Everton: Howard, Neville, Yobo, Lescott, Baines, Arteta, Jagielka, Osman, Rodwell, Baxter, Yakubu.

Bench: Valente (Yakubu), Turner, Kissock, Wallace, Vaughan (Baxter), Agard, Jutkiewicz

Referee: Knob Styles (and He Is)

Vest Brum and the Art of Motor Cycle Maintenance
By
Mickey Blue Eyes.

“Vest Brum” had its origins at our European Cup home game against Borussia Mönchengladbach over three decades ago. It came as a chant from a small knot of visiting Germans seated in the Upper Bullens stand (that’s the area these days with more misery per capita than Leonard Cohen’s house on a rainy Sunday) and was supposed to be an Aryan dig at our prior league loss at the Hawthorns. But, like all of that sort of harmless nonsense, it didn’t work. Johnny “Mogsy” Morrissey scored in the first minute and we went on to win a classic encounter on penalties. Moreover, scarcely anybody in the ground could understand Westphalian guttural plainsong. “It sounds,” said a paddock regular, “like a veteran motor cycle starting up.” In any case it evaporated instantly in the mass euphoria of an instant goal. We never heard the chant again. Which was a pity because it anticipated the verbal horrors of “’Allo ‘Allo” by a quarter century. Mind you, it might have got interesting had the Jerries lost their previous match to, say, Pfaffenhofen Sport Klub. How would our lot have responded to that phonetic challenge? Not that we haven’t got a few such of our own. Have you heard a Bootle demi culotte trying to say, “Something”? Invariably it emerges as a lazy mongrel, “Suhin,” which is just cause for shooting a full chamber of Magnum.38 into the offending voice box. And since I’m querying German and local intonations, how should we deal with our very own rough pasty-faced females who say “Hun” for “Honey” and sound as affectionate as the Waffen SS in Stalingrad? With stoning?

The reason I mention this is because our league and cup record against West Bromwich Albion has been excreta for as long as I can recall and it doesn’t seem to matter where either side is located in the league table. We even lost the 1968 FA Cup Final to them when we were hot favourites. So I didn’t anticipate much from the game when I joined The Bus for Saturday’s journey to the Black Country. But I looked forward to it avidly because I have been unable to attend many away matches during the last two seasons. There are no better or more devoted fans than those who travel with ESCWARA, a fact made all the more impressive because comparatively few of the regulars are from our home city. Fortunately too it remains largely free of racists, big mouths, junkies and drunks. Sadly, there have been moments when this wasn’t so but persistent culprits have always been quickly isolated and then excommunicated. None of them have been missed. Every journey is still impeccably organised by Terry and has reached the point where we all expect everything to go smoothly from start to finish. Over the seasons he has weathered and solved all the problems, including, incredibly, occasional physical threats from a malevolent moron or two. In all this time I can think of only two occasions where matters went seriously wrong and they were due to mechanical failure of the vehicle. The club can be proud of loyal Evertonians like Terry Seddon. The way he organises and conducts these away trips is a lesson in decency and straightforward loyalty for everyone.

And The Bus has its share of characters too. Human foibles ensure everyone is not goody-goody and just as subject to an occasional fall from grace. What you will not find is someone who regularly steps across a behavioral line drawn clearly in the sand. Once, maybe. Twice a coincidence, possibly. Three times and the culprit is gone with the wind, and rightly too. Which is why there are a number of families who continue to travel with confidence. Meanwhile, regulars like Jimmy, Steve, the brothers Paul and Steve, Stu, Clare, Pablo and many others are there hail, rain and shine. Victories, defeats, draws, hopes and players come and go. The motto is straightforward: You take it all as it comes, you stay loyal and you enjoy yourself as much as circumstances allow. You won’t find any of these regulars whingeing that they will stop supporting EFC because nobody will listen to an adolescent tantrum. On the contrary, they would help the self pitying whingers – as predictable as the Daily Mail and Sun newspapers, and for the same reason – to a quick exit while everyone else bids the erstwhile drama queens a gleeful farewell en route to well deserved obscurity or a long, drawn-out squeal on a local radio phone-in. Let them take their misery-arse “personality” elsewhere. Regular fans are far too busy loving their footy than to act like a jumped-up proletarian diva. Which is why there can be no better hobby and no happier way of pursuing it at away games.

Early Saturday promised perfect footy weather: High, scattered clouds, pale blue sky and a mild temperature. The river as still as a mirror, the tide not yet turned. It was all perfectly gorgeous. The Bus got away at 10.30, full of bright chat and optimism as it headed off into the M6 bank holiday traffic. Two hours later we were discharged into the usual venue and, surprise surprise, it had undergone a modest refit. No more sticky carpets, no smell of must, nicotine and tackiness. There was even an Indian or Pakistani wedding going on in the next room and they brought in some confectionery food………but it wasn’t enough to prevent the usual Brit rush for a chip shop. Beer and chips, yeuk. No wonder most Europeans think, food-wise, we are the barbarians of the West. The bar staff struggled for a while with the TV technology before we finally got a surprisingly good Championship match between Charlton and Reading. The time flew past. Then back on The Bus for the journey through inner Birmingham to The Hawthorns. It was a highly enjoyable short trip along a main road which was plainly the centre of the local Indian/Pakistani community – community being the operative word. People thronged everywhere, a wonderful variety of dress and shops with pavement displays. It was an example of what can be done when enough people band together against the odds in a country of deep institutional racism. Only what your own efforts wring from the establishment is worthwhile. Strangely, once the community was left behind the environment soon deteriorated into a wasteland of shuttered shops and buildings and litter. The immediate area around The Hawthorns was a grim sight, but so was the ground.

