MAN OF THE MATCH

MY HEART went out to the Setanta pundits last night.
Not to mention good old Ronnie Goodlass in the Radio Merseyside commentary box at Manchester City’s admirable Eastlands stadium.

They all faced a task far more difficult than Tom Hick’s Jnr’s dry cleaner - they had to pick an Everton man of the match.
There was a time when the over-riding ‘player song’ during an average Blue’s match was about the Best Little Spaniard We Know.
But even if Mikel Arteta had been on the pitch yesterday, I doubt he’d have heard his name sung as much as last term.
Because everywhere you looked there seemed to be star players in blue. Each of the starting eleven, and subs (the ever more infuriating ball-loser Fernandes excluded) were superb.
From Howard’s crucial last pitch saves, we saw Hibbert defying his critics and shackling Petrov, Lescott somehow flourishing even further, Jagielka letting Capello know his name, Yobo purring, to a midfield where Osman mixed guile with endeavour, Carsley asserted himself as usual, Pienaar dazzled and Cahill reminded us why we love him.
Even without a goal I’ll give Cahill more than his due (after I questioned his recent effectiveness a few blogs ago) because he was back in the world-class bracket last night.
Then there’s the Yak. It’s been too long since we’ve had someone up front that you regularly back in front of goal. His effortless flick-finish from Cahill’s through ball oozed predatory pedigree and reeked of a player without a hint of self-doubt.
Yakubu is like that skilful lad at school, who always seemed that good he didn't need to exert himself flat-out.
But even in the perspiration department, where we’ve criticised him in the past, the 25-year-old Nigerian is doing the business.
He tracked back, held the ball up, tackled, kept his composure in the face of kicks and shoves and even fairly won a shoulder barging 50/50 with archetypal grock Richard Dunne, only to be unfairly penalised by Rob Styles (who the programme listed as the referee, instead of surrealist performance artist ).*
Afterwards, Phil Neville, who didn’t put a foot - or pass! - wrong in midfield (you thought I’d forgot him didn't you) spoke of Everton’s fourth spot ambition.
Being a genuinely humble and un-starry sort he phrased our aims by saying we were ‘no longer embarrassed’ to admit we want fourth place.
I know what he meant, but for me that smacks of an insecurity hinted a in previous blog Perception (http://gwladtidings.merseyblogs.co.uk/2008/02/perception.html).
Embarrassment is irrelevant in terms of our performances this season.
Maybe the first time we gate-crasehd the party to finish fourth, humility had to be a given (we had Marcus Bent up front for the love of God).
But I prefer to see this season’s half-completed development as natural progression.
Rewind to Lescott’s goal and look at the confidence, even borderline arrogance in his face after he calmly nodded home.
It reminds me of another time when winning was expected. When we relaxed enough to enjoy it. And when embarrassment was saved for the likes of Emlyn Hughes outside St George’s Hall.

* NB - Just in case you wondered. It’s now legal for centre halves to prevent goals by making diving saves with their arms during a match against Everton. So stop complaining.

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