It’s late in the first half of Everton’s recent home match versus Fulham. I’m sitting in the Top Balcony on my farewell trip to Goodison, my last-ever chance to take in a game at the Grand Old Lady. My only other trip, two years prior, had been nothing short of perfect. I had been trying to balance my excitement for this visit with the knowledge that this one—at least the match, anyway—may not go the same way. 

“Second ball!” 

“It’s not good enough!”

“Dyche, ye dinosaur!”

The disgruntled shouts were starting to ring out, a general sense of annoyance filling the stadium. It was, to put it politely, not a great watch. 

So why was I grinning from ear to ear? 

Thanks to the time difference, in the States football almost always happens in the morning—more often than not, Everton ruin your entire weekend before it’s even started! But that day, with a 5.30 pm local kickoff, I’d already had a full, fulfilling day: a delicious breakfast at Leaf on Bold St; a peek at the inside of St. Luke’s; a leisurely stroll around Sefton Park on an absolutely picture-perfect day. Even if the game was an absolute disaster, which it was shaping up to be, it would be hard for that to erase the great day I’d already had. 

But it was more than that, too. In the States, I’m usually watching Everton either at home by myself, or, if it’s a “late” kickoff, I’ll try to head to the local Everton supporters pub. It’s always a good, fun, friendly crowd, but usually there’s only a dozen or two Blues there.

So, sitting in Goodison that night, I was feeling something I’d never felt before. This is what it felt like to watch Everton surrounded by 38,000 other people who were just as miserable as I was. Everyone else was just as irritated about the sitting back, the insipid and uninspired play. You could breathe it in. Yes, we were miserable. But we were all miserable together, and I couldn’t help but smile.

I had a lovely chat with the fellow next to me; I had a glorious five seconds where I thought I’d seen Dom score in person before it was ruled off; I got to see Keano at striker (“KEAN-O, KEAN-O, KEAN-O” a small child shouted continuously behind me, a continuation of how Big Mick Keggers was serenaded after his banger the week before); Beto knocked in the late equalizer and we scraped a point out of nothing. I was able to catch up with friends both before and after the match, and it all ended with another unforgettable night at the Denbigh, joyously singing songs and polishing off pints—and generally having a laugh and a shared grimace over the state of the football we’d all just watched.  

Many, many locals offered sincere apologies that I had come all this way only to watch such a horrible match. Honestly, it was fine, I had a great time! I replied, to many a raised eyebrow. Yes the match was shit, but I tried to explain how much I enjoyed being in a stadium packed full of annoyed Blues regardless. I basically just gestured around to the packed pub, full of smiling and singing Toffees. This is why I was here.  

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Twitter was a big part of the reason why I even had people to meet up with at the match, despite traveling over alone. It was the main way I’d stayed connected with folks I had met two years previously. It was becoming more and more difficult to justify remaining on the platform, though, and I desperately wanted to leave. But I was scared to leave behind the Blue community, especially after I’d just once again relied on Twitter to connect with people while in Liverpool. 

This week, it finally seemed like Bluesky was gaining some real traction. And with Blue in the name…of course Evertonians were spearheading the mass Twitter exodus there, away from what had become such a hate-filled and hate-fueled platform. 

I was quickly having the most fun I’d had on the “Everton internet” since probably fall 2020, when we were all posting videos with “Spirit of the Blues” dubbed over meme videos. It felt like Norm from Cheers entering the bar every time a new Blue showed up, or like being at a party and every time the door opened, a different old friend who you weren’t expecting but secretly hoped would be there had arrived. 

There was so much joy simply in finding each other again, in a much happier space. Turns out I didn’t need to be worried at all about losing the Everton community. 

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I woke up from a nap on Tuesday afternoon and checked my phone. I had a number of friend requests from people on the Everton Discord I’d been part of for years. A little unusual, I thought, but then when I tried to open the app, the server was simply gone.

I instantly started panicking. The Discord is gone?! It can’t be gone?! Years of Good Times^TM had vanished. Through new manager sagas (yes, plural) and points deductions (yes, plural) and derby wins (yes, plural, two of them!!) and custom Seamus Coleman emojis (obviously yes, plural), it was the closest feeling I’d had before the Fulham match of being surrounded by people who feel the same way about Everton that I do.

What happened next was a truly heroic rescue mission. (Saving Private Ryan could never!) Almost instantly, someone began spinning up a replacement server. Multiple people reached out to me across various platforms to make sure I had a link to rejoin. In turn, I immediately began messaging everyone I thought I could reach. It felt like throwing out lifesavers into the water after a boat capsized. “What about so-and-so, has anyone gotten a hold of so-and-so yet?” people asked. It was clear that no one would be left behind if we could help it.

Within 24 hours, half of the server’s users were recovered, including most of the regular posters. Once again, people were greeted with cheers and relief as one by one users reentered the server. Once again, I needn’t have worried about losing an Everton community. 

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Perhaps nothing, though, spoke to me as much about community recently as the time I spent in the city of Liverpool at large. Everywhere I turned there was evidence of people supporting each other, most obviously in the campaigns gathering funds for Zoe’s Place in seemingly every business in town. The volunteers with buckets collecting cash outside Goodison before the match caught me after I’d just given the last of my bills to Fans Supporting Foodbanks; I had to scrounge around my bag for a few coins to drop in and then made sure to contribute at my dinner restaurant the next night (shoutout to “Zoe’s Invisible Fries” at Maray…and shoutout to the Disco Cauliflower, iykyk). 

I was thrilled to see that Zoe’s Place raised the money they needed to stay open—an incredible feat of community fundraising—but I was not surprised after all I’d seen in the city and how much work goes in (across club colors, too) to giving a hand to others who need it. I’d been happy to support Homebaked Bakery by wolfing down an absolutely boss (did I use that right?) Coleman steak & Guinness pie before the match. It was thanks to Everton Twitter that I knew to swing by Paper Cup Coffee and support their work for people experiencing homelessness. 

I ended my visit on Sunday night by lurking at the Bridewell. I was beyond exhausted, but determined to support the pub after the fun nights I’d had at its sister the Denbigh (and as the sponsor of the excellent Everton Byline podcast from The Blue Room). It was chilly and raining outside, but inside was warm and cheerful. The bartenders greeted everyone with a huge smile, an apology about the weather, and a hand delivered pint. As it was a Sunday night, there seemed to be plenty of families coming to the pub together after dinner. I found myself actually feeling a little pang of jealousy of the sense of community I’d seen there, and throughout the entire city.

I don’t know when I’ll be back, but when I am, it will hopefully be to take in a match at the new stadium. Some things will be different, I’m sure, but I’m also sure that the feeling of community will still be there.

Until then, see you on Bluesky, up those effing Toffees, and for any local Blues, please support Everton Women in their last-ever Goodison Derby this weekend!