Match Preview
Everton have found it hard � no, impossible � to beat a rampant
Manchester United since that dramatic
day in May, over six long years ago, when Sir Alex Ferguson's
side suffered his only ever loss in a major final.
But this season, Everton enter the lions' den at Old Trafford
with a little bit more than a glimmer of hope that they can
catch United on a bad day. For once, the Blues will take the
field with the rare confidence that comes from an elevated position
in this season's embryonic Premiership table, following a relatively
good sequence of results from the first three games. Add to
that, a less than stellar start by United, who have been lucky not
to lose at least one of their opening fixtures.
But the opposition in those games has frankly been of a lower
calibre than Everton will face on Saturday. It would nice to
think that United's many internationals will be tired from their
mid-week exploits, but half of the Everton team has also been on
International duty.
Team News
Thomasz Radzinski will not be making his long-awaited debut, having
suffered a relapse with his hamstring problem. But Paul
Gascoigne could be expected to make a welcome return � at least to
the bench � after completing two full matches for Everton
Reserves in his bid to prove his Premiership worth perhaps one
last time.
Head to Head
The match-up that has Evertonians salivating is the prospect of
seasoned campaigner and fearsome attacker, Duncan Ferguson, up
against Premiership newcomer Laurent Blanc, Manchester United's
rushed replacement for the deposed and displaced centre-back, Jap
Stamm. Will Big Dunc remember any of Slaven Bilic's cunning
tricks when it comes to handling the French international?
Can Everton pull off a massive surprise? Or will the
intrinsic quality of football United are capable of playing be
sufficient to blow Everton off the park yet again?

Still a class apart
by Lyndon Lloyd
The ritual humiliation at Old Trafford was, for the most part,
just that. Manchester United may have made an indifferent
start to the new season but their embarrassment of riches ensured
that, even with some of the really big names missing from the
starting line-up, they once again comprehensively outshone Everton.
Walter Smith's side, on the back of their best start for eight
years, were confident of causing an upset at a ground on which they
haven't tasted victory since recording a 3-0 there win nine years
ago. However, while the Blues never looked intimidated, unlike
Fulham three weeks ago they showed the home side far too much
respect and played - defensively at least - as if damage limitation
was the order of the day.
Smith fielded an unchanged line-up with the rumoured return of
Paul Gascoigne - even as a substitute - an unfulfilled hope and
Tomasz Radzinski suffering a relapse of the hamstring strain that
has held back his Everton debut.
From the whistle, United showed the gulf in class that still
exists between the two clubs, carving out an opening within seconds
of kick off that was hustled clear by the visitors' defence.
Juan Sebastian Veron, looking every inch a �28M player, soon took
hold of the game and never really let go.
Showing a quickness of mind and movement that Everton looked
hopelessly unable to either emulate or extinguish, United teased and
toyed with Everton for long periods and, for the first hour, looked
like they could score any time they chose to. The Blues'
defence looked ill-equipped to deal with anything that the Red
Devils threw at them and, although Smith's men had a couple of
openings when Alexandersson nearly sent Kevin Campbell through and
the latter forced a corner, it was United who had the first
meaningful shot on goal when Dwight Yorke blazed over from 12 yards
at the second attempt
Obviously feeding off the experience of being in the company of
the Champions, Everton stroked the ball about nicely at times but
lacked any sort of penetration. The familiar diagonal
cross-field ball from Unsworth reared its ugly head on a few
occasions and Messers Campbell and Ferguson looked like they were
playing with lead in their boots.
With a quarter of an hour gone, the warning bell sounded when
Quentin Fortune thumped a shot off Paul Gerrard's post and the Blues
'keeper had to make a good save from the resulting volley by Veron
as United showed their intentions. The Argentinean came close
a couple of minutes later when he glided a curling free kick inches
wide of the far post as Everton hung on.
The Blues' inability to keep the ball when they had it was
clearly costing them any opportunity to hurt their superior
opposition and wave after wave of United attacks threatened to break
the deadlock, which was broken in the 22nd minute when Veron
played a one-two as he surged into the box and despatched the
opening goal past Gerrard with ease to make it 1-0.
