When I was a kid, nobody wanted to be in goal. It was tantamount to an admission that your family had a long history of sex offences. But then, Big Nev.
One of my earliest memories was watching Everton beat Watford in the 1984 FA Cup final. I think more than anything it was the fact that my dad had bet on what time the first goal would be. An action that is the tiniest tip of the largest iceberg of the world’s most terrible parenting endured over the years. Actually, wait. Something that doesn’t even exist can’t be parenting. But let’s not get into that now.
The thing is with Nev is he was always my favourite as a player, but nothing could prepare me for him evolving into pretty much my favourite person, full stop. Whether he’s giving trans people a voice, concocting dark, skeleton-based poetry or generally just laying into the Tories, there’s something for everyone.
That’s assuming you’re not a twat. I’m not sure how you got here if you are. Please leave immediately thanks.
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