"He waits. That’s what he does. Then he shuffles. That’s how he moves. Side-step, side-step, side-step, tracking the bogey, marshalling it, gently manoeuvring it into position. And then he strikes. There is a heavy thump of boot on ball and a roar from the frenzied crowd. Patrice Evra spins through the night sky, landing heavily, the air driven from his lungs on impact. Unruffled and uninterested in the acclaim, Tony Hibbert gets to his feet and shuffles back into position. That’s what he does. He is not a superstar, he is not a brand. He’s just a bloody bloke.
There are certain expectations of a 21st century full-back. They must be auxiliary wingers, scampering up and down the pitch, tracking their man, but providing their own pressure on the flanks. They must be whippets in boots, probing and penetrating like a well thrown javelin. Hibbert probes and penetrates like a sledgehammer swung through the side of a shed. He’ll get forward occasionally, he’s even been known to set up the odd goal, but he has never, ever shared a sentence with the word ‘cavalier.’
This isn’t to patronise or denigrate his achievements. Hibbert made his debut for Everton in 2001 and you don’t get to play more than 250 Premier League games over an 11 year period purely because you’re a hard worker. Hibbert is intelligent, he doesn’t desert his post, he rarely switches off and he always, always makes sure that the man he is marking knows that he’s been marked. You can see why David Moyes has never sought to replace him. While Marouane Fellaini was the star of Everton’s opening night 1-0 victory over Manchester United, Hibbert typified his team’s efforts. He is, in many ways, Everton personified"
