Singing in the rain with 10,000 Evertonians

A wonderful piece on a wonderful day.

Got the train from Potsmouth to London, then up to Nottingham with ESCLA. Ended up in a pub-cum-brewery and missed kick-off. I'm sure it was the rain that made everything blurry. Worst toilets I've seen at a football ground.

A great day when we started daring to dream.

We got soaked, and we were in the stand with a roof over our heads – there were some very large holes in it.

I can still hear myself shouting “Nooooo” as Andy Gray went to head the ball that was what, 3 inches off the deck?

Peter (3),

I did that myself; unfortunately, not an Everton goal, but Man City v Leicester.

I was in Ned Kelly's pub watching that vital match for City when Vincent Kompany tried a shot from about 30 yards. I'm screaming "Nooooooo – fuckin' Yiiiiiiiiiiiiiss!!!" as it screamed into the top corner of the net for the winning goal. A lot of Red fans in the pub weren't very happy with me, I was delirious.

Those were the days: 18, scrimping, scrapping and living for the match.

That for me was one of the epic days which, whilst often forgotten, cemented the club, supporters and players, as to believe the impossible is possible.

I recall Nev had another brilliant game, and Ricoh and his cast and the ref, being a timid with advantage when Sharpie was in.

Andy Gray's half-volley header is immortal in Everton football folklore.

If only, to have a day like that again. Those three years or so, 83-87, were the halcyon days for me as an Evertonian, and puts in perspective, the world of football.

For me the dynamics, training, sports science, and finance of the game has changed exponentially, but I reckon Howard Kendall and his team, with modern training and methods, would win the Premier League today.

On day... in the next couple of years... for Everton to get some silverware?

I was one of the contingent on the open Kop. Apart from the goals, the only thing I can remember about the game was that we got absolutely drenched. I discovered that my waterproof cagoule was no longer waterproof.

After the match, we boarded the coach soaked to the skin. Somebody passed a bottle of whisky around and most of us had a swig. Someone else found a small hand towel which was also passed around in a way which guaranteed the spread of any viruses.

By Sunday evening, I knew I was coming down with a dose of flu. I was not alone. Three of my four mates on the coach also caught it. The one who didn't had resisted the temptation of the whisky and the towel. When we gathered on the Gwladys Street terrace the following Saturday for the league game against Ipswich, all you could hear was people coughing. For many, it was several weeks before they fully recovered.

Thankfully, we all had the wonderful consolation of a winning team.