by Chris McClintick

It was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever had to do, suppress the pure bliss within me watching Everton easily handle Woverhampton, while sitting in the Wolves supporters-section of Molineux.

Following the crowd, booing the Everton players, acting appalled at the slightest hint of an Everton infraction, sitting silently when Everton scored their three goals, muttering expletives to my friend beside me to disguise myself the best I could.  Inside however, I was singing along with the Everton faithful just sitting around the corner, jumping up and down after Phil Neville scored, and in a constant state of shock and disbelief that I was actually watching my favorite club and players in the flesh. 

For the previous six years, my weekly schedule was planned solely around Everton’s match that week.  I would do whatever possible to catch the match on a tiny, pixilated, screen on whichever computer I happened to be closest to.  Sometimes while at home, I would have the luxury of watching them on FSC, but mainly I was left scouring streaming websites to continue nourishing the ever-growing, deep, emotional bonds with the club. 

Perhaps the best part about being a soccer fan -- regardless of whichever club one supports -- are those bonds that are created when one watches a team week-in, week-out.  Not only with the club, but each player, and most importantly the fans.  After every Everton goal is scored at Goodison Park, the camera pans to the fans in a state of pure jubilation.  I’ve always wished I could be with them, caught in a moment filled with a cascade of joy, relief, excitement, hope, noise, euphoria, and so many other emotions, which only a goal could elicit. 

Instead, usually I’m screaming, jumping, and cheering alone in the early morning wearing only boxers, a kit, and a scarf. If at work, pumping my fists underneath the desk to avoid anyone noticing my blatant and out of place celebrations; or even worse celebrating in front of non-soccer fans who see me as some crazed fanatic who needs to learn some civility.  

None of that was the case this time.  For the first time in my life I was at an actual match, on a real pitch, no pixilation or worries about losing the stream to be had.  And what a game it was.  I was on the Wolves’ end of the pitch during the first half, putting me in perfect position to see Leon Osman’s cross that Beckford headed home, Phil Neville’s goal from the top of the box, and the rocket from Bilyaletdinov.  It was incredible as an American to see Tim Howard’s big saves right in front of me, and being awed by the reaction time and athleticism.  However the pinnacle of the match for me was surely Phil Neville’s goal in the first half.

After Phil Neville scored his goal I relished seeing him point straight to Moyes then head directly to the corner flag to do the signature Tim Cahill celebration of punching the corner flag, but then I immediately turned to the Everton section only a few rows from me.  I’ll never forget what I saw.  A few thousand supporters had just witnessed their captain score his first goal in three years, the last coming off a deflection on a rainy boxing day in Goodison Park against Bolton.  Not only was it a great shot right on top of the 18-yard box that put Everton 2-0 before the half, but also it was novelty of seeing a solid, consistent, defensive player have shot instead of laying the ball to the wing for a cross in the typical Everton style.  Most importantly, it was from the captain, the player who has lead the squad for years and is looked up to by all of the players on the pitch, who sets the example, and what a better example to set. 

This was the one point of the match in which I couldn’t hold back a smile.  The travelling Everton fans knew they just witnessed history, albeit one goal from a club hero, it could very well be his last.  They knew right when it happened that they would never forget the fact that they saw Phil Neville -- of all people -- smash one home, and so did I.