Best, Worst, First, Last?

My last fan article was an analytical critique of Everton’s playing style, strategic direction, leadership, management and players. May I now present my latest piece: a far more personal account, born from the need to take a retrospective look at my life and share the highs, the lows, the elation, and the pain of my wild and varied journey as an Evertonian over the past 41 years. These memories mostly come to me in the dead of night, lying awake, listening to my TPN pump keep me nourished and hydrated (i.e. alive), wondering to myself: Have I lived a meaningful life?

The Best of Times

Without a doubt, it was the Fiorentina match at Goodison during the 2007/08 season. My buddy Keith H and I grabbed a very early Ryanair flight to Liverpool on a Thursday morning, returning the next day. As far as I remember, the flights cost €10 total—€9.99 over and one cent back! We arrived like two excited teenagers (we were in our early thirties, but escaping for a night back then with young kids at home was a real novelty).

First things first: drop our bags at the hostel (€10 a night). We never actually slept in the place; we just collected our bags around 4:00 AM the next morning and went straight to the airport. We started off at the Wetherspoons near Lime Street in typical Paddy fashion, sipping a few pints before moving on to Mathew Street and the surrounding area. Happily chatting away to our Scouse brothers and sisters—same wicked sense of humour, similar sounding lilts—it was just a fantastic late-morning-turned-early-afternoon session, filled with banter and craic!!

Then it was on to Goodison, where we spent an hour or so hunting out bargains in the Megastore. For some reason, I bought a beautiful dressing gown. Don’t ask. I’d still have it today, only my ex-wife threw it out when we separated.

The match itself was surreal. I still get goosebumps thinking of it. We got tickets for the Gwladys Street End, right behind the goal, a little to the left and about halfway up the stand. We had a perfect view of Arteta’s missile of a goal. Even before that hit the back of the net (we just knew it was in), the place erupted: pure elation, hugging strangers, unbridled joy. I will never forget it. The ground beneath us was shaking thunderously—for a moment, the stadium came alive.

I could go on forever about the Fiorentina match, but an honourable mention must go to the 2009 FA Cup semi-final against United at Wembley. Our seats were directly behind the goal where the penalty shootout took place, giving us a front-row view of the drama. The ebbing and flowing of the shootout  was unbelievable, and when we finally scored the winning spot-kick, it was pure elation— overwhelming relief, I would say. We had a Wembley final to look forward to and a very decent side on the pitch.

The Worst of Times

My worst memory is perhaps a little strange. It was the Monday after losing 6–2 to Aston Villa—having been 6–0 down—on TV, in front of millions. Being a Toffee in Dublin means putting up with a lot of stick from United and Liverpool fans, and it was becoming harder to go toe-to-toe arguing with classmates and friends about who had the better team. That match was THE moment it dawned on me that we were finished as a top-class side. We were gutless, clueless—a pathetic collection of disjointed and disinterested players. I was sweating, shaking watching that capitulation, I knew my week in school would be hell!! At that point, the squad had become a hybrid of title winners and inferior replacements, and an “us versus them” mentality had, in my opinion, taken hold, to the team’s detriment.

The 2009 Cup Final ran this a close second. Having been to the semi-final at Wembley—witnessing Evertonians everywhere coming out of pubs along the way, dancing and singing—I ended up watching the final in my local, with two Keiths, both of whom I had badgered into becoming Blues. I had been drinking Bulmers/Magners Pear cider ("perry"), which, unbeknownst to me, meant I would spend the entire evening on the toilet. A crude detail, but a necessary and apt detail, given how that match went.

The First Time

My first match at Goodison was during the 1996/97 season when we played Manchester United. By then, United were a powerhouse and we were well and truly on the slide. It showed on the pitch; I barely remember anything of note to cheer about all day. My primary memory is the United end chanting, "So fucking easy, so fucking eeaaasssyyy"—and they were right. Getting the ferry across for the weekend was the only real option back then, and I remember being completely shattered from lack of sleep, which definitely didn’t help the mood while watching alongside two Reds (Mark and Ian) and a United fan (Joseph). Needless to say, the evening drinks were “muted”.

The pajama jersey 🙂

The first away match I attended was against Spurs at White Hart Lane in 1993. Visiting my uncle in London on the way home from a student summer (working and partying) in Munich, we managed to get tickets to the game—something that was obviously much easier to do back then. Winning 2–1 with minutes to go, my friend Mark suggested we leave a little early to beat the crowds. I insisted on staying until the final whistle. We lost 3–2. Damn you, Darren Caskey.

My first jersey was the 1987 title-winning diamond kit. I loved it, though by 1989 it looked more like a boob tube on me after a massive growth spurt. Still, it cost £5 in a bargain bucket, and I made it fit for a few months! My first away jersey (actually this was a third strip) was the lovely white-and-grey (with blue pinstripe) “pyjama” shirt, which I still have, though going threadbare in a collection that must be well over 70 by now. It still fits!! Note to self: count jerseys.

The Last Time

The last time I went to Goodison was for the farewell tour in April of last year. My wife and I had moved to Dubai in late 2024 and made the trip to Goodison en route to Sheffield to watch the World Snooker quarter-finals—something on my “bucket list”, having idolised Alex Higgins and Jimmy White on the green baize during the 80’s. Due to timing, we missed our scheduled tour slot, but we were told that if we went “around the back” and paid £25 each, we could still go in. I had no sterling on me (I’m a tap and go kinda guy), and we couldn't find an ATM, and thus ultimately never made it inside. Still, even walking around the exterior of the stadium on a lovely spring morning when the surrounding streets are quiet and empty, was a magical experience.

At the snooker; outside BMD; at Goodison with wife and Dixie; me on Goodison Road!

The First Time and the Last Time?

This Saturday, I travel to Liverpool to watch the Lille friendly. This will be my first time inside the new stadium and its surroundings, having only looked at it from behind the Bramley-Moore Dock perimeter walls back in April 2025. It may also be my last time, as my diagnosis is grim.

I am bringing my lifelong friend (and lifelong Red) Mark to the match as a thank you for his friendship over the years—and it’s only fair, since he was right beside me at those matches against Man United and Spurs all those years ago. We have tickets in the Trinity Place Bar—to hell with the expense🤣!

I am determined that this will not be my final visit to the new stadium, but in many ways, that is no longer up to me. I will continue to make memories with my beloved Everton, both good and bad. We often tell ourselves that the losses don’t hurt as much as they used to, but that’s just our defence mechanism. They still hurt. We all feel it. But they only make the good times so much sweeter. I fully intend to write an article detailing the experience, hopefully it will be deemed worthy of publication on this wonderful website.