As usual, the away coaches were lined up in a side road. From there, you were directed to a set of double gates opposite a squadron of police vehicles and tooled up policemen in combat boots and high-vis vests. Thence up a winding, steep tarmac path a few metres wide with walls and fences on both sides. At the top of the path was the ground and another set of gates fronted by a line of police, one of whom was filming everyone on the approach. We were stopped at the line without explanation and the fans quickly backed up into a queue that stretched all the way back down the path. The whole thing was absolutely hateful. It turned out the fans were held back because the queues weren’t going through the gates quick enough and the immediate area could have filled up quickly, but there was no attempt to inform the fans (who fortunately waited with great patience). The aggressive stiff-faced police attitude was a disgrace. Why the Midlands police forces have become as bad, or worse, than the north east police is a moot point. What isn’t in dispute is that you want to get in and out of the place as quickly as you can. The whole experience is vile. The area outside the away section of The Hawthorns is an accident waiting to happen. The police I saw were worse than useless. How many more lessons do these people need?

The Hawthorns has been completely rebuilt since my last visit long ago. Sadly, it is just a steel frame covered with dark blue industrial wrinkly tin similar to the weather-streaked light grey stuff that makes Goodison Park so awful on the outside. Albion will amount to not very much as long as they are stuck there. It is everything that is wrong with old and dangerous hemmed-in stadia locations.

But, this being West Brom’s first home league game since promotion, the crowd were up for it the way everyone is for the first home match of the season. Plainly it was going to be an interesting occasion. And so it was, though not in the way expected. Footy still has this delicious habit of confounding predictions, self-styled experts, big mouths and whingers. Which was entirely appropriate because sitting behind me was a middle-aged guy so clinically miserable he made Steve Coppell’s serious manic-depression look like John Cleese in uproarious mood. When the teams were announced I though he was going to slit his wrists. For the first quarter hour this looked like a distinct possibility as Albion had most of the possession and had a shot inside the first two minutes that Tim had to save low down and to his right even though it was just on its way out. This wasn’t suprising because Moyesy had sixteen years old Jose Baxter at wide left mid and seventeen years old Jack Rodwell at wide right mid. In between were Jags, Mikky and Leon, not the heftiest centre mid trio you will see this season. Naturally Albion played the ball down both flanks until the defence got used to it and ushered them to the corner flag at every available opportunity. It made for a few tense moments but that’s all. Joey had to make two great headers to keep them out in the early stages but they never really looked convincing. It took a long time for one of theirs to have a shot from twenty five metres that flew over the bar. Apart from that, they didn’t really look capable of much. In the end their two wide men dropped deeper and deeper until they were ineffective and taken off. I was never really concerned despite the territory we conceded. We looked rock solid in the centre of the defence where Joey and Joleon were unbeatable. Leighton Baines and Phil Neville took care of anything that got past the midfield on the wings.

Both youngsters in midfield looked the part. Obviously they have a lot to learn but they also looked hungry and eager to make up for naivety. Baxter seems more physically developed and a better tackler and passer of the ball. Once again, Yakubu worked a lonely vigil up front while Leon occasionally tried to burst through with his typical close dribbles. Mikky played deep and in the centre, which is where he says he prefers to play. But I still think he’s much better on the wings. At half time our consensus was that we could go on to win if nobody did anything really stupid.

HALF TIME WBA 0 EVERTON 0

The second half started much the same, Albion got a series of corners they did nothing with and then began to tire and we got back into it. Then Vaughany replaced young Baxter after about fifteen minutes of the half and immediately the pattern of the game changed. Our team balance was much better. Now Yakubu wasn’t on his own. For the first time Albion’s central defence had to deal with movement from two players and it unsettled them no end. You could see their concentration begin to wilt. Five minutes later Jack Rodwell – now in the centre – went up and headed a goal eerily similar to the Big Yin’s at Villarreal. The result was the same too: It got disallowed, this time by every Evertonian’s perfectly justified second biggest target for contempt, Rob Styles. Then Leon went on one of his runs, beat three men in a dribble closing from the left and just had it nicked from him as he tried to shoot. Albion were really rattled by now and a few minutes later Mikky got the ball wide right about five metres in, took a few strides and delivered a ball as sharp as a surgeon’s knife to Leon, right side of the penalty spot and closing. A quick swivel and a low cross shot went home under their keeper’s right hand. There was bugger all Styles could do to stop that one. Ten minutes and some even play later and Joleon smacked a long hopeful clearance from the left side of our penalty area. The Yak chased it with their centre back, there was a slight hesitation with their outcoming ex-pinky keeper and The Yak got his head to it and butted it in despite a slight touch from the keeper. Game shot. But Styles was always going to have the last word and it duly came when he awarded a penalty to Albion with a few minutes left. It was too late for their comeback. We had won and deserved to. Moyesy got his team selection and subs exactly right. Albion’s possession meant nothing.

As we thronged out to The Bus a youngster in front of me, full of the joys of a good win, couldn’t resist saying loudly, “An’ all the fuckn moaners can shove that up their arse sideways.” I liked the lad immediately. I couldn’t have put it better myself. Nor could anyone else on The Bus.

Next up, Portsmouth.

FULL TIME WBA 1 EVERTON 2

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Andy's Rankin

Marks Out Of 10
Player	Marks	Player	Marks
Tim Howard	7	Nuno Valente	6
Phil Neville	6	James Vaughan	7
Phil Jagielka	7
Joey Yobo	7
Joleon Lescott	8
Jose Baxter	6
Jack Rodwell	6
Leighton Baines	7
Mikel Arteta	8
Leon Osman	7
Yakubu	8

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