm I had a car parking space. Then, ho hum, I wasn't on the list. And the endearingly apologetic car park attendant showed me said list, just to confirm. Then he phoned someone. More apologies, but still no result. Bastards (not him of course).
I love doing games at either end of Stanley Park (and yes the hairs on the back of my neck always rise when Everton emerge to Z-Cars), but this city's curious mix of mean and maudlin means it could never be my kind of place. Never ever.
They've rebuilt the press room since I was last here. It's still far too small of course and for all the detailed instructions they give, the wi-fi doesn't work, but it feels like a proper football ground and that's something. Quite a lot in fact. The food was always good and I have an excellent pie to check it's still fine. It is, you'll be relieved to hear.
The game between Everton and Stoke City is terrific although I wish I'd been given more words to talk about it.
Two goals down after 20ish minutes, Stoke look dead and dreadful in the first half. In the second, they're a revelation and when Marouane Fellaini scores a fluky third it's greeted with relief rather than hysteria. I'm almost beginning to think Stoke might stay up. Afterwards, David Moyes is his usual taciturn self - up here they still talk in awe about a press conference where someone asked him if he'd rowed with Victor Anichebe and he just didn't answer - but is typically honest in admitting complacency almost did for them.
Tony Pulis always finds time to change from tracksuit to suit. I like that. Shows a bit of respect and right now we're all grateful for that. Mind you when I ask him what he said to his players at half-time he answers another question entirely. Oh well.
Soundtrack: James's live album Getting Away With It. How Tim Booth doesn't get attacked whenever he steps out of his front door must always remain a mystery.
Moment of truth: "God, Stoke are awful..." me at half-time to the man from The Sunday Mirror. "God, Stoke were unlucky," me at full-time to the man from The Sunday Mirror.