With United not having lost a game on home soil in the
Premiership when they have scored first, and given Everton's record
against Alex Ferguson's men at any venue since the inception of the
Premier League, the game was up. It was just a question of how
many, because the Blues hardly looked capable of scoring.
One instance when they could have pulled a goal back was when
David Unsworth put Campbell through but his leaden feet stumbled
over the ball and Wes Brown cleared easily.
A minute later it was 2-0. A throw-in from the right curled
in the stiff Manchester breeze, eluding Unsworth and allowing Luke
Chadwick to evade David Weir and set up the unmarked Andy Cole who
planted the ball past the stranded Gerrard.
If that wasn't bad enough, within 21 seconds of the restart
following half-time, it was 3-0 as United beat Everton at their own
game, craftily demonstrating the art of flicking the ball on to a
mobile team-mate. Yorke beat his marker in the air to send
Fortune through a non-existent defence and the South African
international clipped the ball over Gerrard to compound Smith's
misery.
Everton were crying out for a touch creativity and penetration,
qualities that many of the players (who were adequate when battling
for Premiership survival but now need more if the Blues are to
remain in the top half of the league) simply weren't displaying.
Worse, the battling qualities that have epitomised Everton for
years � and were the downfall of Alex Ferguson's side in the '95
Cup Final � have become the hallmarks of Manchester United.
Ferguson has demonstrably wised up to Everton's tactics and
instilled them in his own players. And to cap it off, referee
Dermot Gallagher had a propensity for the first hour to blow for
even the slightest contact against a home player, which was just as
well because Everton were not their bruising selves by any stretch
of the imagination.
With 25 minutes to go, the game suddenly changed, possibly
because of the double substitution of Abel Xavier and Joe-Max Moore
for Weir and the limping Alexandersson, but more likely because of a
split second of magic from Scott Gemmill. From nowhere, the
midfielder anticipated a ball from the right and made a
perfectly-timed, darting run through the United defence and, all on
his own, took time to look up, square the ball for Campbell whose
half-blocked shot squirmed inside the far post to hand the Blues a
consolation goal.
Immediately, Everton's self-belief returned, along with the neat
passing and incisive inter-changes. Gone was United's
dominance and for a few minutes the visitors had a glimmer of
hope. Moore broke down the right, squared it to Campbell who
in turn clipped it square for Ferguson but he dithered and had the
ball stolen off him at the crucial moment.
Still, Everton pressed and the introduction of Idan Tal for Alan
Stubbs was another positive decision as the Israeli set about
playing United at their own game, jinking and teasing on the edge of
the area. However, his ideas were not shared by all of his
team-mates and, where opportunities were created by Tal, the moves
soon broke down at the feet of others.
However, Everton did manage to carve out two more good
opportunities: firstly, when a lovely interchange between Moore and
Campbell saw the latter chip an inviting ball into the path of the
American but his volley was well blocked by a defender for a corner;
and secondly when Ferguson agonisingly hit the post with 9 minutes
to go.
After having drifted out of the game for 20 minutes, United
renewed the offensive when David Beckham and Ruud van Nistelrooy
came on with five minutes to go. The Dutchman saw a snap-shot
slide just wide and Veron forced another save from Gerrard before
Beckham had the last word, picking up a dreadful ball inside by
Steve Watson and producing a skimming drive from 20 yards which
eluded the despairing dive of Gerrard to make it 4-1.
Ironically, despite the scoreline, the match was a useful guage
of Everton's progress this season in this the first stern test of
their credentials so far. The gulf in class between them and
Manchester United is still as big as it ever was and the defence
looks worryingly lacking when faced with a world-class attack, but
there were plenty of signs that Everton really are too good to go
down this year.
If they can summon up the confidence to go out and attack teams
on the ground from the beginning, showing the opposition no respect
� no matter who it is � then a top-half berth is not out of the
question. At the moment, Smith is still too defensively minded
and he is not instilling in the players the belief that they can
beat anyone on their day. Defence is still the first instinct
when attack can often be the best form of defending.

