Scott Murray's Blog, page 208

Arsenal v Everton: FA Cup – as it happened | Scott Murray

Minute-by-minute report: Arsenal are in the semis after an entertaining match which ended as a romp but saw Everton play their part. Scott Murray was watching

Scott Murray

Southampton v Liverpool – as it happened | Scott Murray

Minute-by-minute report: Liverpool can move up to third in the table with a win at Saints. See how they fare with Scott Murray

Scott Murray

World Cup: 25 stunning moments … No2: Uruguay's 1950 triumph v Brazil

Britain's papers buried the story, but Uruguay's Rio win was one of the most far-reaching and dramatic games ever played

Monday 17 July 1950, and the front page of the Manchester Guardian was still given over to classified advertising. Buy your new Bendix home laundry appliances at Fred Dawes, 90 London Road, Manchester; Miss Newgrosh of Princess Street, Blackburn is offering a German/Polish translation service at competitive rates; the Lancashire County Fire Brigade are selling off a 1930 Leyland fire engine, 55 hp, no guarantee attached, sold as seen, the County Council accepts no responsibility for any unexplained mechanical combustion.

Even taking the idiosyncrasies of old-school newspaper layout into account, one of the day's biggest stories had been inexplicably squirreled away. The edition's lead story on page five (just go with it) was fair enough: a report on the Battle of Taejon, the first big stramash in a war in Korea that had begun a month beforehand. But here's a few of the day's other top tales: three yachts were caught in a squall near Bridlington; lightning struck a house in Wigan; the Yorkshire Winding Enginemen's Association called a strike ballot in a pay dispute with the National Coal Board; 1.39 inches of rain fell in Hull.

And after all that, there in the bottom corner, was a brief five-paragraph report of the greatest, most dramatic, far-reaching, resonant football match ever to be played ...

All attendance records were broken at Rio de Janeiro today for the world championship Brazil-Uruguay football game: more than 160,000 people attended, paying the equivalent of about £120,000.

More than five thousand policemen, supported by special units of the Army, Navy, and the Air Force, stood by and every precaution was taken to prevent scenes like those that took place last Thursday, when two people died and more than 260 were injured in a rush for seats. The police made a final appeal to the crowd not to use fireworks to welcome the teams or to celebrate the scoring of a goal. They banned the sale of oranges and bottles of soft drinks, as these are handy weapons for anyone who disagrees with the referee.

But the police appeal was ignored. When the Brazilians trooped on to the field thousands of fireworks and rockets – both banned by the police – were let off. Clouds of confetti swept over the stands. Thousands enthusiastically waved small Brazilian flags and chanted "Brazil, Brazil, Brazil."

But it was Uruguay that won – by two goals to one – and when the final whistle blew the Brazilian players, who had expected to obtain gold medals and thousands of pounds for a win bonus, walked slowly off the field, their heads bowed low.

In the huge white-and-blue concrete stands, women were prostrate with grief, and the announcer was so thunderstruck that he forgot to broadcast the result of the other cup match between Spain and Sweden to decide minor placings. Stadium doctors treated 169 people for fits of hysteria and other troubles. Six were taken to hospital seriously ill.

Some of this report was repeated verbatim halfway down the sports section on page six, along with additional information of a celebratory samba, Brazil the Victors, which had remained unsung, and of joyous Uruguayan players hugging match referee George Reader of England as he whistled his whistle for the final time. That, however, was your lot. A couple of broad brush strokes, and no detail about the actual game. We've got to take this one on the chin: the Guardian lost the news!

Though in fairness, we were far from the worst offenders. The Times buried the story at the very bottom of the sixth column of page seven, a seven-liner consisting of the bald facts and nothing else, below the racing results from Sandown, Doncaster and Hamilton, and news of a rugby friendly between a British team on tour in New Zealand and a combined Waikato-King Country / Thames Valley side. (For the record, Britain won 30-0, a remarkable scoreline considering the state of the pitch.) The Daily Mirror hid news of the "World Soccer Cup" away on page 12, in a small piece which gave no details of the match but did at least add a splash of colour with a jazz riff on that presumptuous Brazil the Victors ditty. "It will probably become known as the Silent Samba," they lyrically predicted. The Daily Express did mention the match on its front page, fair's fair, though only in a four-line snippet at the end of a column otherwise concerned with the recall of farmer Harold Gimblett, Somerset's hard-hitting batsman, to the England Test team after an 11-year absence. Britain's coverage of what would become the most storied match in the entire history of football just wasn't cricket. We weren't that interested.

More fool us. There have been World Cups which brought better teams, greater players and higher skill levels, most of it captured in modernity's blistering Technicolor for added glitz and glamour. But the IV Campeonato Mundial De Futebol gave us the most jaw-dropping collection of stories. Reigning champions Italy, feared of flying in the wake of the Superga disaster, sailing to Brazil, rolling down the gangplank like gnocchi, then jetting home in a sulk after an early exit. The home-based amateurs of Sweden, denying themselves the Milan-based Gre-No-Li geniuses but making it to the Final Pool anyway. England beating the USA 10-1. Hooray! (That was according to one British agency, blithely assuming a rouge 1 had been lost over their wires.) The newly-built Maracanã raining concrete from its roof during the opening ceremony's 21-gun salute. Even the teams who didn't make it contributed unforgettable twists to the narrative: India, refusing to wear boots and thus being ordered to do one by Fifa; Scotland, refusing to engage their brains and turning down a runner-up's qualification spot behind England in the Home Championship.

And then there's the final, the greatest story the World Cup has ever told, its circumstance a perfect storm of biblical proportion, the eventual outcome a sporting tragedy worthy of Shakespeare. The deciding match of the 1950 World Cup, between hosts Brazil and neighbouring minnows Uruguay, wasn't, of course, technically the final: it was merely the last round-robin rubber in a ridiculous four-team Final Pool, the bureaucrats at Fifa having lost the thread completely. But fate would save them, and the tournament's historical integrity, as Fifa's pão landed jam side up, and they got away with the ludicrous decision to do away with a set-piece final. Thanks to the way the first four matches of the Final Pool panned out, the Brazil-Uruguay tie was effectively a winner-takes-all final, though Brazil's better record against the Pool's floaters, Sweden and Spain, meant they had the draw in the bag as well. Looking back, that caveat, ostensibly to Brazil's benefit, ramped up the narrative possibilities. And so a match which, in theory, could so easily have ended up as a damp-squib irrelevance turned out to be the most dramatic 90 minutes of association football ever played.

