'Venturing over to the dark side'

'If Everton were playing at the bottom of the garden, I'd pull the curtains.'

The 8:40 Virgin train careered towards London Euston through the greenery and ice-ridden flatlands of England. The journey from my home on the Wirral, just outside Liverpool, to the heart of England’s capital city had taken a mere couple of hours. My thoughts often sidetracked to the quote above and others like it, as my friend and I made our way to North London and the home of Tottenham Hotspurs, White Hart Lane.

We were due to sit in the 27th row of the away end section for Tottenham’s home game against Everton. My friend, Sharpy had asked me a few weeks back if I wanted to go down with him and watch this important tie which could have had significant impact on who plays in Europe next season.
For those who are unlucky enough to know me, their knowledge tells them I’m a Liverpool fan and have been since I received both Liverpool and Everton shirts during the Christmas of 1995 and deemed the Crown Paint sponsored red shirt as my lifelong colour.

The way football works, particularly nowadays were it all seems to matter that little more, is that your club are your sole focus and that every other team doesn’t matter. Everything about them is alien to what you, your fellow fans and your club are about. So for me to travel so far from home for an Everton game is an eyebrow raiser in itself to say the least. My personal feeling though......Well, I’m just off to watch some Sunday football with one of my best mates.

As we rolled into Euston, you’re immediately hit with a sense of the multi cultural Britain that isn’t so obvious back home. Before I’d even walked out of the main doors to the station I’d heard 2 or 3 different languages, all stood looking at the departures board, confused at our running of public transport and unaware of the experiences they were about to have on board one of our ‘fantastic’ national trains.

After a brief shake of the head and a huge puff of despondent breath towards the 30p charge for being allowed to go the toilet, and with Euston stations very own ‘toilet monitor’ guarding the entrance to the cubicles like the Orcs of Mordor in Lord of the Rings which meant I couldn’t jump over the barrier, we went underground to the London tubes.

We were due to meet an old friend in Finsbury Park so our detour meant a couple of different lines before our final stop at White Hart Lane. Making our way down the 25 escalators before getting to what felt like the core of the Earth in the heat of the underground, we spotted Everton’s very own legendary striker Graeme Sharp. My friend, the Evertonian and season ticket holder at Goodison Park almost dropped the can of Kronenbourg he was carrying about the place as he meandered his way through the disgruntled Londoners awaiting their train. It’s safe to say the Cheshire Cat would have been proud of his smile, and after a brief conversation with his hero and 5 more minutes on the tube with his mouth gawping as wide as the Mersey Tunnel entrance staring at him, we arrived at Finsbury Park tube station.

My friend Karl, who we had just met, informed us that no pubs were open till 12pm, so being the excited away day travellers we were, stood outside the pub down the road from the station 10 minutes before opening time, eager to get our lips on the first proper pint of the day. We were greeted by a barmaid who seemed disgruntled to the fact we were keen to drink so early, but our awkwardness towards that particular situation was shared by the 7 or 8 others also waiting to enter the alehouse, so it wasn’t so bad. It seems our capital is a city of alcoholics and we were happy enough to get on board with that for the day.

Some pints later and a couple of expensive shots of Jager, we said goodbye to the creepy barmaid who was definitely high on something (and it wasn’t life) as well as arranging to meet Karl for a couple more drinks after the game. We merrily made our way down towards our tube station with Sharpy belting out a couple of Everton songs as I laughed and apologised to every passer by who’s eardrum had suffered thanks to his version of ‘Jela-Jelavic’. On the train we leapt and White Hart Lane was a few brief stops away.

Mini match report

The game itself was an enthralling one, with both teams having dominant spells throughout which created some fascinating counter attacking football. Both sides had players missing after injury or suspension sidelined them for the afternoon’s activities. Both though played like they deserved those coveted European spots and both had fantastic support from their respective fans on a fresh mid afternoon in North London.

Kevin Mirallas was the pick of the players for Everton as he created and scored the Toffee’s second with a couple of twists and turns to send Stephen Caulkner into a defenders nightmare. Victor Anichebe worked tirelessly but to no avail as he squandered a one on one with Hugo Lloris right at the death. Nikica Jelavic needed to find form in this one but found himself on the bench at the start of the game. He got his chance in the 52nd but didn’t do enough to convince the Everton faithful his form was returning. The Croatian’s 8 goals in 36 games this season is a poor return in comparison to the 11 he bagged in the 16 played after his January signing in 2012.

Tottenham at times looked tired, and with their Europa League fixtures continuing to pile up it almost felt like the late Gylfi Sigurdsson tap in was something of a surprise. 1 point in the last two home games has given the Spurs fans a minor cause for concern and this was pretty evident as we chatted to a couple of them on the walk back to the tube station.

They lacked pace, particularly on the wings with Aaron Lennon and Gareth Bale both out. Scott Parker isn’t the fastest and as much as Dembele has controlled games on many occasions this season, he didn’t have his usual impact and was replaced by Tom Huddlestone in the second half. Tottenham though have a certain resilience about them that hasn’t been around in years before, and watching up close I got the feeling Andre Villas Boas has really moulded his team into what he’d tried but failed to do at Chelsea. Next season I have no doubt they will be one of the favourites for the Champions League places, and with added signings to go along with prospects like Lewis Holtby as well as Sunday’s goal scorer Sigurdsson, they look a potential force to be reckoned with.

With the game finished, we met Karl for a couple more drinks near Euston before getting on the wrong train back to our connecting station Crewe, and found ourselves on a four and half hour local stopping station train instead. This didn’t scupper my satisfaction at a great day of football and ‘away day’ travel. I’d ventured out of many people’s comfort zones and gone almost against the grain of what most believe shouldn’t be done in football. On the other hand, as an aspiring Sports Journalist, I’d gotten everything I’d wanted and when on that sloth like train crawling back to the North I couldn’t wait to get back and write this on my site.

Part of what football and sport is about is that of competitiveness, of people coming together and celebrating it, of cheering on the teams and the competitors we are lucky enough to be able to watch, to form a rivalry that’s respectful and not resentful of others. More often than not we see the negative side to what football has created, the vile chants, the abuse of players from fans, the abuse of fans to other fans. It’s a side I’ve never liked and will never have time for. One of the reasons I travelled down to London to watch Everton was to gain a simple understanding of fan culture. Many see going to watch another football team at another ground other than theirs as an act not even the devil can conjure up.

I can tell you right now that these 3500 Everton fans I stood in the middle of don’t have 3 heads, purple slobber and webbed hands or feet. They, like everybody else, spend incredible amounts to cover all corners of the country, of the world sometimes, to watch their team. They drink the same beer, sit on the same train, debate the same debates, read the same articles, sing the same songs (albeit with a couple of different words) and most importantly, they go to watch the same sport.

This article won’t change the minds of every rival hating supporter; this isn’t the angle I am trying to take here. I’m not a pushover fan either, I have one team and that will never change. I will happily go for a pint with a level headed Manchester United fan before they play against Liverpool. The debates can ravage on for hours, with healthy talk about best teams and great managers, and no bitterness towards past incidents of chants about Hillsborough or Munich. But once they enter their away section the rivalry (albeit respectful) begins. Unfortunately that isn’t the case for everyone, and that’s the unfortunate part of our sport. Maybe people should disagree with Bill Shankly, and open their curtains to any game, and enjoy it for what it is. I certainly did, and feel all the better for it.