Before the final whistle and the chaos that followed, there was the original ending—the expected conclusion. The board signaled five minutes of stoppage time. Vitalii Mykolenko sent a cross straight out of play. Jarrad Branthwaite and Carlos Alcaraz collided, heads clashing. Tim Iroegbunam blasted a shot so wildly off target it nearly cleared the stadium. Liverpool fans sang about winning the league at Goodison Park. Some spectators had already started heading for the exits.
Had it ended there, it would have been a fitting conclusion to the final Goodison Park derby a match reflective of where these two teams stand. Everton, full of fight but lacking the edge. Liverpool, clinical and ruthless. A supercomputer had simulated this fixture thousands of times, predicting a Liverpool victory with 60% certainty. As the clock ticked past 97 minutes, that prediction seemed locked in.
Then came the moment no algorithm could account for. Ashley Young lofted the ball forward, seemingly a last-ditch effort. Time had almost expired, yet a strange energy took hold. A force beyond statistics, beyond logic. A moment detached from expected outcomes. What are the probabilities of James Tarkowski volleying in a goal under pressure, in the 98th minute, in the last Merseyside derby at Goodison? Impossible to quantify. But in that instant, it was inevitable.
Did Everton deserve it? The question itself felt irrelevant. This was a goal immune to explanation, born from a string of improbable coincidences. The whistle didn’t blow when Young played the ball. Doucouré avoided an offside call. Szoboszlai’s attempted block rebounded off Mykolenko’s neck only to land perfectly at his feet. Beto shoved Konaté, unnoticed. Every break somehow favored the side trailing their rivals by 30 points yet needing this moment to exist. Liverpool’s frustration at the final whistle was understandable they had entered a space beyond their control, where reality bent in defiance of logic.
Through the frenzy, Everton remained clear in their approach: disciplined off the ball, compact in a 4-4-2 formation, daring Liverpool to break them down. The crowd, deafening from the first whistle, seemed to fuel every challenge, every clearance. The energy stretched deep into the Bullens Road Lower, where fans, often unable to track the ball through the air, absorbed the emotion rather than the action.
Tarkowski’s equalizer wasn’t the only moment of clarity in front of goal. Beto, long dismissed as a misfiring £26m signing, found himself with a rare chance. Rather than rush or snatch at the opportunity, he steadied himself, composed, clinical. He has scored just 11 goals in English football, but this one will be remembered above the rest.
Liverpool had arrived not to celebrate Goodison, but to bury it. Mac Allister pounced on a mistake to level the score while Everton were still adjusting. Iliman Ndiaye was forced off in tears after an injury. The match was littered with fouls, misjudged tackles, and yellow cards. When Mohamed Salah put Liverpool ahead, the stadium momentarily fell silent. Everton’s limitations became painfully evident the mix of determined veterans and raw potential simply outmatched at this level.
No late equalizer can fix the deeper issues. The best players in the world aren’t queuing up to join Everton. Financial struggles remain. Past mistakes still cast long shadows—poor recruitment, reactionary hiring decisions, short-term gambles that backfired. Selling young talents like Ademola Lookman while splurging on big-name signings with little long-term impact it’s like renting your underwear while buying designer suits.
Tarkowski’s goal doesn’t erase those problems. It earns a single point and nothing more. It doesn’t redefine Everton or alter Liverpool’s trajectory. But it serves as a reminder of football’s untamed spirit. Data, planning, control none of it can fully contain the game’s unpredictable nature. There will always be a space where only chaos, passion, and madness can exist.
