When Skies Are Grey. You'll Never Know How Much I Love You

When Skies Are Grey was one of my favourite fanzines back in the day. Along with Speke From The Harbour, for those old enough to remember. Me and my mates used to club together to buy them on the streets around Goodison back in the days before smartphones. 

Would Everton realise how much I love them? I don't think they ever will or could; I don't even think I could explain it. It is just something that is inside me. It has been since my earliest memories and will be until I go to meet my maker in Blue Heaven to talk about Everton with him. An obsession I can't shake. If anything, I get worse with age. 

Apologies in advance, this one is from the heart and soul and I'll get to the season soon. 

I will get the morbid stuff out of the way. Over the past year, I lost my wife, our son lost his mother, and then my beloved boy Rhodesian Ridgeback passed away not long after. 

But like many, I am from resilient Liverpool-Irish stock and fought through. No matter what you go on to become or where you end up living, you never forget your roots, your upbringing. Or Everton, and the city that will always be home to me. 

My sisters told me to give Everton a rest… No chance. There were dogs to be walked and Everton matches to be watched. Everton and football have always been my escape from work and life. Some get confused by my often blind devotion, but something that has been with you for life never leaves you.

As I always told Melanie, it's just a different type of love. It's not a competition. Advice: never tell a woman that in the heat of a debate, by the way — it doesn't help the situation. 

On the season, they took us to the limit — as the Eagles song refers to. But we stood by them no matter what. We always have done. We always will. But that was a tough ride and, although I was in denial at the time, privately, I thought we were heading for the trapdoor.

The season was a test of the blue blood pressure.  But as always, a pleasure being amongst you and with you in the stadiums around the country or online. 

Tony, with his knowledge and kindness; Mark Murphy, the Count of St Helens, Protector of Horsham and more recently, Duke of Birmingham; Rob Halligan, the Oppressor of Tottenham and Newcastle, Destroyer of Satan's Children; John Raftery, the Educator (seriously, if you get the chance, sit next to him at a match – I think I know football); Neil Copeland, the Hooligan of Nottingham, Orchestrator of Anfield: John Mac Senior, the Wise; Dave Abrahams, the Sapient; Michael of Kenrick, the Enforcer. Robert Tressell, the Encyclopaedia. 

Not on these pages anymore, but Brian Murray, the Militant Evertonian. Special thanks. He keeps in touch with me daily. Often to shout at me for being a soft arse. Massive blue, heart of blue gold. 

Darren Atkins the Saviour. Thank You – I can't thank you enough for your kindness. Likewise, John Austin and your friend Graham. 

Too many to mention. The Brians, Harlech Bill, Derek Knox, Andy Crooks, Brendan, Peter Mills, Martin Mason, who is great company. Paul Ferry (the Firestarter, but a Teddy Bear deep down). And Paul Birmingham, who was good to me, by being there, as were you all.  

The West Country Blues. Dedication that beats mine, although I don't eat salmon sandwiches. I have to save myself for the Goodison Supper Bar and my staple diet of chips, peas and onion gravy until they changed hands and got their onions all wrong, so I was on rice with curry sauce after that. 

I don't usually get emotional. The wife used to say my heart only beat once a minute. Twice if Everton scored. Well, I love you all. 

Anyway, a season of two halves. 

It didn't start well, shipping 10 goals in the first 3 league games against Brighton, Tottenham and Bournemouth. The latter was the most shocking. 2 – 0 up on the 87th minute. We somehow manage to lose 3 – 2. 

September was a bit better, although draws against would-be relegated Leicester and Southampton are hardly to shout about. Another 2 – 0 lead thrown away against Aston Villa. I could hear her smirking at me, asking me if it was worth it!! Notable that month was Dwight McNeil's contribution. I appreciate that we all have opinions on players, but with the players we had, he was really missed when not available last season. 

On to October. Beto rescues a point deep in stoppage time against Fulham. We get a welcome away win against Ipswich and then a decent blank draw against Newcastle Utd. But it isn't feeling right. I rarely say this, but I'm not enjoying watching Everton. 

It was around this time that I, and others I attend the match with, were observing that Dyche was losing the players. You could see it. They were not responding. 

November. The less said, the better. No goals and we hand Southampton their first win, which would transpire to be one of two over the season, the other being against Ipswich. This has now gone from not feeling right, to being concerned. Now, Dyche is quickly losing the supporters. You can hear it in the stands. Not quite the toxicity dished out to Benitez, but the pitchforks are out. 

In the run-up to Christmas, there were many times that even my optimistic self often left Goodison Park feeling numb. I had no feeling. But December was slightly better. A bad start, being thumped by Manchester United, but a 4 – 0 win against Wolves and then some hard-earned points against the likes of Arsenal, Chelsea and Manchester City. 

It didn't matter, we remained in a precarious position and the storm clouds weren't just gathering, they were bellowing down from the stands. Change was needed… and quickly. 

The ownership gets sorted. Now I'm feeling better about Everton. Both for the future and for the season. We can turn this around. 

