Moyes Shuts the Door on the Word 'Europe', but Everton Are Locking Their Own Attack

That night I sat in front of the screen with a cup of coffee that had long gone cold. Everton against Ipswich. Twenty-one shots. Two on target. Read that number again — twenty-one attempts and only two that hit the frame. I did not need to rewatch the footage to know something was wrong with their attack, but what made me pause longer was not on the pitch. It was in the press room.

David Moyes sat there. He did not talk about Europe. He did not mention fifth place in the Premier League table. He only spoke about crosses and missed finishes. When the whole press room goes quiet, I know I have just touched the sore spot.

At sixty-five, I still stay up until three in the morning to watch a match nobody else cares about. And I have learned one thing across nearly half a century in this trade: when a manager refuses to talk about what the whole world is talking about, that is not humility. That is fear, correctly placed.

The context matters more than any single number. Everton are unbeaten in seven matches across all competitions, with five clean sheets, sitting fifth in the Premier League on nine points. That sounds good. But Moyes remembers last season clearly: at one point in March, his side were on Champions League pace, then went winless in their final seven matches and finished the season thirteenth. Nine points now cannot erase that memory. He told the press plainly that he would not mention Europe, because he still remembers last season too well.

Those are the words of a man who has already been burned once by his own memory — and does not want to be burned again.

But the real Everton story is not in the table. It is in the asymmetry between the two halves of the team.

Five clean sheets in seven matches is a repeatable foundation. Clean-sheet rates are far more stable than conversion rates, which is why I am not entirely pessimistic about Everton's defence. They defend with organisation, a compact low block, and an ability to protect the box. This is traditional English football — unglamorous, but durable.

The problem is at the other end. Twenty-one shots yielding only two on target does not mean Everton lack chances. It means they choose the wrong ones, or finish them badly. The average on-target rate for a Premier League side is usually around thirty to thirty-five percent. Everton are below ten percent. That is the gap between a team that attacks and a team that only tries to.

Moyes knows this. He talks about better crosses, better finishes, shooting from the edge of the box. That is the diagnosis of a traditional British manager: whip it in from wide and finish cleanly. The problem is that deep, packed defences dismantle that approach with ease. When opponents know you are going to cross, you have no surprise left.

But one detail made me sit up straight. Iliman Ndiaye is reportedly on his way to Manchester City. Beto is also leaving. That leaves Everton with exactly one recognised centre-forward: Barry, a young player carrying the entire attack on his shoulders, while his manager publicly criticises the whole attacking unit, saying he has been rapping them in a way people would not believe.

Let me be clear: the Ndiaye-to-City claim comes from a single source, with no fee, no contract structure, and no club confirmation. I treat it as unverified. But if it is true, this is no longer a form problem. It is a squad-structure problem.

And if you ask me why a club that just signed twelve to thirteen players in one window would sell its most creative asset to a direct rival, the answer lies in the Premier League's PSR rules. Selling players is the fastest route to accounting profit. For a club that has already been docked points for breaching financial rules, selling an asset to create headroom is far more legible as compliance behaviour than as sporting strategy. Selling to comply, not selling to reinvest.

And this is the crux: when a club loses both its creative hub and its only remaining striker in the same window, it does not have a form problem. It has a squad-design problem — and no training session fixes that.

Where could I be wrong? I have to be honest with myself before being honest with you.

First, the sample is far too small. Seven matches is not enough to conclude anything about a thirty-eight-game season. Second, Ndiaye may not actually leave, and I have said so plainly. Third, Moyes may be calculating very differently from me: selling an asset to create financial headroom, then using that headroom to buy a higher-calibre striker in the next window. Next summer, Everton move into a new stadium, matchday revenue will rise sharply, and PSR pressure may ease. If so, this is a long-range gamble, not a mistake.

I should also add a detail nobody in the original report mentioned: the Carabao Cup round of sixteen against Newcastle is the most accessible route to Europe for Everton this season. A European place via a domestic cup, with a thin squad, is far more realistic than forcing their way into the Premier League top six.

The international break has also arrived at a useful moment for Moyes. He has uninterrupted time to re-coach the attack, to drill finishing, before the next block of fixtures. That is not a rest period. It is a split programme: half the squad recovering, the other half working on the final third.

But here is what I believe. If Everton's attack really is as thin as I think, you will see it in the next four to six fixtures. Goalless draws. Shots that disappear into nothing. And a manager who will have to talk about Europe in a different voice — or not at all.

The stadium is empty, but I can hear the hearts of thousands of Everton fans beating as one. And that rhythm, with an attack down to a single striker, is slowing.

People hate me because I say it first, then remember me because I was right. This time, I hope I am wrong.