Going into the final showdown, Brazil were hot favourites to get the job done. They'd been fancied from the get-go. As well as being hosts, they were the reigning South American champions, having won the 1949 Copa América. They bagged the trophy by scoring 46 goals in eight matches, a run which included a 9-1 win against Ecuador, a 10-1 victory over Bolivia, a 7-0 evisceration of Paraguay (their nearest challengers in the league-based tournament), and a 5-1 thrashing of ... yes, you knew it, Uruguay.

Still, the 1950 World Cup wasn't all plain sailing for Brazil, who suffered some group-stage judders. They conceded a late equaliser to draw 2-2 against Switzerland. And would they have subsequently registered a 2-0 win over Yugoslavia in a tense winner-takes-all group game had the Yugoslav captain Rajko Mitic not missed the start after cracking his head open on an exposed girder in the still-half-finished Maracanã? But Flavio Costa's team made it through, and got their act together in the Final Pool in a style which was unprecedented and arguably since unmatched. They beat Sweden 7-1 in their first Pool game, then spanked Spain 6-1 in their second. The front three of Ademir, Chico and Zizinho had caught fire, coming at opponents from all angles, their many goals punctuating 90-minute showcases of dainty flicks, delicate feints, mazy dribbles, pacy runs, fluid bicycle kicks, vicious volleys, thundering headers and cute finishes. According to legend – no telly cameras, you see – one of Ademir's four against Sweden came about when he gripped the ball between his feet and somersaulted over the keeper. The Seleção's soccer was anything but a one-note samba.

Uruguay on the other hand had struggled to get to a stage where the last match in the Final Pool remained alive and decisive. Having sauntered into the Pool by beating Bolivia 8-0, their only group game in a ludicrously lopsided tournament – Fifa couldn't be bothered to rearrange their showpiece after India and Scotland had let it down – it took them a while to get their chops up against proper opposition. (Spain and Sweden were no mugs, which only goes to demonstrate Brazil's excellence.) Uruguay had to battle to salvage a draw against Spain in their first match, their captain, the obdurate Obdulio Varela, scoring a late equaliser which stood more as a testament to sheer will than skill. They then needed two goals in the last 13 minutes to turn a looming loss against Sweden into last-gasp victory. Avoiding defeat against Brazil appeared to be a pipe dream – and thanks to that dropped point in the draw against Spain, they needed a win. Good luck, lads!

By common consent, it seemed they were going to need it. Uruguay were walking into the lion's den with neither whip nor chair. The Maracanã bounced with anticipation and expectation. The early edition of O Mundo newspaper screamed "Brasil Campeao 1950!" A celebratory samba, Brazil The Victors, had been composed, the house band ready to strike it up the minute Brazil had made it three out of three in the Pool. The mayor of Rio got in first with a paean to Costa's XI: "You, players, who in less than a few hours will be hailed as champions by millions of compatriots! You who have no rivals in the entire hemisphere! You who will overcome any other competitor! You, who I already salute as victors!" An official world-record crowd of 173,850 – but in truth closer in number to 210,000 – spent the time leading up to kick-off in full party mode. 'Brasil! Brasil! Brasil!' There were approximately 100 Uruguayans in attendance. Good luck, lads!

And when the first whistle sounded, it seemed they were going to need it. Brazil flew out of the traps, Zizinho haring straight for the Uruguayan box and winning a corner that was fizzed straight through the six-yard box by Friaca. By the time 180 seconds were on the clock, Ademir had whistled two shots down the throat of Roque Maspoli in the Uruguayan goal. Within another couple of minutes, Jair had sent a free-kick close.

It seemed only a matter of time: 7-1 against Sweden, 6-1 against Spain, 5-1 against Uruguay in the Copa América the previous year, the Uruguayan goal now under fire at machine-gun pace in the opening skirmishes. But all this didn't quite tell the whole story, and may explain why Uruguay didn't simply give in. For a start, the Uruguayans were, in their own heads at least, still the reigning world champions. They'd won the 1930 version, after all, then refused to compete in the 1934 and 1938 tournaments in political pique. So as things stood, they were still unbeaten in World Cup competition – and as such, it was their title to lose. Brazil who?

Uruguay also had three of the best players in the world lining up in their team: inside forward Juan Alberto Schiaffino, winger Alcides Ghiggia, and the domineering (and aforementioned) box-to-box midfielder Obdulio Varela. The trio played their club football for Peñarol, who had been scoring goals at a preposterous rate: on average, they were rattling home 4.5 goals per league match. All three Peñarol players would have a major say in the way the game panned out.

It should also be noted that Brazil's status as champions of South America and recent 5-1 bosses of Uruguay wasn't all it seemed. Since that thrashing in the Copa América, the two countries had met three more times, Uruguay winning one game 4-3 and narrowly losing the other two. Additionally, the way Brazil claimed the 1949 Copa América title was instructive, certainly in retrospect: they had only required a draw in their final game against closest challengers Paraguay to top the tournament's league system, but lost 2-1, and were forced into a play-off against the same side. Which they admittedly won 7-0, but the affair illustrated that this brilliant Brazil could suffer from crippling nerves at the business end of tournaments along with the best of them.

Brazil remained on top throughout the first half. They had 17 efforts on goal, Ademir with five of them, the best being a thumping header from Chico's cross which Uruguayan keeper Roque Maspoli, his back arched, tipped over the bar in spectacular style. (This was Ademir being kept quiet! A state of affairs thanks in no small part to the close attention afforded him by Varela.) But Brazil couldn't score. And the half wasn't quite the one-way traffic it has been often since painted as. Ghiggia caused a fair bit of trouble down the right, where the left-back Bigode – in English, literally, Moustache – was just about holding his own. Meanwhile, for all Brazil's dominance, it was Uruguay who actually came closest to scoring, when Omar Miguez hit the post with a shot eight minutes before the break. Ten minutes earlier, Ruben Moran – making his debut in a World Cup final (!) – had missed an open goal by spooning an effort over the crossbar.

But the defining moment of the half came on 28 minutes, when Bigode, suffering his continued tussles with Ghiggia, nudged his adversary in the back. A cheeky foul. Varela, stationed nearby but getting mighty closer at speed, motioned to give Bigode a friendly pat on the head, then issued a little cuff round the defender's ear. The Moustache bristled. The English referee George Reader, mindful that he was dealing with two adults, told them both to stop being so bloody effing stupid, and to shake hands. The players reluctantly embraced, with Bigode looking visibly shaken. Varela wandered off, gathering the front of his sky blue shirt into his fist, a gesture which celebrated the recording of a little victory.

