Football really is a game of two halves, and that was no more prevalent than in today's FA Cup tie between Everton and Middlesborough. Booed and jeered off the pitch at half-time, inspired a rather lethargic Everton side to a famous win and into the semi-final of the FA Cup at Wembley, to which they were subsequently roared back into the dressing room by the Everton faithful.
First half, there is no denying it, Everton were poor. We have been poor since losing Arteta against Newcastle, but that was the icing on the sub-standard cake. Defensively, we didn't look too bad, but we posed nothing in attack and had no-one who could put their foot on the ball in midfield. Anyone who thinks Jack Rodwell is fast on his way to becoming a world class player needs their heads testing, as he has put in two completely anonymous shifts against Blackburn and Middesborough today. He is a pormising youngster, but that's all he is...a promising youngster.
Middlesborough got the fruits of their labour just before half-time, when Wheater headed into Tim Howard's hands, but the ball had crossed the line. The players walked off at half time to a chorus of boos from the sell-out Goodison crowd, and rightly so. Yet, I sat there in a pensive state at half-time, gazing at the Everton 0 - 1 Middlesborough scoreline, luminously lit on the scoreboard above the Park End, and for once as an Evertonian, I believed. And I believed against insurmountable odds, with an injury-ravaged squad, and players playing out-of-position, and some not being fully fit, for some reason, I knew Everton were going to come out second half with eleven rockets up eleven backsides, but more importantly, eleven points to prove.
In one of Everton's biggest games of the season to date, it was not Moyes who pulled the masterstroke, but it was Assistant Coach Steve Round, who advised Moyes to bring Louis Saha on, and drop Cahill into the Centre-Midfield berth. And it was the latter which turned the game. As opposed to the first half, we had someone in midfield who was going some way in replacing Mikel Arteta, as Cahill was willing to put his foot on the ball and look for a pass, and was showing himself for the Centre backs at all times. He kept the ball moving and kept Everton flowing. There are those who doubt whether Cahill can operate well in a 4-4-2 formation, but that point, just like the Rodwell one, was undoubtedly disproved today.
Despite Everton's much-needed improvement after half-time, it was a mistake and a goal from nowhere that levelled the match. Brad Jones steamed off his Middlesborough goal-line, only to arrive nowhere near the ball, and Fellaini was waiting to nod over the 'keeper, and into the empty net. If I was alone in believing at half-time, I certainly wasn't now. The volume was cranked to the max after the equaliser, and the Old Lady was rocked to it's 100 year old foundations as the Evertonians belted out choruses of “We're on the march with Moyesie's army” and “We Shall Not be Moved”. Captain Phil Neville ran to the Gwladys Street pumping his fists and rallying his troops, proving he really is a true Gwladiator.
It was the Evertonian's which provided the twelfth man, and Everton soon found themselves ahead, as Steven Pienaar flicked a ball into in-form Louis Saha's line-of-fire, who subsequently powered his header past the again-stranded Brad Jones. Saha steamed off towards the Park End and, almost as if it were scripted, the volume level was now snapped off, if it were at it's max on the equaliser. The Evertonians poured their hearts onto the pitch.
Leighton Baines came close to sealing the trip to Wembley with his free kick soon after, only to see his effort rattle the crossbar. Again, Brad Jones was stranded. But Everton defended like lions from that point onwards, and despite Downing making one or two troubling runs, and despite the Evertonian attitude of “something has to go wrong”, we looked reasonably comfortable. And all of that without Arteta!
Praise must be heaped onto the fans also, who played their part in making it a memorable day at Goodison, despite the worryingly-low temperatures. The end of the match was simply magic, thousands of Evertonians in unison singing “If Y'Know Ya History” and “Forever Everton” as they made their way out of the ground was simply spine-tingling.
So what now? Thousands of Evertonians will get their faces painted in the royal blue and white, thousands will get their flags and badges out of the loft, thousands will be getting their cotton and needles out to make a banner, and we will play the best team in the world, Manchester United, on the greatest football arena of them all.
Of course we have to believe we can do it, we done them 14 years ago with a much lesser team, when no-one thought it possible, and we could do it again. There is an optimistic stance to be taken on this, Manchester United's quarter final in the Champions League (if they get there), will take place the week of the semi-final, so some players may be rested and Sir Alex Ferguson may have one eye on that. Also, we have played them twice this year, and the first time, when we were bang-out-of-form, we managed a one-all draw with the champions, and it could have so easily been an Everton win. The other optimistic point to be made is that if we do make it past the seemingly immovable object that is Manchester United, await a team who are nowhere near the quality of the Champions of Europe.
However, in a results-driven industry, it's easy to lose sight of how far we come. It was around 7 years ago we played Middlesborough in an FA Cup Quarter Final, and we dumped out unceremoniously on the wrong end of a 3-0 scoreline, thus losing Walter Smith his job. Since that day, we haven't spent astronomical amounts of money like some other teams, but we have been developing slowly. We have also lost our top goal-scorer and our most creative player this season, in Yakubu and Arteta, and are half the team without them.
I am just proud to call myself an Evertonian, as we have, time-after-time, defied the odds, and a trip to Wembley is the shining jewel in the industriously-crafted crown of the Moyes Regime, and no less than it merits. I will be there at Wembley, with my face-painted with the royal blue and white, with my banner draping gloriously in the greatest football arena in the world, singing every word and checking every decibel, win or lose. You may call me small time, maybe, but if you want to know if I am bothered by this, absolutely not.
C.Rimmer
(08\03\09)
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