Into January. Beaten by Bournemouth… and then the decision. Now I'm not going to hide or contradict myself. I was disappointed and thought bringing Moyes back was a step backwards. But, it happened, so I gave it a go. I only really care about Everton and rarely look at the dugout. It could be anyone. It turned out to transform our season. 

But in his first game, we lost against Villa. I could hear her again.  

For me, the turning point was the Tottenham win 3 – 2. Very Everton. Cruising at 3 – 0, but I didn't feel comfortable. Lo and behold, after a great performance for over an hour, we did our best to try and throw it away.

My most memorable moment of that day, aside from Ndiaye's magnificent goal, was the bloke next to me in the Upper Gwladys. When our Senegalese magician jinked his way through the Tottenham defence and smashed it into the net, I had to grab him by his coat. His seat was positioned on the back row and had no seats in front, so he was aiming for a tumble down the stairs in front of him. He thanked and hugged me. 

Brighton away. Always a good day out on the south coast. I had to do one of my go-in-with-the-home-supporters thing and was surrounded by Japanese Brighton fans, which was entertaining. They were more interested in the nearby noisy Evertonians than the match. The stewards sussed me early doors, but were fine and I had a good chat with them.

A hard-fought 3 points, although that second half gave me flashbacks to "Keep It Tight And Nick One". Stoic defending though. And then the long wait to get on the platform for the train. They may have a station right outside the stadium, but the people traffic control system makes it a nightmare waiting to get down to the platform, let alone on the train. 

On to February and the feel-good factor is growing. You could sense it. A formality against Leicester. Nothing to brag about. A shame that, what ended up being my son's last game at Goodison, and the last FA Cup Match at Goodison Park, saw us beaten again by our seemingly recent nemesis, Bournemouth. It wasn't just the result, it was the performance. Even the usually reliable Tarkowski seemed to have someone else's boots on. 

But then the skipper redeems himself with "that" strike against Liverpool – as Tony Bellew put it in his interview – "when we beat them 2 – 2". I know it wasn't a victory, but I wouldn't argue with the Wavertree Bomber.

The travesty of not getting awarded a late penalty against Manchester United. But then two of the best away matches I attended. 

Crystal Palace, for the atmosphere. Both in the Prince George pre- and post-match, as much as inside Selhurst Park.

And Brentford. Once again, in with the home supporters, but within touching distance of the Evertonians. Mr Murphy could barely contain himself, but we weren't alone. There were plenty of blues around us. I can still visualise Jake O'Brien diving for that header and from the angle where we were sat, I knew it was in as soon as it left his head, as it was heading straight towards us. 

March was a bit of a nothing month. Two points from two matches. At least we weren't losing. I was confident now that we were safe and could look up. 

April had ups and downs, but by now, we were going into each match feeling optimistic. I won't dwell too much, as I've said it before, but that Anfield derby brought home to me how much the divide between the tribes has opened up and it was a toxic atmosphere. A narrow defeat, but a good performance. Then a well-earned point against a faltering Arsenal, but not a great spectacle of football. 

Beaten by Manchester City and then Chelsea in a close non-descript match. Yet again, I'm in with the home supporters courtesy of my Chelsea supporting Battersea cousin. He always introduces me and they are fine. He's already told me yesterday, that he'll sort out tickets for Stamford Bridge next season. I don't mind sitting with the opposition, they always seem to take to me. I've told him that I will try to get him to the Dock. And his dad, who is from Speke and supports Everton. 

Then into May. For the first time in a few seasons, we could relax. Not before we once again threw away a 2 – 0 lead to surrender two points, this time against Ipswich.

But then we made the trip to Fulham, congregating in the Eight Bells, before the walk through the park in the sunshine. This time we come back from a goal down. Yet again, in with the home supporters, although the end behind the goal at Fulham is neutral, so many Blues around. No segregation, so at half-time, I wandered up to be amongst the Everton supporters. Forget the points, they didn't matter. I'll remember it for the emergence of the new Jordan Pickford song. He was definitely singing along. 

Southampton home. I don't need to say anymore. The emotion and occasion was unbelievable. Well done to the club and the supporters, inside and outside the ground.

The only time it got to me was as we left the ground. As we were leaving, a dad said to his lad "This is the last time you're leaving these gates. Remember it". Well, I had to put my arm around his shoulder. Not for him or his kid but for me. 

Finally, Newcastle away. The result didn't matter. We had a great day out and that travelling blue army were in fine voice up in the heavens, making themselves heard, loud and proud.

It was a tough season. Once again we've been through the mill, but this time it felt worse, if that was at all possible. Outwardly, I refused to accept it, but inwardly, I genuinely feared for our top-flight survival, not that I would ever have admitted it — even to the mirror. 

The end of an era. But the beginning of a new one. So on to the new stadium. I'll see you there and we'll no doubt establish new meet-up points, although I think it will be a while before the old rituals disappear for many.

Spirit… Forever… There She Goes.  

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