A little victory that would have big repercussions.

Brazil came out for the second half in a similar manner as they did the first, Zizinho firing straight at Maspoli. And within two minutes of the restart, they were finally ahead. Ademir, in the middle of the park, spotted Friaca making good down the inside-right channel, and released him with a reverse pass. Rodriguez Andrade tried to muscle in over Friaca's left shoulder, but he didn't get there in time. Friaca bobbled a not wholly convincing shot towards the bottom-left corner. Maspoli arguably should have got a hand to it, the ball crossing his body, but for once the keeper – who had been in astonishing form during the first half – was found wanting.

Brazil, a goal up when a draw would do, could touch the trophy. The Maracanã erupted. Varela, very cutely, engaged the linesman in vociferous debate. Ostensibly he was demanding an offside flag, but it would later become clear that he was simply playing for time, letting the 200,000-plus crowd scream themselves out, in order to take a little heat out of the situation. Not that he was of a mind to sit back and wait for things to happen, mind you. Uruguay now needed two goals if they were to win the World Cup, and there wasn't too much time to waste. It was therefore appropriate for Varela to announce his strident manifesto. "Let them shout," he told his teammate Rodriguez Andrade before Uruguay restarted the match. "In five minutes the stadium will seem like a graveyard, and then only one voice will be heard. Mine!"

The stadium was destined to seem like a graveyard all right, though Varela's timescale proved a bit ambitious. Uruguay did respond to going a goal down with a positive mindset, Schiaffino shooting wide almost immediately after the restart, Ghiggia embarking on a couple of pacy dribbles, getting right up in an increasingly flustered Bigode's grille. But it was Brazil who came closest to scoring the second goal of the game, Ademir sprinting into the box just after the hour and being clattered to the turf by Juan Carlos Gonzalez. Different times, different standards: while the player himself cried for a penalty kick, even the commentators on Brazilian radio were admitting that although "the play was ... of great violence" it was also "lawful".

On 63 minutes, Jair sent a wild free-kick sailing miles over Maspoli's crossbar. It would prove to be Brazil's last meaningful attack until the whole atmosphere had changed and the panic was on. Upon seeing his side take the lead, Brazil coach Costa had instructed his players to sit back a little, in the hope that Uruguay, desperately flooding forward, would leave spaces open at the back for deadly counter attacks. The flaw in the plan was that Uruguay were too good to be teased and manipulated in this way. Varela, now with fewer defensive duties, stepped up to augment the attack. On 66 minutes, he slid a pass to the right for Ghiggia, who turned Bigode inside out and tore past the lumbering defender on the outside, before whipping a ball to the near post, where Schiaffino stepped ahead of Juvenal to roof the ball home past goalkeeper Moacyr Barbosa.

The Maracanã didn't quite fall silent – yet – but for the first time doubts were creeping in and the atmosphere became oppressively muted. Varela, just before Brazil gingerly kicked off, stood in the centre circle with his shirt bunched in his fist again, filling the air by shouting to nobody in particular. Brazil were still on course to win the World Cup, but suddenly their passes were no longer sticking. Ghiggia danced past Bigode again and crossed once more for Schiaffino, whose header clanked wide. Ghiggia-Bigode III saw the usual depressing result for Brazil, Uruguay's scintillating winger finding the byline with ease. Schiaffino headed the resulting cross down for Moran, but before the new boy could send the ball fizzing goalwards, Augusto hacked upfield.

Bigode, who had just about kept up with Ghiggia in the first half before being cuffed by Varela, was now a shell of a man. And on 79 minutes he crumbled, as the visitors delivered the killer blow. Brazil were attempting a rare sortie upfield - they had not had a shot at goal since Schiaffino's equaliser, an astonishing shift in momentum given the stats of the opening period – but Danilo's searching pass for Jair was intercepted by Julio Perez. After one-twoing with Miguez, Perez then sashayed to the right, where he executed another one-two, this time with Ghiggia on the halfway line, before slipping a pass down the flank for the winger to chase. Ghiggia had been given the spring on the leaden-footed Bigode, and drifted inside and into the area, homing in on Barbosa. The keeper was in two minds. Should he close Ghiggia down? Thing was, Schiaffino was hovering in the middle. The indecision was fatal. Ghiggia cracked a shot low towards the near post, the ball flying into the bottom-right corner, Barbosa unable to drop to the floor in time to smother.

The Maracanã fell silent, at least 200,000 jaws agape, swinging sadly in the breeze. Make that at least 200,001, for Gonzalez appeared to be as stunned at Uruguay's turnaround as the hundreds of thousands of emotionally battered Brazilians: his keeper Maspoli had to forcibly shake him back into the land of the living. Gonzalez was far from the only one to have lost focus. Brazil, frightened but with ten minutes left to scramble out of a hole, came back at Uruguay in body, but without any real conviction in mind. Jair, Zizinho and Ademir poured forward, but Varela made a couple of easy blocks, and Maspoli gathered other speculative efforts calmly. "I will dribble them all!" Zizinho was heard to jabber at one point. Brazil were literally in a flat spin: Ademir sent one shot ballooning out for a throw by the corner flag. The Maracanã offered volume again, but the screams within were desperate where they had once been joyful.

The 90 minutes were up, but there was still time for one moment of time standing still. With the clock kaput, Friaca – who for 19 minutes looked like being Brazil's hero – forced a corner down the right and quickly took the kick himself. Jair challenged Maspoli for the high centre. The ball dropped loose at the left-hand post, where Zizinho, Ademir and Danilo were hanging. But the Uruguayan defender Schubert Gambetta got there first – then grabbed the ball with both hands! "What are you doing, you animal?!?" screamed team-mate Rodriguez Andrade. However there would be no penalty. Gambetta was one of the few people who had heard referee Reader's final whistle in the hubbub. It was over. The match was over. The 1950 World Cup was over. For Brazil, everything was over.

The Uruguayans took turns to hug and kiss referee Reader. Fifa president Jules Rimet, ushered on to the field by hysterically crying policemen, let the winning captain and man-of-the-match Varela get his hands on the trophy, though he was advised against raising it. Varela made do with going out drinking in Rio that night, the king of Uruguay, the king of Brazil, the king of the world. No celebratory samba had been performed. Elsewhere in Rio, there were suicides. The country, almost as one, resigned themselves to the fact that they would never win the World Cup. This was seismic. The world of football would never be the same again. Meanwhile on the other side of the planet, three yachts were caught in a squall near Bridlington, lightning struck a house in Wigan, the Yorkshire Winding Enginemen's Association called for a strike ballot in a pay dispute with the National Coal Board, and there was 1.39 inches of rain in Hull.

