Everton: Another great escape looks unlikely and I expect it to end in disaster, says IAN BIRRELL

There is something profoundly irrational about being a football fan. The time, money and effort spent following your club.

The delusions, the hopes, the fears. How your mood is dictated by a few billionaires gathered from around the world kicking around a ball for 90 minutes.

But for more than half a century, I have followed my chosen club, Everton, with a rare devotion.

So today I’ll head to East London to watch them play West Ham, a game blessed with many unusually fond memories of a game win in the capital.

But this one is played out amidst swirling clouds of darkness, an existential fight for survival against yet another struggling club with deep roots in its community, ironically led by David Moyes, who led our own team so skillfully for 11 years.

Both managers are fighting for their jobs. But for Everton, the issues go far beyond the future of Frank Lampard, a legendary player who seems like a charming fellow, forged a strong bond with his new fans but sadly looks out of his league as manager.

Everton’s decline is a cautionary tale for modern sport: a famed club with a proud history and strong community ties that sold its soul in the desperate pursuit of trophies, only to prove once again that money doesn’t always buy success, let alone the happiness.

It is a story of tragedy with horrifying failures in the boardroom and on the pitch leading to anger, bitterness and the looming threat of relegation for a club with nine league titles and the second-longest number of continuous seasons. in the highest category.

There is a bumbling owner who never makes it to games and blames the fans for his need to keep firing managers. The hated executives allege they were too scared by the threats to attend the last disastrous home game, beaten by the last club that hasn’t won since October.

And some frustrated supporters chased a local boy who made a silly mistake down the street while driving away in his G-Wagon.

Perhaps as fans we were blinded by ambition, misled by history, and failed to appreciate that era of stability under Moyes. As we battled for European places, the club largely used its limited money wisely in the transfer lottery and we followed a plucky side with character.

A friend even suggested that the club’s motto should change from Nils Satis Nisi Optimum (Only the best is good enough) to Cave Quid Volunt (Be careful what you wish for).

Maybe they can pull off another great escape. But the mood seems so toxic, the ineptitude so immense, the gap between owner, officials and fans so stark, that every supporter I know is hoping this season will finally end with a disastrous drop in the Championship.

Even the simple question of who actually manages and finances Everton is mired in controversy.

This club has been a big part of my life. I don’t follow any other sport, just Everton FC. I’ve forged close friendships with a few fellow fans, enjoyed joyous community moments around matches over the years and grown fond of Liverpool (the city, not the club).

I chose my allegiance as an opposing eight-year-old in Surrey, seduced by the 1970 title-winning team. I wanted to be different from my Arsenal-supporting father, Chelsea-loving brother and Leeds-following friends.

My devotion was secured in the first game I attended in 1976, when I watched my hero Bob Latchford lead a terrific late-minute comeback with a headed assist and then a spectacular run to complete a 3-3 draw at White Hart Lane. against the Spurs. .

Everton were the Mersey Millionaires, bankrolled by a swimming pool magnate who shelled out a UK-record transfer fee of £350,000 to sign the formidable striker from Birmingham City.

It was money well spent since he became top scorer for six seasons, unlike the hundreds of millions spent in recent years to finish off a toothless team that can’t find the net.

“Once Everton have touched you, nothing will be the same,” said Alan Ball. Many players echoed his sentiment, based on the passion of the fans and the club’s ties to its local community, over the years, even as our national game became a global juggernaut.

And this makes today’s acrimony between the board and the supporters all the sadder.

Living in the West Midlands during Howard Kendall’s heyday in the mid-eighties, I was able to enjoy the poise and beauty of a glorious team that would have dominated Europe were it not for the post-Heysel ban on English clubs. For a long time we have seemed cursed by bad luck.

Sunderland’s 4-1 destruction in 1985, with two incredible headers in four minutes from Andy Gray, was the best Everton performance I’ve ever seen in person.

Although what a joy to be at Goodison many years later when a 16-year-old of astonishing confidence and skill named Wayne Rooney announced himself on the world stage with a winner against Arsenal.

It was 2002, the start of the Moyes era which began with the Glaswegian’s christening of ‘The People’s Club’, a smart move to restore pride to a club struggling in the shadow of its successful neighbour. He then built a team of committed fighters, typified by Tim Cahill.

The club hit beyond its weight. It was owned by a well done local guy. But as money flooded into the Premier League, often from dubious foreign sources, fans grew frustrated with financial struggles and an inability to return to the elite.

Bill Kenwright should have quit when he sold the Iranian-born Farhad Moshiri in 2016 to a rival American bidder, whether for personal or professional reasons. Instead he stayed on as president and we all thought we had found a savior who would take us back to the top.

Like fans at other clubs, we are unaware of the source of the tainted money: in Everton’s case, an oligarch close to the bloodied Vladimir Putin, since at least Moshiri struck it rich as an accountant helping metal billionaire Alisher Usmanov. uzbek. .

An ally told me that Moshiri avoids gaming due to post-Covid health fears. Regardless, weak leadership from him has been catastrophic, spending close to £700m to end up with a bland squad and crippling financial constraints under the league’s bizarre spending rules.

Lampard’s five predecessors, plus two football directors, were chewed up and spat out amid factional fighting, cronyism and some crazed decisions.

A joint £20m deal from Hull for Harry Maguire and Andy Robertson was turned down for better options. Erling Haaland, the Norwegian goalscoring machine, was turned down after a four-day trial when he could have been our successor to Dixie Dean. Rafa Benítez was hired.

Now, the imploding club appears to have turned on its fans, which, as former jeweler Gerald Ratner was able to attest after mocking his clients, is never good PR policy.

Not least when it was his fervor that helped save Everton last season, along with the saves of England goalkeeper Jordan Pickford and the tenacity of beloved Brazilian striker Richarlison, who was instantly lashed for £60m to keep the club afloat. .

The club is feeling so broken that there are fears relegation could be fatal as spending stagnates, sanctions against Russia affect Usmanov’s cash flow and a stunning new stadium is revealed to be being built on Liverpool docks. it will cost £760 million.

I gather that loan deals are being finalized to ensure completion of the stadium in the next two weeks, but if these fail, along with talks involving another group of US minority investors, the future looks bleak for those of we who really care about the club. .