�It�s all been rather
lovely�
by the Squire of Beckenham
�It�s all been rather lovely.� (John Le Mesurier�s last
words, 1983)
The time we�d all feared had arrived; the balmy late summer of
August and all its promise had given way to the bit of the fixture
list that we all christened Black September; the point where we
would see how far we�ve progressed or regressed in the close
season.
The portents were everywhere. The �Deutschland 1 Liverpool 5�
headlines; David Beckenham looking good despite his �groin
problems�; Leeds getting back to the �70s in a big and dirty
way; and at home in Beckham in Kent, as I turned the page on my �Everton
Legends� calendar, I said �hats off� to Peter Reid and August,
and �Piss Off� to Tellyhead and September.
Still, there was room for a slight glimmer of optimism; Jaap Stam
had been cast into the wilderness of Serie A for daring to suggest
that the goon in charge at Man Ure likes his players to adopt a �Continental
approach� in influencing refereeing decisions, and for accusing
the Chuckle Brothers (sorry, the Nevilles) of being �busy c*nts�.
One word too many in most people�s opinion, but that�s what
happens when you use a ghostwriter...
We also had the twin talismans of my lad Martin (he�s never
seen Everton lose a game that he�s attended, remember) and Davie
Weir the Tortoise. Also wanting to make her first appearance
of the season was my ever-loving partner Lily; despite being laid
low by pharyngitis, nothing was going to stop her dragging herself,
Lazarus-like, from the pit to get to the game. If there�s
any star-spotting to be done she�s at the forefront, a living
embodiment of Heat magazine; no way was she going to miss out on
seeing the world-famous David Beckenham warm his arse on the bench.
I did happen to mention that we may well have the pleasure of
seeing one P Gascoigne, but the look on her face said it all; �who
he�? Such is the fickle and fleeting nature of celebrity and
modern-day football; one minute it�s champagne, riches and �An
Audience with David Beckenham�, the next it�s Diamond White, the
divorce courts and �Crosswits� with Tom O� Connor. Shit
happens...
I won�t bore you with the details of the six-hour journey up
from Beckham to Old Trafford via St Helens, but the pre-planned
rendezvous with Ticketmaster Terry Tel and the Widnes Bus posse went
for a ball of chalk. However, Terry raved about �the crack
in The Nag�s Head� when I finally ran into him. I pray
that he wasn�t referring to navvies with �Dagenham cleavage�.
Sadly, during the journey it also emerged that Davie Weir the
Talismanic Tortoise had gone AWOL, which meant that we�d have to
go into the game relying solely on my lad�s 100% record and our
�quality� midfield.
It�s often said that Manchester United is no longer just a
football team, rather a blood-sucking corporate monster. If
this is the case, may I ask the powers that be at Old Trafford if
they wouldn�t mind increasing the number of refreshment stands in
the away section? They could extort yet more money and my bird
would have been able to get a Diet Coke to soothe her throat, which
by now was assuming all the essential visual attributes of a baboon�s
arse. Still, nobody else seemed to mind; the Bellies were out
in force and giving full voice to their impressive repertoire...
�Oh Posh Spice is a slapper, she is a fuckin� whore,
And when she�s shagging Beckenham, she thinks of Joe-Max Moore�
MOORE, MOORE, MOORE, how d�like it, how d�like it?�
We took our seats, and revelled in the empty, sanitised idea of
what constitutes a pre-match build-up at Old Trafford these days,
enlivened only by the Red Arrows blowing over the roof at Angels
None. Very nice and all that, but I'd have the Samba Band
anyday.
The game kicked off and� er, need I continue? To say that
we were outclassed in the first half is akin to describing the
Empire State Building as �tallish�. It�s purely a matter
of quality. The United players are full of confidence,
movement, tricks and nouse, and our lads are full of Archie's �pep-talks�,
niggling knocks and the fear of the drop.
While United were moving up the field with crisp passes, pretty
movement and an array of angles that would gladden the heart of even
the sternest Geometry teacher, our answer was sadly one-dimensional;
�hoof-it-up-to-the-Big-Fella-and-see-what-happens�...