• Scott Murray is, along with Rob Smyth, the author of And Gazza Misses The Final, a collection of minute-by-minute reports of classic World Cup matches, to be released in April. The 1950 final is one of them, perhaps the best, but not necessarily so.

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Transfer deadline day – as it happened

MBM report: A great day for Crystal Palace and a bad one for Liverpool. Barry Glendenning, Jacob Steinberg and Scott Murray kept track

Barry GlendenningJacob SteinbergScott Murray

The Joy of Six: transfer-deadline buys (and other late-season follies)

Half a dozen post-Christmas purchases, including Tony Cascarino, Gordon Strachan and Faustino Asprilla

1. Rodney Marsh (Manchester City)

Along with lame double entendre, pensioner whimsy, tales of thwarted ambition and highly dubious approximations of Pakistani accents, a staple of the classic 1970s sitcom was the symbiotic relationship between suburban neighbours. Were the writers of programmes such as Terry and June, The Good Life and George and Mildred influenced by the never-ending one-upmanship of Manchesters City and United, do you think? Were they inspired by, say, the Rodney Marsh transfer, which had all the hallmarks of tightly scripted sitcom: vaulting ambition; hubris; unnecessary risk-taking; disastrous mistakes a six-year-old would have thought twice about; and a denouement of painful comeuppance, the sort which, as the credits roll, would see the protagonist pictured patting the top of his head with the palm of his hand in impotent confusion as the fixtures and fittings of his front room came crashing down around his ears?

Probably not, no.

So anyway – cue Ronnie Hazelhurst trill – 24 hours before deadline day of the 1971-72 season, Manchester City were shoo-ins for the title. They'd won five of their last seven, had scored 63 goals in 32 matches, and were four points clear at the top with 10 games remaining. Leeds and Derby, in second and third places respectively, had two games in hand, but such was City's impressive form, it was widely considered all over bar the shouting. The Guardian, to pull an example from the ether, spoke of "the championship now heading towards Maine Road".

Problem was, over at Old Trafford, mid-table Manchester United were attempting to regain their former pre-eminence by splashing the cash. As deadline day approached, they spent £330,000 on Martin Buchan from Aberdeen and (the ill-fated, as it would turn out) Ian Storey-Moore from Nottingham Forest. City felt they had to flex their muscles in response, and so made their fourth attempt to sign Rodney Marsh from QPR. The first three attempts had failed because City were playing hardball over the fee, but now they were prepared to stump £30,000 over the odds for the 27-year-old maverick. Marsh joined in a £200,000 deal. City, wrote the Guardian, had proved themselves "determined not to be pushed out of the transfer market by Manchester United or anyone else".

Cue the inevitable hubristic downfall. The Marsh era started well, with a 2-1 win at Everton, but only because the man himself was missing with a groin strain. His debut, at home to Chelsea, ended in a 1-0 win, but the goal was scored by centre-half Tommy Booth, while an overweight Marsh departed the scene 20 minutes from time with cramp, before heading back to London on the Chelsea team bus. Marsh soon regained his fitness, but City lost their form. A dismal goalless draw at Newcastle was followed by a 2-1 capitulation at home to Stoke. Defeat at Southampton followed, City couldn't decide whether to keep their new bauble on display or not; the team started to (Marsh's own words) "play around me and we lost the focus of what we were trying to do". City lost the title by a point to Derby, finishing in fourth place, in effect spooked out of their third championship by United.

Here's a question, though. Since when has sport been solely about winning? It's also about fun, trying to pull things off with a little style, performing with panache, having a story to tell. You could argue that Derby might have won the title that year, but Marsh ensured City were the most memorable turn. Speaking of which ...

2. Faustino Asprilla (Newcastle United)

The 1995-96 season may have represented the early flowering of Manchester United's astonishing Class of 92, but their signature achievements were still to come, and anyway, this particular campaign was all about another United. Newcastle were the story of the season, their gorgeously brittle football taking them to within a hair's breadth of the club's first title since 1927. Like Marsh at City, like Jean van de Velde at the 1999 Open golf, like Ronnie O'Sullivan so often at the Crucible before this late-era gameface phase he's currently enjoying, it's the swashbuckling loser who stuck in the memory and captured the hearts of the neutral.

Kevin Keegan aside, the Colombian international Faustino Asprilla is painted as the fall guy in Newcastle's ill-fated title bid. He joined in early February – "We are delighted," said Keegan, "Faustino is a world-class striker" – when Newcastle were nine points clear of Manchester United with a game in hand. By the end of the season, with Asprilla having featured in 14 games, his new club winning only six and losing five, Newcastle trailed United by four points, their dream in tatters.

But stats on their own are about as much use as an episode of Numberwang. Newcastle may have won five of their six league games leading up to Asprilla's signing, but in all competitions they had only managed six wins from 12. He hardly turned their form upside down. And in any case, Asprilla hit the ground running with some blistering form: turning defeat into victory at Middlesbrough on his debut; hitting the post at West Ham; scoring at Man City; dominating Manchester United in that first half at St James Park; scoring at home against the Hammers; and playing Liverpool off the park at Anfield.

Ah, Asprilla at Anfield. He set up one, then scored another, and it's not much of a stretch to say that, had his team-mates held onto the 3-2 lead he had given them with an insouciant flick of his boot past a hapless David James, Newcastle would have gone on to win their elusive championship. As it was, the defence capitulated and they relinquished control of the title race. Asprilla's fault? Hardly.

In any case, we're back to the bit about fun, trying to pull things off with a little style, performing with panache, having a story to tell. It's not often Eric Cantona gets bested in this department, but despite his jaw-dropping series of strikes towards the end of the season – goals which earned the 29-year-old Frenchman's team 13 priceless points, because you can't win anything just with kids – it's Asprilla's curious introduction to English football that defines the season, and gives Newcastle fans a few bittersweet memories they'd otherwise not have. Money better kept in the bank? Nope, nope, six-point-seven million times nope. Next!

3. Tony Cascarino (Aston Villa)

And here's yet another poor bugger who cops all the flak for screwing up a title challenge, unfairly so in some respects. Graham Taylor's Aston Villa were a couple of points clear of perpetual title winners Liverpool (kids, ask your granny) in early March 1990, and with the closure of the year's transfer trading looming, decided to add a little experience to an attack led by 20-year-old Ian Olney, who had been doing a mighty fine job until the goals had dried up around the turn of the year.

