Horse 1667 - An Open Letter to Everton F.C.

Dear Everton,

I know that we haven't seen eye to eye (what with me being a Liverpool fan and all) and I might have said some mean things about you in the past but it's not like we're horrible enemies in the same way that I might be with Manchester United.
Just like the rivalry between England and Scotland, Australia and New Zealand, or Nutella and Peanut Butter, Everton and Liverpool are a pair of first best enemies and worst best friends.

Do you remember how in 1986, the people of Liverpool left en masse and bundled into trains and cars to invade London for the FA Cup Final? That day, reds and blues, blues and reds, all mingled in a glorious sea of Royal Liverpool Purple as the Glorious Kingdom of Merseyside knew either way that it would claim the silverware.
Likewise in the weeks which followed the tragedy of Hillsborough, it was you who stood with us side by side in our darkest hours, in this fortress built by nature for herself; against infection and the hand of war; and The Sun. Indeed to this day, if reds or blues buy The Sun in Liverpool, they are quite rightly met with scorn and derision.

We both know that the eternal struggle between Liverpool and Everton is the "friendly derby" because supporters of both clubs have to go back to work, or school the next morning. Even homes can be split in twain.

So Everton, we appeal to you in the spirit of brotherly rivalry to do one small thing for us... beat Manchester City on Saturday at Goodison. Yes we understand we're asking for help in winning a league title but please remember that it was this same city from up the Mersey, who stole your golden child Rooney and whose citizens have looked down the Mersey from atop a gilded tower built with Murdoch's and several Russian billionaires' money.

We ask that you beat Manchester City for us; although this does mean that a league title passes into the hands of Anfield, it would still be in the postcode of L4 and surely that's better than M anything?
Because we'd all like to see the likes of Manchester City standing alone (or with a pathetically annoying red friend); without a dream in their heart; without a love of their own.

Thanks in advance,
Rollo.

PS: If you want a cathedral, we've got one to spare... but we're keeping Anfield. You moved out in 1892.