And, doubly sadly, the pre-match conjecture regarding the rough
ride that Blanc was going to have on his debut against the meejia-styled
�Bruise Brothers� came to nowt. Big Dunc decided to have a
bad day at the office, and Soooper Kev looked lethargic (though not,
as some of the �most knowledgeable fans in the game� cried, a
�lazy cunt�).
The freakishly gifted Veron was everywhere, taking advantage of
Beckenham's arse-warming to place himself firmly on centre stage; he
was soon on the end of a move that he�d started, bursting into the
box and rifling the ball past the cruelly exposed Gerrard. In
fact, only Gerrard and (please sit down) the prescience and calmness
of Pistone stopped things from being FAR worse.
We were being horribly overrun, so I decided to try to get Lil a
drink way before half time, and thus missed that nice Andrew Cole
being played though a static defence to nab the second. And I
still didn't get the sodding drink. Still, half-time in the
Premiership usually provides something to allow you to pour yourself
a �hand shandy�, so I shot back to my seat... and found a ManUre
v Everton charity penalty shootout in progress. We lost.
A combination of me still queuing for a sodding drink and the
shites in the refreshment booth not accepting �20 notes led to my
missing the third too; a long ball was put through and Quids-In
Fortune steamed though the centre of our defence, who appeared to be
communicating only in semaphore due to the distance between
them. 3-0.
It�s a shame that the atmosphere at Old Trafford doesn�t
match the quality of the play. Many theories have been
advanced for this, and while I�m not going to harp on about the
Corporate Monster stuff it is true that the supporter demographic at
Old Trafford had changed much more markedly than anywhere else; the
traditional fanbase is being supplanted by the daytrippers who�ll
come in, buy all the tack in the Megastore, buy their drinks and
food in the ground, sit quietly and expect to be entertained.
A ManUre fan on 606 the next day related tales of how they scream at
the daytrippers to get involved, to no avail.
Still, one thing the daytrippers do like is parochial
stereotypes, and out came the �In your Liverpool Slums� song�
answered by �Oh Manchester, is full of SHIT"... before you
knew it we had a serve and volley game of Knobhead Tennis, through
versions of the �He Kills Scousers� song, and �There�s Only
One Harold Shipman� and finally to the Munich crap. It�s
all incredibly sad & juvenile, but perhaps the Mancs and their
chums in the media should acknowledge that any brain-dead behaviour
from their itinerant fucknuts will inevitably be matched by any
hard-core of visiting fucknuts. No excuses here.
While all this was going on, Giggsy warmed up and Lil got all
excited, until Silvestre came on instead and Giggsy sat back
down. This interlude was swiftly followed by the introduction
of Abel Xavier and Mrs Beckenham�s fantasy Yank. And bugger
me, the Mancs would have stopped singing if they�d actually
bothered to start, as Gemmill sprang the offside trap and squared to
SooperKev who drilled the ball past Barthez and the covering
defender.
Incidentally, the meejia made much of the �suspicion of
handball� in the move, but the only handball was by Wes Brown, who
tried to save it before Barthez did. Oddly enough, Dermot
Gallagher never spotted it, nor did he spot a host of Manc fouls in
the first half. Business as usual in every respect then.
Earlier, Dunc had missed a sitter as he got his wires and his legs
crossed, and we actually gave a decent impression of a team of the
middle rank.
With about ten minutes to go, Lil finally got what she was
gagging for, as Beckenham took the field in his daft white boots,
along with Denise Van Outen or someone (Ruud Van Nistelrooy,
perhaps). Soft Lad's answer was to let Idan Tal have a little
run, and we had them rattled. Tal was all over the front of
the Manc defence picking up ball left, right and centre, and the
Mancs couldn't deal with him. Why oh WHY won�t Soft Lad play
him from the off? Answers on a postcard please to W Smith, c/o
EFC, L4 4EL.
With our �star� being in the ascendancy, it was a crying
shame when Gemmill played the ball straight to Beckenham, who was 25
yards out in acres of space. This will not form the basis of a
�What Happened Next?� round in next years �A Question of Sport�.