"With someone like Tony Daley on the wing and crossing the ball for me, I can't really go wrong!" trilled Tony Cascarino upon signing from Millwall in a £1.5m deal which rewrote Villa's record book. And here he is years later, in his wonderful memoir Extra Time: "There was no conceivable way I could fail. But I managed to find one. Becoming a million-pound player was the worst thing that ever happened to me. I became lazy and complacent." The early signs were mixed. His debut at Derby County saw Villa win 1-0, and David Lacey noted that his performance was "encouraging but inconclusive ... Cascarino fitted easily into a playing style which is not that much different from the one he left at The Den, just a little more refined". Peter Shilton denied him a debut goal with a stunning save near the left-hand post, an ersatz replay of the Banks-Pele incident in Mexico twenty years earlier.

But Villa stuttered, losing at relegation haunted Crystal Palace a week later. Cascarino was impotent, though the Guardian's Ian Ridley wondered why "a striker who thrives with a partner [was] left so isolated? When Olney belatedly came on, David Platt began to time his runs better and Gordon Cowans found more space." It suggested the team's late-season travails weren't all the fault of the new recruit, and that a paper-thin squad simply didn't have the depth to keep going all season. Indeed, the wheels on Taylor's truck had started wobbling in worrying fashion before the striker's arrival, with back-to-back defeats against Wimbledon and Coventry, the former a 3-0 undressing at home.

Cascarino finally found the net for the first time in a 3-3 home draw against Norwich at the end of April, but by then it was too late. It was the day Liverpool claimed the title, having found a late-season gem of their own in Ronny Rosenthal, who scored a perfect hat-trick on his full debut against Charlton – left foot, right foot and head – before scoring another four during the run-in. It remains Liverpool's last championship. Villa, meanwhile, have still only won it once since 1910, so Cascarino was hardly walking into an arena where success is a given. Now as for his time at Celtic ...

4. Andy Carroll (Liverpool)

A final folly before we move on to a couple of success stories. With the January transfer window uppermost in mind, let's address the elephant in the room, this big cuddly bugger. The panic buy to end all panic buys, Liverpool threw a ludicrous amount of money at Andy Carroll upon losing their beloved Fernando Torres to Chelsea. An astonishing decision in many respects, not least because another new arrival at Anfield, Luis Suarez, wasn't regarded a big enough capture on his own to placate the fanbase. Liverpool's new American owners, still finding their way in the world of not-very-sensible soccer, were accordingly played by Mike Ashley like fiddles, very much in the hoedown style.

Carroll – stylistically, the Cascarino de nos jours, which is not to do the man down at all – was never the sort of player who could justify such a fee. The entire enterprise was jiggered from the get-go. It'll be a while before an English club makes such a high-profile and expensive mistake in the transfer market again; expect this to remain the gold-standard in cock-ups for a few years yet. And yet, is Carroll unfairly traduced? Consider ...

He cost £35m, but Liverpool recouped £15m of that from West Ham. So £20m down the hole, and in return they got a player who never once became unpopular despite his struggles, Liverpool's support appreciative of his honest workrate; who scored a dramatic late Wembley winner in an FA Cup semi-final against the club's arch rivals, a game Everton really should have won; who scored one of the great FA Cup final goals, diddling one of the best defenders the English league has seen in the last decade; and was only denied a dramatic second in that game by a stunning save from the Premier League's greatest keeper of recent years. Bittersweet memories all, but at least there's a little something for all that money, and therefore shouldn't Carroll be remembered as better value for money than £4.5m wasted on Christian Poulsen here, £5m lost on Mark Gonzalez there, and £20m spent on Stewart Downing?

OK, hands up, this is post-hoc rationalisation of the most absurd order. But when you're talking about these sums of money – the total transfer fees paid by all clubs in the aforementioned 1971-72 season during which Marsh, Buchan and Storey-Moore moved was £5m – what else is left for the honest follower of football to do?

5. Frank McAvennie and Gordon Strachan (West Ham United and Leeds United)

Transfer deadline action is invariably viewed through the club prism, with supporters on tenterhooks awaiting that last-minute big-money signing or clever loan deal that will change their side's season for the better. But players have crucial decisions to make too.

Here are the two big stories on deadline day in March 1989. First up, it's Frank McAvennie. A goalscoring success during West Ham's best-ever season of 1985-86, then a double winner with Celtic in the club's centenary year of 1988, McAvennie fancied returning from Glasgow to London, presumably for the quieter life. He was offered a deal with Arsenal, but dragged his heels, hoping to go back to what he knew at Upton Park. West Ham eventually coughed up £1.25m; George Graham said "bugger that", having never paid seven figures for anyone at that point. McAvennie rejoined the Hammers, scoring a sum total of zero goals as the team were relegated; Arsenal went on to win the league. Oop!

A wiser man was Gordon Strachan. The winger had nearly left Manchester United for Lens at the start of the campaign, causing Alex Ferguson to conclude that "his enthusiasm for our cause had dwindled irretrievably". After a lacklustre display in the FA Cup quarter-final, Nottingham Forest knocking United out at Old Trafford, both parties decided a parting of the ways was for the best. Sheffield Wednesday, under Ron Atkinson, looked favourites, and Strachan was poised to sign for his old manager until Ferguson advised him to speak to Howard Wilkinson at Leeds. Strachan opted for West rather than South Yorkshire; won promotion from the old Second Division with Sgt Wilko the season after, as Wednesday and Big Ron headed in the other direction; then won the title as part of arguably the most under-rated midfield in the entire history of English football, the fulcrum of that wonderfully belligerent 1991-92 team alongside Gary McAllister, David Batty and Gary Speed.

6. Christophe Dugarry (Birmingham City)

The January transfer window has an unfair reputation as a forum for wanton, panicked largesse and comic catastrophe. Poor old Andy Carroll again. But don't expect Liverpool to take that view too seriously, despite those 35 million smackeroos in the mouth; last year they laid out £20m on Daniel Sturridge and Phillipe Coutinho, a couple of big-club misfits who have since helped Liverpool arrest a seemingly inexorable descent into mid-table oblivion in pretty spectacular style. This time round, Manchester United have revived themselves from an uncharacteristic stupor with the marquee £37m signing of Juan Mata, while eight years ago the £12.5m double purchase of Nemanja Vidic and Patrice Evra was arguably Sir Alex Ferguson's last great swoop, allowing a new-look defence time to bed in during the second half of a 2005-06 season that already looked a write-off by the turn of the year.

