6:07 AM. Damn-it, I’m late.
Thankfully, Ms. Reilly, our fox terrier with a psychic connection to Rooney, as confirmed yet again this week, wakes me after over-sleeping kickoff. Apparently, our hound only wakes me annually for Rooney’s Return to Goodison, as she’d never wake me up for another Premiership match. Good dog, I’ve got an extra Milk Bone for you. Now, the coffee pot is on. Game selected on TiVo. Ah, I’m only a few minutes behind a real-time feed and can catch-up at half. Game on.
8:01 AM. Game over. United 1, Everton 1.
What a wasted opportunity. Now I’m wired, frustrated, and feel a certain aimlessness that comes from watching United loose or draw too early and alone in the morning. I don’t feel like doing anything now. Anything. Activities that’d normally seem appealing on a weekend morning, such as reading the paper, are somehow rendered pointless. My day has gone as gray as the fall weather.
Looking historically, you can’t feel hard-done by a draw away to Everton, but the first-half red-domination seemed ever-so-easy, an absolute delight to watch. Passes pinging around the pitch that created lovely scoring opportunities, constant singing from the United away-supporters and nothing beyond the predictable complaints for Alan Wiley’s refereeing from the Stanely Park blues. The Everton back line looking confused, their paper-thin confidence nearing rupture, and the only question that begged asking is “how many?” not if we will win.
What the hell happened?
My only explanation for this match is that some pagan priestess put a hex on the team defending the Gwladys Street End. That must be it. Every single United backline defender gaffed spectacularly in 45 minutes of play – well, maybe Evra’s clearance-header up the right-attacking-channel was in the first half, but the point’s still made. Well after the match, I’m still gob smacked by Rio’s criminally-slow back-pass pick-off by Yakubu, by Vidic out-jumped for a header-goal, and by Wes Brown getting picked clean on the outside edge after attempting a turn in no-man’s land. A different side on a different day sends us home without any points. Happily Everton’s attack hasn’t jelled yet this season. We’ll take the point and move on, thank you very little.
It’s not the best of times, nor the worst of times – simply the grayest for quite awhile.
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