Or are we Danka?

By now the big cuddly home economics teacher and his ruddy hands, caked in flour, may well have been announced as the manager of newly-crowned ‘fucking-massive-big-club’ Everton FC.

All sorts of pundits and football writers are going radio rental about us at the moment, on the strength of persuading the manager who finished sixth in the Premier League last season to leave Southampton.

Look out Real Madrid.

Koeman seems sound enough like, even if the protracted negotiations – which in fairness are probably more to do with the club he’s leaving – do give the whiff of him doing us a favour by accepting a rumoured six million big ones a year for taking the job. His work at St. Mary’s was admirable, especially given how he had the rug pulled from under him in terms of player retention, and there’s no reason why he shouldn’t do a decent job at Goodison, but where has all this ‘we are now a footballing superpower’ stuff come from?

The A Single Man-attired Farhad Moshiri hasn’t actually spend a bean yet but we are the new Paris St. Germain on the Mersey according to many. That berserk new telly deal is imminent, as is a big transfer fee for Romelu Lukaku – at the very least – so we are pretty good for a payday loan at the moment. That’s not to say the Moshiri’s intentions are not pure, but it just seems a bit, well, Newcastle, to be congratulating ourselves because the new majority shareholder is quite wealthy.

What’s even more weird are the rumours suggesting that billionaire Moshiri is actually only a front for ‘subject of endless boring Arsenal stories that also involve Stan Kroenke’, and Russia’s richest man, Alisher Usmanov. Why is that good when Philip Green being the power behind Bill Kenwright was always alluded to as the rotten secret at the heart of the Everton administration?

‘Where’s the pension money, Phil?’

Everton would be fucking magic if they didn’t have two brass ha’pennies to rub together. As indeed they haven’t for quite some time. Does the fact that some random foreign gadgies may or may not be about to spunk a horrible amount of their money – or more likely the bank’s – into the pockets of some footballers and their agents, really give the likes of Chris Bascombe the right to start tickling our bellies?

‘Hey Chris, love your stuff. Great article about the Blues. Do you think we can crack the top four this season and then push on after that? Heard anything about who we’re signing?’

It feels like we are not far from fellas turning up at the match holding up bits of cardboard with a minty MasterCard logo drawn on and the words ‘For everything else there’s Moshiri’.

Being rich is shit now, anyway. League Champions Danny Simpson and Jeff Schlupp can attest to that.

Going back to Koeman, it’s interesting to read that his brother is on his coaching staff. Apparently he is very much in charge of the defensive side of things and very conservative in his approach.

That’s right, he’s ‘Erwin on the side of caution’.

While ‘researching’ there, it appears that Erwin’s son, also a footballer, is called Len. That’s ace. Up there with young Colin van Basten and Barry Maradona.

Everton are not only after new coaching staff – they are also interested in some fella with the temerity to call himself just ‘Monchi’, like some sort of collectible Japanese monster. He’s Sevilla’s Director of Football, looks like Nosferatu, and loads of big clubs – like us! – are apparently after him.

Superstar administrators, what’s the world coming to?

The Euros start on Friday. They’ve ruined it with the new format though. It was always the hipster’s tournament compared to the bloated World Cup, with no shit teams, making every group game an absolute cockfight. There’s a load of dross in this one though, and games kicking off at 2pm in the week.

Welcome back to This Is Not Football, guaranteed to piss on your chips when you least expect it.