(United, for the record, flew out of the blocks the following season, on their way to the title. Much to the relief of Evra, who claimed upon signing that – and this is unquestionably one of the greatest quotes in the entire history of association football – "To be honest, I'll be the king of all cunts if I can't be a success here.")

But arguably the most successful New Year swoop came early doors in the new system's existence, on the second day of the first-ever January window back in 2003, in fact. Has there been a better mid-season transfer than the loan agreement that sent Bordeaux's World Cup and European Championship-winning forward Christophe Dugarry to Birmingham City? Described by manager Steve Bruce as the club's "biggest ever signing", Dugarry had failed to score in his last 13 games with Bordeaux, then went 10 games in a Blues shirt without finding the net. Hmm.

But his class was always apparent. Not long after arriving in England, he was the brains behind a draw at Blackburn in a match which saw Rovers unsuccessfully attempt to hoof him off the park, to such an extent that his body resembled his national flag by the end of the match. And when he started scoring, he couldn't stop. At the end of April, his goal against Middlesbrough was his fifth in four matches, part of a run which saw his team win seven out of nine. A relegation-haunted team were safe, and in Champions League form to boot. Dugarry couldn't keep up the act upon signing permanently in the summer, but no matter: this was more than enough to earn his status as the first great January transfer window signing in English league history.

Transfer windowScott Murray
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Tottenham Hotspur v Manchester City – as it happened | Scott Murray

Minute-by-minute report: City steamrollered Spurs again, but only after the home side were on the wrong end of three controversial decisions: a disallowed goal, a penalty and a red card. Scott Murray was watching

Scott Murray

Stevenage v Everton – as it happened | Scott Murray

Minute-by-minute report: Everton eased into the fifth round, though the loss of Bryan Oviedo to a serious injury took the shine off a clinical win. Scott Murray was watching

Scott Murray

Bournemouth v Liverpool – as it happened | Scott Murray

Minute-by-minute report: Liverpool made it to the fifth round, but failed to impress against a vibrant Bournemouth side. Scott Murray was watching

Scott Murray

FA Cup fourth round: 10 things to look out for this weekend | Scott Murray and Ian McCourt

Should Arsène Wenger rotate? Plus Phil Brown meets his former club, the holders' tricky test and did ITV pick the right game?

1) Bournemouth present challenge to Rodgers' trophy ambitions

King Kenny's second reign at Anfield isn't universally recognised as a super soaraway success story, principally due to those t-shirts and spending the best part of £20m on Stewart Downing. Fair enough. But he did still bring in some silverware, and while a League Cup might not represent the pinnacle for a big club with vaulting ambitions, tell that to David Moyes right now. Mention it to Arsène Wenger as well. For that 2012 League Cup has eased the pressure on Liverpool a tad. They've at least won a little something comparatively recently; compare and contrast with Arsenal (2005), Everton (1995) or Newcastle United (1969). Having said all that, it's only eased the pressure a tad. Brendan Rodgers and Liverpool need to learn and re-learn, respectively, the winning habit sooner rather than later. Nobody's seriously expected anything to happen for them in the league, but the cups are a different matter, and Liverpool in the Rodgers era have flopped in their first three domestic cup campaigns. A good run in the manager's fourth is vital to keep the momentum of his project going, but this draw is far from easy: Liverpool struggled against lower-league opposition in Notts County earlier this season, while last year they were humiliated and thoroughly outplayed by Oldham. After Liverpool's risible performance against Aston Villa – a scrambled 2-2 draw masking myriad deficiencies – Eddie Howe's side present a formidable barrier, especially as the Championship club have just been buoyed by a new contract for their in-form striker Lewis Grabban. Bournemouth also have previous in making life awkward for Liverpool in the cup, drawing at Anfield with Bill Shankly's men in 1968, and being denied victory late on by the legendary Gordon Hodgson back in 1927. This could be tight. SM

2) Should Wenger take a risk?

Not until the referee puffs upon his whistle and the game gets going will the carpet and pencils in Arsène Wenger's office be able to breath a sigh of relief. They must be close to worn out with all the thinking that the Arsenal manager has had to put in this week, most of which will have centred on what side he should pick for the match against Coventry. The FA Cup was the last sliver of silverware that the Frenchman was able to call his own and Lord knows every Arsenal fan would like to see their cadaverous trophy cabinet looking a little more rotund. However, and this is what Wenger has surely been noodle scratching over, does he risk playing a weakened side against a team that has lost just one of their last 11 competitive matches in the hope that they have enough to make it over the line? Or does he play a stronger side, one that he reckons will get the job done? Despite the ready made excuse of youth, if he plays the first one and loses, he risks the chance of chucking away a decent shot at a trophy. Should he plump for the second option, however, he runs the risk of adding more injuries and more fatigue to a squad that already has enough dents (with the obvious knock-on effect for his side's title hopes). Like ringing that person to tell them, 'we need to talk', it's a tough call. IMC

3) Will the Stadium of Light host some Cup magic?

In Ireland, you can be hung, drawn and quartered and have shame heaped upon your surviving family for failing to offer someone a cup of tea upon them setting foot in your house. A person could be on their way to Mars on a mission that could help woman and man find a solution to global warming and shutting down Twitter and they will still be stopped and asked if they would like one. A similar sort of law applies to journalists when writing about the FA Cup: mention the magic and the possibility of a giantkilling or it's off to the gallows with you. So here goes. Kidderminster are located 80 league places below Sunderland. They have been poor on the road this season, taking 14 points from 13 games, with only three of those coming against a side in the top half of the Conference table. Of late it has got even worse: they have lost four of their last six away games. No amount of fairy dust and magic sparkle can thus hide the fact that this is a mismatch, if not of Titanic proportions, then certainly of Mauretania proportions. If Paolo Di Canio was still in charge, then maybe the Harries would have a hope. Under Gus Poyet, however, Sunderland are a far more organised and far more dangerous fighting machine. The best Kidderminster can wish for is that Mackem minds and legs have wandered elsewhere after Wednesday night's win. IMC

4) Southend manager Brown meets the club that sacked him

It is a shame that Phil Brown's time in charge of Hull will be remembered for that half-time team talk or that serenading of the crowd, for there was far more to it than that. "I am obviously very disappointed with the club's decision," said Brown after he was placed on gardening leave and replaced by Iain Dowie, and he had every right to be too. It was he who had led the club to the top flight for the first time and it was he who kept them up. And even though there had been a run of poor results at that stage in the 2009/10 season, Hull were but three points from safety, with nine games to go. The Tigers have moved on since then and Brown has too but there must be a considerable part of him that would like to taste revenge. And of all the underdogs going up against the overdogs this weekend, the Shrimpers must be best placed to giant slay. They are unbeaten in their last seven games (four wins, three draws), they have one of the best defences in League Two (26 games played, 22 goals conceded) and they have already knocked Millwall out of the Cup in the most convincing of fashions. In the opening scene of Reservoir Dogs, Mr Brown declares Like a Virgin to be, amongst other things, about pain and it's this same feeling that another Mr Brown will want to inflict on the former love of his life come Saturday afternoon. IMC

5) Can Pulis end Wigan's Cup defence?