4-1.
We decided to leave at this point because we figured that Dimwit
Ball-Acher would only add on 15 minutes more agony at Demento�s
whim, which led Martin to point out that he still hadn�t seen
Everton actually lose and thus his record remained intact. A
coruscatingly brilliant career in semantics awaits the lad.
So, another malleting to ponder on the long journey back to
Beckham in Kent, and to think about the impending slugfest against
The Pinkies, whose unfortunate reverse at home to Villa gained the
biggest cheer of the day. However, here�s something to make
you titter; United indulged in some Stalinist revisionism in the
Official Matchday Programme, by printing a brand new squad
photograph in the Centre Pages. And quite a collector�s item
it makes too, particularly the way that they�ve superimposed
Laurent Blanc�s head onto Jaap Stam�s body.
And you thought our away shirt scam was bad.

Commitment, self-belief and
motivation?
by Guy McEvoy
You knew United were up for taking the piss when they announced
their bench. Choosing to rest Beckham, Giggs, Van Neisleroy
and Silvestre shows how scared they weren't of this one.
Our midfield was completely and utterly outclassed. No real
surprise there, but I felt that in the first half they just accepted
this too much. We stepped off and gave them time on the ball
and therefore time to crank it up.
When you know in advance they have the better technicians surely
a 'dogs' approach is better? Soon as they get the ball let's have a
man closing them down and making an attempt at a tackle...... they
don't like it up 'em. I seem to remember it working a couple
of time in 95. Not something on display yesterday.
The first half was a disappointment. Kev and Dunc on the
few chances they did produce looked as sharp as jelly. To be
fair to Smith, I was sat there trying to imagine how I'd swap it
round. All the permutations I could think of would also end up
in us getting battered. What we needed wasn't a tactical
reshuffle, it was individual commitment, self-belief and motivation.
The only realistic option was to bring on Tal, but in my opinion,
he thrives when the opposition is knackered (whatever his assets,
and whatever anyone says, he lacks physical strength). So the
last 20 mins IS the time for him.
The goal straight after half time killed our chances, which is a
shame as we did give a good account of ourselves for a chunk of the
second half, and yes, that coincides with the introduction of
Tal. Had Dunc's shot that hit the post crept and inch the
other way, we'd have a very different perception of the game now....

Blanc leads United charge at
Old Trafford
by Jonathan Northcroft, Sunday Times
WALTER Smith called this "back to reality".
Second in the Premiership and above Manchester United for the first
time in five years at 3pm, Everton were left wondering how they were
in the same league as the champions by 3.45pm. United
brutalised their opponents with football which brimmed with ideas
and adventure and was taken by Juan Veron to levels seldom
seen. "Once he learns to relax he�ll be all
right," said Sir Alex Ferguson. The irony was thick as
the manager�s Govan burr.
Veron was nonchalance with a goatee beard but too much of that
quality almost spoiled United�s afternoon. At 3-0, going on
double that, they let their minds drift and allowed Everton back in
the game. Kevin Campbell scored and for a period it looked
like his side might retrieve something more. Ultimately
Ferguson had to introduce David Beckham, who he might have wanted to
rest for the Champions League, and it took until the 90th minute for
the midfielder to restore order with a 20-yard strike.
Ferguson grumped at the staining of what should have been a clean
sheet, remarking "it gives people encouragement to still say we
can�t defend", but nobody could level such a thing at Laurent
Blanc. The Frenchman was near-faultless on his debut, having
been promised by Campbell an "in your face"
introduction. Campbell, instead, was more in the Frenchman�s
pocket.
Blanc, his socks half-mast, his shirt short-sleeved despite a
gnawing wind, is no softie. There was no kiss for Fabien
Barthez but Wes Brown and the Nevilles got an earful of
instructions. Campbell rattled Brown with a third-minute
challenge to signal intent but Blanc laid his own markers.
When Campbell cut past Phil Neville and veered into the box from the
right the Frenchman dismissively strolled over to nick the ball off
the striker�s toes. Later he stood under a swirling
clearance from Paul Gerrard with Ferguson closing in. He
fished the ball from the air with one long, languid leg, then used
the other to flick it back to Barthez.
