c48: Birdman Vardy
"Dear viewers in front of your screens, welcome to the Premier League's featured match of the weekend: Everton vs. Middlesbrough, live from Goodison Park!"
"Everton have been flying high since their narrow 2–1 loss to Arsenal on opening day. Since then, they've racked up three wins and a draw, including a shock 1–0 away victory at Old Trafford—yes, over Manchester United! That momentum has carried them to third in the league table. A position few, if any, would have predicted at the start of the season."
"The big question now, can David Moyes' side keep up the pressure on Arsenal and Liverpool at the top?"
"But there's another story catching fire—Jamie Vardy. England's hottest new prospect. He's been the ultimate super-sub in the last two league games, coming off the bench and scoring clutch goals. Four points from those games? Vardy made them possible."
"In the League Cup midweek, Vardy bagged a brace in 20 minutes against Sheffield Wednesday, killing the tie before it had even begun. It was clinical, confident, and cool-headed. We might just be witnessing the emergence of a future England international."
"Four goals in just three appearances. That's a better strike rate than established stars like Alan Shearer and Michael Owen managed in their breakthrough runs. Vardy's stats right now? One goal every 38 minutes. Unreal!"
"And now, for the first time, Vardy is starting. Fans and pundits alike are eager to see if he can carry that super-sub magic into a full 90 minutes."
In the studio, pundits buzzed with anticipation. Then, the atmosphere shifted.
"Looks like both teams are stepping out onto the pitch now... And... oh my word—what are we looking at?!"
The commentator almost dropped his mic as Vardy walked out onto the field.
Gasps echoed across Goodison Park. Cheers that had been building collapsed into stunned silence. All eyes were drawn to the explosion of color strutting confidently alongside Everton's starting eleven.
The TV broadcast zoomed in on Vardy's head, and across England, jaws dropped.
Was that... feathers?
It looked like someone had plucked every parrot, peacock, and pheasant in Britain and stuck the results onto Vardy's head. His hair, dyed in every conceivable neon hue, stood up like a fireworks display gone wrong.
Millions of viewers recoiled. Some switched channels. Social media imploded.
But shockingly, England's younger fans were loving it. TikTok lit up instantly. #BirdmanVardy began trending. Teenagers were already planning dye appointments, eager to replicate the chaos.
Back at Goodison, the Everton faithful were too stunned to even chant. A collective thought echoed through the stands:
Dear God. What happened to our handsome lad?
...
Vardy, for his part, couldn't have cared less.
Every shocked face, every gasp of disbelief it all translated to characteristic points in his system. He was thriving.
The more outrageous it got, the more valuable it became.
Birdman. That was his new name now.
When captain David Weir (still affectionately called "Captain Will" by the squad) won the coin toss, Middlesbrough took kickoff. Vardy and Duncan Ferguson dropped back outside the center circle, waiting.
But Vardy noticed something strange.
All the Middlesbrough players were staring—no, gawking—at him.
Not at Ferguson, not at Gravesen, not even the Everton formation. Just... him.
Eyes wide. Mouths twitching.
Fine. Let them stare.
Let's see how they feel once the scoreboard changes.
As the whistle blew, Vardy surged forward like a hawk on the hunt.
Tactically, Moyes had learned from the City game that Everton's best results didn't come from throwing bodies forward. Instead of risking too much, he structured his side around solid defense with sharp counterattacks. Vardy's explosive speed was key more of a guided missile than a striker.
And now, for the first time, Moyes had unleashed him from the start.
Middlesbrough is sitting mid-table in the Premier League, currently ranked 7th after a solid if unspectacular run. They've been consistent grinding out results and rarely slipping up but their form hasn't been enough to push them into the top four conversation.
As a seasoned Premier League club, Middlesbrough looked down on teams like Everton, who had flirted with relegation battles in recent seasons. In their eyes, Everton were scrappy survivors, not genuine contenders.
But no one anticipated the blue side of Merseyside emerging as the season's most surprising dark horse. With three wins and a draw after their initial loss to Arsenal, including that stunning away win over Manchester United at Old Trafford, Everton now sat third in the table, ahead of giants like Liverpool, Newcastle, and even United.
The younger brother had become the one to lead.
How could a proud side like Middlesbrough reconcile that?
So, despite playing away from the Riverside, Middlesbrough came to Goodison Park with one clear mission: bring Everton back down to earth. Knock them off their high horse. End the fairytale.
From the first whistle, Middlesbrough poured forward with aggression, pushing high up the pitch, swarming Everton's half like they were the side with everything to prove.
Vardy's usual aggressive pressing in midfield lacked impact early on. With no pressing triggers or backup from his teammates, his runs felt disjointed. Rather than burn himself out, Vardy smartly drifted closer to the halfway line lying in wait like a coiled spring.
He knew his role.
Everton, calm and disciplined, absorbed the pressure. The backline, marshaled by David Weir and supported by the tenacious Gravesen and the tireless Lee Carsley, stood firm. They had already held firm against Ronaldo and Van Nistelrooy at Old Trafford. Middlesbrough's frontline, led by Mark Viduka, didn't inspire the same fear.
Although Middlesbrough retained more possession and pushed Everton deeper at times, their final third play lacked sharpness. Everton bent but did not break.
And when the counterattack came, Middlesbrough were shaken.
Vardy and Duncan Ferguson remained Everton's strike pair. Ferguson, known for his physicality and aerial dominance, was meant to knock down long balls for Vardy to chase. Paired with late midfield runners like Tim Cahill, the blueprint was simple but dangerous.
Yet something felt off.
Ferguson, usually dominant in the air, lost two early duels to Gareth Southgate and Ugo Ehiogu, both of whom anticipated the long balls well. Vardy's electric pace was going unused waiting, waiting for that one perfect moment.
Middlesbrough sensed the lull and adjusted.
They slowed the tempo and reinforced their defensive shape. They hadn't come to embarrass themselves. They wanted a result.
But the shift in their posture allowed Everton to grow into the game. Gradually, their counters became sharper. Even with Ferguson misfiring, Vardy stepped up to carry more of the offensive burden.
Moyes stood stoic on the sideline, watching closely. He knew this was Vardy's time. In a system built on defensive counterattacks, few players were more dangerous in transition than Vardy. Moyes wasn't concerned with style Everton needed points, not aesthetics.
Fifteen minutes in, Middlesbrough continued to edge the possession stats, but their threats were minimal. A single shot from Viduka, created after muscling past Weir and letting loose from distance, was calmly gathered by Nigel Martyn between the sticks.
The veteran keeper wasted no time, launching a booming punt downfield. The ball soared over midfield and into open space.
And then ignition.
Vardy exploded into a sprint, chasing down the long ball with terrifying speed. Goodison Park erupted.
Middlesbrough's defenders panicked. Vardy's burst was almost unfair his acceleration left Franck Queudrue stumbling and Southgate scrambling to cover.
But when he finally reached the ball near the right channel, his path was closed off. Middlesbrough had triple coverage in place. A triangle of defenders blocked the lane to goal.
The same lad who'd scored four goals in his last three appearances had clearly been highlighted in the scouting report. They weren't going to let him run riot again.
With options cut off, Vardy slowed.
From the sideline, Middlesbrough players smirked.
We've got you.
That pace only works in space. You're done.
Somewhere in their smugness, one even whispered: Should've stuck to hair dye and TikTok dances, mate.
But Vardy was smiling.
Not a forced grin or a nervous laugh a strange, gleeful, almost mischievous smile. One that made Southgate hesitate, just for a second.
It was the kind of grin that said:
You think this is over?
It hasn't even begun.
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