West Ham United were the last club to mount a defence of the FA Cup from the second tier of English football, in 1981, and they didn't make a very good fist of it, crashing out in the third round at Wrexham. Sunderland's attempt in 1974 wasn't any better: they were put out at home in the third round by Carlisle United. Only Southampton of the three post-war teams to win the cup as a Second Division club hung on to the handles of the trophy for any length of time: they made it to the fifth round before Manchester United did for them in 1977. Wigan, breaking new ground as a freshly relegated mob, have at least avoided the ignominy of joining the long list of winners to fall at the first hurdle – Manchester United, Liverpool, Tottenham Hotspur, Manchester City – and much like keeping an eye on hosts of major international tournaments, it'll be interesting to see how deep they can go again. Will Southampton's post-war record be safe for another few seasons? Wigan's form is erratic, though that's at least an improvement on their mid-season six-losses-in-a-row slump. Palace will prove a tough proposition – there's the ludicrously underrated Tony Pulis in the dugout – but history sometimes weighs heavy on a club. The south Londoners have only played one game at Wigan in their history, back in 2004 – and they went down 5-0. SM

6) Fulham gameplan may decide Blades' fate

This fourth-round draw has been one of the grand old competition's less intriguing selection of fixtures. Damn Lady Luck and her insidious effect on the FA's scrawny old velvet bag. Potential shocks are at a premium, though there could be one on the cards at Bramall Lane. Sheffield United aren't great at the back – they're still struggling at the wrong end of the League One table after a loss to Notts County and the concession of a two-goal lead at home to Bradford – but they're a decent proposition going forward with the in-form pairing of Jamie Murphy and Jose Baxter, as Aston Villa found to their cost in the third round. Livingston tyro Stefan Scougall may arrive in time to add some flair to the midfield, while dead-eyed dead-ball dynamo defender Harry Maguire, top scorer with six goals, offers a threat from set pieces. The result depends very much on Fulham's attitude and gameplan. There's a sense that United are struggling in League One because they're a bit too lightweight and fancy to deal with the more workaday outfits in the division. If a team presses hard all over the field, they're in trouble. If a team sits back a bit – like Aston Villa – they could reap the benefits. Oh look! Here comes existential stroller Dimitar Berbatov! SM

7) Can Everton avoid Cup humiliation against Stevenage?

It's bad form to start kicking a man when he's down, but David Moyes's record in the FA Cup has been nothing short of appalling, and that's not counting what's been going on at Old Trafford recently. His time at Everton was littered with disgraces, from heavy home batterings by Blackburn and Wigan, to losses at the hands of Reading and Oldham. The nadir of his Goodison reign came early, a 2-1 defeat in 2003 against a Shrewsbury Town side who were 91st in the league pyramid at the time. A young Wayne Rooney could do nothing to avert the humiliation. So with a new regime in situ, it's about time something changed for the Toffees. Roberto Martínez comes with a spanking-new cup pedigree, the current reigning champion, and even without the dynamic Seamus Coleman, his evolving team should have too much for a side propping up League One. The tie should still hold some old-school appeal, though, with Stevenage boss Graham Westley having promised to lay on a "bizarre environment" at Broadhall Way. "I'm sure the Everton lads will go home on Saturday night feeling bewildered," he insists. Perhaps so, but as Martínez's side have lost only one of their last 16, a shock seems highly unlikely. SM

8) Swansea have chance to arrest slump at Birmingham

Swansea are 25-1 shots to pop another cup on their roll of honour, behind only Manchester City, Chelsea, Arsenal, Liverpool, Everton and Sunderland at your friendly neighbourhood purse-emptier. Which seems about right, until you consider Swansea's recent form, which has gone somewhat under the radar, mainly as a result of their spectacular third-round win at Manchester United. A fine achievement, that, but it's been their only win in the last ten games, a run which has seen six defeats. The Swans have a reputation for good football that goes back years, and has bought them a lot of goodwill, though that might be obscuring the fact that nothing's quite sticking for them right now, to a worrying degree. A good cup run might stave off outside fears of an impending relegation scrap. They'll take heart from the fact that four of their recent defeats have been against the giants of English football – Chelsea, Manchester City, Manchester United and Tottenham Hotspur – and that their fourth-round hosts Birmingham, with two losses in their last three, aren't exactly clicking themselves. SM

9) Cup provides real opportunity for Saints silverware

The night before the Southampton players arrive in their hotel room for an away game, the club staff pull on their Marigolds and the players' rooms are cleaned to within an inch of their lives. Then each player's custom-fit mattress is placed on the bed alongside bed clothes that have been washed and ironed by the club. This is just one of many, many lengths that the south coast club are going to to try to ensure the players have no complaints and that a serious challenge for the Premier League title can be countenanced. That challenge may yet take a few more years, as well as a few more millions, but a realistic target, for now, should be the Cup. As Wigan showed last year, the final does not necessarily have to be the playground of the rich and famous and winning would have a two-pronged effect on Southampton. It would guarantee a place in Europe – getting a pot via the league looks a little remote at present – and prove to some of the Saints' bigger and better players that they need not move to a bigger club to get up close and personal with the feelings of success. Yeovil should provide willing opposition too. They are struggling for form in the Championship, one place off the bottom spot. IMC

10) Familiar foes meet at Stamford Bridge

Of all the games that ITV could have chosen to broadcast in their primetime Sunday afternoon slot, they went for Chelsea versus Stoke. Seriously ITV, is that the best you could come up with? You could have set up a rocket on the top of the ITV building, launched it in the direction of Hackney Marshes and it would have landed at a match that would have been more interesting. We know about these two teams, they've played each other 12 times over the last six seasons. We know how they are set up, we know what their players are like and we know what their managers are like. Familiarity breeds contempt and contempt is what football fans should have towards the broadcaster for selecting this game. Couldn't you have used just a touch more imagination, ITV? Couldn't you have covered more of the lower league sides? Couldn't you have shone a light on teams that must live in the shadows of the Premier League? Is that too much to ask? IMC