Blanc also showed attacking adroitness. Veron miskicked an
Everton corner on to his own post but, while teammates gawped at
their great escape, Blanc collected possession and purred upfield
like a limousine, finding Roy Keane on the left. Keane swept a
pass behind Everton�s defence to set up Dwight Yorke but the
striker thumped his shot into Gerrard�s shins, then hacked the
rebound into the stand. It was Yorke who touched back to
Quinton Fortune for the South African to drive against the post
before Veron, from 30 yards, looped a sublime volley towards the top
corner which Gerrard tipped away superbly. Veron then received
a verbal volley from Keane for over-elaborating. As an
apology, he scored a beautiful goal.
While Everton waited for a chip back into the box after clearing
the ball, Veron instead played it sharply toward Keane and followed
in its wake. Keane let Veron breast the area before returning
the pass and his midfield partner took one touch before ramming a
shot behind Gerrard. Everton started 3-5-2 but quickly changed
to 5-3-2, which was sensible because even with an extra midfielder,
they could not get on the ball. Campbell soon gave up on Blanc
and the Frenchman dominated Ferguson so much that the big striker
moaned to the referee about bullying.
It took him 40 minutes to beat Blanc in the air but he could not
divert his header goalward. This caused United more anxiety
than necessary because, for all their dominance, it was still
1-0. Veron�s passing was not adorned by the finishing it
deserved. Twice he sent Fortune away with 50-yard flighted
balls but the South African rolled a shot wide the first time, then
crossed to Andrew Cole the second but the striker headed straight at
Gerrard.
Cole scored when Luke Chadwick, having wasted several good
carries by shooting or crossing weakly, cut the ball back after his
umpteenth slalom past David Unsworth. Cole swept a shot in off
Gerrard�s far post and United, with Veron singled out, went in to
a standing ovation. They began the second period from a
running start, Gary Neville playing long to Yorke, who sent Fortune
in. Fortune favoured the chip-shot against Gerrard, and with 21
seconds gone, it was 3-0.
Old Trafford wanted a rout but instead rot set in, in United�s
concentration. Scott Gemmill cut in on goal, suffered a crisis
of nerve, but managed to find Campbell, who controlled before
scoring off Brown. Ferguson stumbled over one chance but
almost made it 3-2 with a shot Barthez touched on to the post.
The spirited way Everton responded will gain them points against
other sides. Smith said: "We�re glad we only visit Old
Trafford once a year."
Gemmill beat the offside trap to cut in on Barthez but his nerve
failed and he passed to Campbell in a more difficult shooting
position. The striker was still able to score, however,
hitting a shot against Brown and in off the post. The woodwork
was less kind to Everton when it stopped Ferguson making it 3-2,
though Barthez also got a finger to his shot. It took David
Beckham�s introduction to calm Old Trafford�s growing nerves,
the England captain scoring United�s fourth with a late, low
20-yard shot.
� Times
Newspapers, Ltd

Everton's pretensions to
loftier heights exposed
by Nick Szczepanik, The Times
Walter Smith, the Everton manager, made such a low-key entrance
into the Old Trafford press room that, for a few seconds, he went
unnoticed � rather like his team, except that in their case it
took the best part of an hour before they made any impression.
Kevin Campbell, the captain, had promised "in your face
football", but it never materialised.
The defence did not show the intensity required to tame the
champions, the midfield was passive and Campbell and Duncan
Ferguson, starved of service, were unable to unsettle the new
partnership of Laurent Blanc and Wes Brown. Things improved
when, 3-0 down, Smith abandoned the defensive system that had
brought seven points from three matches. Everton had the
chances to snatch an improbable draw, but Scot Gemmill and Campbell
even made hard work of the consolation goal.
Smith�s side owed their previous lofty position to victories
over injury-hit Charlton Athletic and dismal Middlesbrough, and a
draw with nine-man Tottenham Hotspur. Next they face Liverpool and
Leeds United. "Back to reality for us," Smith said. And
how.
� Times
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