Toffees made it stickier than it ought to be

I WAS fretting at half-time on Saturday, as my 11-year old nephew, Jake, had flown over from Dublin with his mum, for his first ever pilgrimage to the Home of Football (Mark II).

I was most disappointed for him that we were one down, after such a humdrum first-half Arsenal performance. And with the two of them sitting close to the front, behind the goal, I was gutted that we hadn’t managed to score at their end.

It was also somewhat disconcerting to discover through my binoculars that they were only separated from the Everton fans by a thin line of orange-jacketed stewards in the very last two seats in their row. Luckily Jake’s not a delicate lad and didn’t appear unduly bothered to find himself acting as the net, with all the banter being batted back and forth above his head.