FA CupArsène WengerLiverpoolBournemouthArsenalCoventry CitySunderlandIan McCourtScott Murray
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The Fiver | Sit back and wait until … wah! It's an emergency! | Scott Murray

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HE'S NOT THE MOYES-SIAH, HE'S A VERY UNAMBITIOUS BOY

If last night's wholly preposterous Tin Pot semi-final between Manchester United and Sunderland taught us anything, it's that this tactic David Moyes likes, the one where his teams sit back and soak up pressure with a view to defending a one-goal lead, is not very brilliant. We've spotted flaws. Not only that, look what happens when the side *does* end up piling forward in the Fergusonian manner! Seconds after hipster-keeper David de Gea bent down to gather a Phil Bardsley backpass with all the grace of a half-cut Hoxtonian wearing ballcrushing skinny jeans and weighed down by a record bag containing the entire output of Fleetwood Mac, Steely Dan and John Coltrane on reissued 180g vinyl, Adnan Januzaj, Chris Smalling and Javier Hernandez immediately put together a goalscoring move that made Hungary 1953 look like Wimbledon 1986. What a goal! What a team! What a tactic. Dear oh dear.

Not everyone involved with United has responded well to their defeat yesterday eve. One particular buffoon rather deliciously phoned Greater Manchester Filth, demanding to speak to Lord Ferg about matters pertaining to United's recent form. Yeah, I do want to report a crime: the crime that United were knackered," he slurred at a heroically patient operator in a tired and emotional fashion. "Obviously, it can be a sad and depressing moment when you're football team loses a game," began a polis release, which doubled as a come-and-get-me plea to Big Paper for a job as a sub-editor, "however can we all please remember that 999 is to be used for emergencies only." Rumours that the miscreant was either Sir Bobby Charlton or David Moyes himself are surely wide of the mark, though we're ruling nothing out at this early stage.

Thankfully, the loss led to more constructive and proactive behaviour in others. United suit Ed Woodward has finally taken his feet off the desk and sorted out a big-name transfer, namely the £37m purchase of Chelsea reject Juan Mata. The Spanish international has flown to Manchester in a helicopter, a notable journey not only because he's about to sign, but also as it's the only time that particular mode of transport has been deployed during a January transfer window without an accompanying soundtrack of someone from Sky Sports News screaming and hollering in the modern, excitable, attention-grabbing, information-free method favoured by journalists these days.

As for Sunderland, who are off to Wembley, remember them in all this? After dancing and prancing all over the Old Trafford turf in the 'happy' and 'successful' style fondly remembered by long-in-the-tooth locals, they went home to dream dreamy dreams of their first major final since the 1992 FA Cup, and their first League Cup final since 1985. They'll be underdogs at the March 2 showpiece against free-scoring Manchester City, but they'll remember last season's FA Cup final, and anything Wigan Athletic can do, Gus Poyet's staunch side are surely capable of matching. "It's been a difficult season, the fans deserve that," said Poyet. "Let's see if we can go one more and win it," he added, having just witnessed at first hand how things can go pear-shaped very quickly if you insist on displaying a chronic lack of ambition.

QUOTE OF THE DAY

"I have always taken my strength from a river and I always will" – even for Phil Brown, that is quite a zinger.

MORALE-BOOSTER OF THE DAY

"This is ridiculous, grotesque, mediocre, shabby, the lowest of the low. We've hit rock bottom. We've had some very bad matches since the start of the season but there, we have truly hit the bottom in our inability to score. We had chances but we are of an incredible, unfathomable mediocrity. We have to question ourselves right away. This club is 140 years old, it is prestigious. We shouldn't have to deal with this kind of behaviour. We're no longer in the [Euro Vase], Coupe de la Ligue or Coupe de France. [They must] look in the mirror and be ashamed of what they did. If this isn't the case, I no longer understand football or life. We are at the very bottom" – Bordeaux general manager Alain Deveseleer rallies the troops.

FIVER LETTERS

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• Send your letters to the.boss@theguardian.com. And if you've nothing better to do you can also tweet the Fiver. Today's winner of our prizeless letter o' the day is: Craig Hills.

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BITS AND BOBS

Super sleuth Arsène Wenger has looked at the fixtures and noticed that Chelsea don't have to play Manchester United again so selling Juan Mata is unfair. "I think if you want to respect the fairness for everybody exactly the same, that should not happen," said Wenger whose Arsenal, funnily enough, play United on 12 February.

Southampton have suspended their recording signing Dani Osvaldo following what the club have enticingly described as "an incident".

Liverpool's Glen Johnson has been ruled out for "an indefinite period of time" due to assorted knack that probably includes a nasty bout of talent-knack.

Romelu Lukaku is sorry. "There has been a misunderstanding and I want to clarify that I was in no way endorsing the gesture made by Nicolas [Anelka]."

FA supremo Greg Dyke has considered Assem Allam's bid to change Hull City's name before generously tossing the club's manager Bernard Cribbins a tasty hospital pass. "I'd be interested to know if it bothered him or not," buck-passed Dyke.

Portugese second division club Leixões have got the hot funk on after six players were shown red cards and a coach was sent to the stands in the 1-1 draw with Sporting Lisbon B. "There was no pitched battle as might be thought from the total of 16 cards shown to the two teams," parped a club suit via the medium of hot steam whistling out of his ears.

Radamel Falcao's World Cup probably isn't happening after he suffered severe knee-knack playing for Monaco against Chasselay.

And former Ghana and Marseille striker Arthur Moses has warned fellow Ghanaian footballers to beware of gold-digging wives. "Look at my wife. I have built two houses for her, along with another for her mother telling a court that I told her never to work and promised to share all my property with her," he 1970s-ed. "Now the court wants me to give her my three other houses, buy her land and build her a shop."

STILL WANT MORE?

Wayne Rooney to Real Madrid? Pah, says Sid Lowe.

AC Jimbo with a full head of hair? It must be a 1995 Football Italia clip featuring Gazza in this week's Classic YouTube.

Ricardo Bochini was small, ungainly and had a powder-puff shot but Diego Maradona loved him, cheers Jonathan Wilson.

Tom Lutz goes above and beyond to make Manchester United players feel a little cheerier by retelling the tale of Mickleover Lightning Blue Sox v Chellaston Boys B and the paltry three successful penalties that were scored from 66.

Oh, and if it's your thing, you can follow Big Website on Big Social FaceSpace.

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WHY?Scott Murray
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