All I’ve Ever Really Known

It seems that the departure of our manager of 11 years is imminent. To Manchester United of all places.

Personally, I feel it’s the wrong appointment on their behalf, although the focus of this article is to try to get some perspective on the bloke who’s managed the club I love for as long as I can really remember.

The Beginning

I was 7 when Moyes took the reins at Goodison. My initial memories of that day are two-fold; One half remembers the joy at Walter Smith “pissing off”, to quote my Dad. And the other half was really general curiosity about just who this David Moyes fella was. I may have only been young but even I knew we were crap under Smith. It wasn’t just my Dad’s foul mouthed rants at the match that in hindsight make me realise just how God-awful we were, but the fact I seriously questioned why the fuck I followed this pile of blue shite when the majority of my close mates were celebrating Liverpool winning their own, unique treble. Relegation scraps, defeats to Tranmere, Nick Barmby and Ferguson breaking my heart. Things could only get better. From the beginning, Moyes was only ever going to be a success.

Fulham it was. Rhino blasted home a peno and the future certainly looked bright. The newly crowned People’s Club were in full flow. After securing a solid, mid-table (ish) finish that season, the decision to replace Smith with Moyes appeared vindicated. The following season got even better. Talk of sombreros and sangria gripped the Cunliffe household, discussions between Dad and my two elder brothers about visiting far flung destinations such as Madrid, Milan and Amsterdam. They were always most keen on Ajax away.

Now looking back, I’m sure it wasn’t altogether for footballing reasons! Alas it was not to be. Bolton and Blackburn, if memory serves me correctly just about pipped us on the last day, and it was less Amsterdam for pre-season, more Accrington. A successful season nonetheless. One in which pride was restored.

Oh, and a season whereby a certain Mr Rooney burst onto the scene. “Remember the name” – Oh and how I do. What a game. Although my highlight’s of that season weren’t Rooney’s goal against Arsenal, but rather his sublime solo effort at Elland Road. My Dad was dancing around like a lunatic when he heard. Little did I know of our shite away record at Leeds. My old man was made up, and so was I. The other was my favourite Everton match of all time. 1-0 down at home to Southampton, we pulled it back to 1-1. 93:03 seconds had passed and then Radzinski leathers one top corner. Pandemonium. I was no longer doubting my Everton credentials after the 2002/03 season. As opposed to being forced to wear the royal blue, I was now wearing it with pride. We were on the up.

Or at least we assumed so. The 2003-04 season really is a bit of a blur to me, perhaps because it was so shite. Our lowest points total in premier league history. How we didn’t go down is beyond me, yet I never remember it being a relegation battle, so to speak. No last game heroics, no goals difference needed. We just couldn’t be arsed by the point we’d reached safety.

Rooney buggered off, and just like I was when Ferguson went to Newcastle and Barmby to Liverpool, I was left to cry myself to sleep in my room. I even nicked a few matches out the draw in an attempt to have a ceremonial poster burning. I wrote poems, short stories. One was ever so creatively titled; Wayne Rooney is a shit fat arse. The 10 year old me had started to learn swear words, and was not afraid to use them in Rooney’s direction.

Once again, I was left to go into the following season as a young, heart-broken, disillusioned little blue nose. We were sure to go down the following year. We had nothing! Oh how wrong I was…

Cahill, Champions League and Three-Fucking-Nil

Timothy Filiga Cahill. A young Australian, signed from Millwall. We trumped Palace to his signature with a last minute bid for a young player who I’d never heard of.

This man is now ranked up there alongside Big Dunc and Thomas Myhre (don’t ask) as one of my top 3 all time blues. The lad was never the most talented; he was a nasty little bugger and frequently seemed to get sent off. But my oh my could he jump. If Cahill could head in a cross from Kevin Kilbane, he must have been the greatest header of a ball on the planet at his peak.

Alongside Mikel in midfield, signed as a short-term loan replacement for Tommy Gravesen, from 2004-2010 whilst both were at their peak, we truly were a great all round team. Ironic then, that it was super Lee Carsley who banged home the winner in what was my first real, memorable derby victory. Hard to beat yet had goals in us, European football came rolling back to Goodison.

Villarreal... Villarreal.

That team, that game. I’d never experienced Goodison like it. The whole structure was shaking to its grand old foundations. And although we lost 2-1, we had the best ref in the world for the second leg. We did. Didn’t we? I don’t mean to dwell on what happened. But yeah, we got shafted in the second leg and then blew it in the Uefa Cup. Shit really. What followed was a distinctly mediocre season. I remember watching us get absolutely turned over by Bolton at Goodison 4-0 around Christmas time. This defeat resulted in my Dad’s first (and last) Moyes out shout. Questions needed to be asked. Just how could we have such a good season, full of optimism and hope, yet succeed it with such half-hearted crap. Nevertheless, Moyes remained, and the season filtered out into another mid-table finish.

However, things soon picked up again, and European Football turned from a pleasant novelty, to a down right expectation. Trips to Kharkiv, Nuremburg and Lisbon all stand out as highlights. Along with a league cup semi that we should have won but for Cech being more or less unbeatable, and an anti-climax of an FA Cup final, I rate this period as probably my favourite in all my 18 years as a blue. The semi-final shootout victory stands out. Shit game, scrapped a draw, and then against all hope we beat them on penalties. James Vaughn knocked home a belter and that was that. Dad got pissed, Mum got pissed, Grandad got pissed, Brother’s got pissed, and even I was a pretty damn tipsy 14 year old. Although one game trumps this. Cahill with the first, then AJ with a brace. Not only had we beat the shite, but we made it look easy. We trounced them. They were no better than us. Words can’t really describe the feeling that brought.

After all the years I’d spent as a jealous young boy, wondering why they were so much better than us, I now realised they weren’t. We were Everton weren’t we?

Stagnation and time to go?

Post 2009 Cup final, we entered the following season with a mixture of hope and disappointment. Could we go one better and win the thing, or had Moyes reached his glass ceiling? No trophies were imminent, although another consistent top half finish was secured. It was a sign of just how far we’d come under Moyes’ stewardship that an 8th place finish without European football was to be deemed unsuccessful. It was becoming clearer and clearer that without sufficient investment this was really as far as Moyes could realistically be expected to take us.

These past couple of years however, some of the football on show at Goodison, and away from home has been described as “Barcelona like”. No small compliment indeed. Mirallas, Fellaini, Baines and Pienaar have all been sublime at times. Consistency has always been the issue. In terms of overall league performance it was never in question, but individual match performances can range from us playing some beautiful stuff, to us being on par with the Stoke City’s of this world.

David Moyes has been there through it all. From my first day at high school, my first kiss, my first pint, to my first away day. Moyes was always in charge. And he may not have won us a trophy, but he sure has won us back our pride. The man must leave with every Evertonian’s blessing. Smith was an easy act to follow. But Moyes? Well the proof will be in the pudding.

Thanks for the memories David. To me, you always have and always will be Everton. Best of luck.

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