Did you see Gylfi Sidgurdsson’s goal last night. His first for Everton and probably the best goal he’s ever going to score for anyone. 50 yards, on the run, so much though that as he kicked the ball he fell over. Made no difference. He’d spotted the goalie a mile off his goal line and knew what was required. Beckham’s done it, Rooney’s done it, Nayim did it most magnificently, but its always spectacular. Because you need the wherewithal to appreciate the fleeting situation AND have the ability to capitalise on it.

Gylfi’s 45 million pound price tag is looking like a bargain. Ok, its not. In fact its nothing like a bargain, its quite ridiculous. Even though you could buy 4 Sigurdssons for 1 Neymar. And get a new deal for Ibrahimavic with the change. Should that float your proverbial (and very expensive) boat. Don’t get me wrong; I love Gylfi. He’s a class act and always has been. But his price tag was purely a reflection of Everton’s windfall in selling Lukaku for 75 mil to Man United. If that hadn’t happened, Gylfi either wouldn’t have gone or would have gone for the 18 mil he’s probably ‘worth’.

But his arrival means that Everton can now also unload Ross Barkley. And as a Spurs fan, as we are apparently the most likely destination for that man, I would rather have Sigurdsson back any day than the somewhat stroppy, sometime nasty, often unpredictable quasi-wayward midfielder. Especially as Barkley too is likely to carry a price tag north of 40 million. And for what? For 3 goals a year and ‘loads of potential’. Bit like David Bentley a few years back. Potential is sometimes realised but more often than not, in football, it just isn’t. It just ‘withers on the vine’. And again, its 40 million because its Spurs and they’re a ‘rich club’.

A champions league club is what we are. Unlike ‘some’. But what a group we seem to have been included into. Easy bloody peasy. Real Madrid, Dortmund, no problemo. Get the big boys out the way early then we only have the dross to contend with later in the season. A nice easy run to the final when we’re inevitably tiring a bit. So that’s the plan.

Holy fucking moly

Happy Friday

A xxxx