Scott Murray's Blog, page 221

Football transfer rumours: Daniele De Rossi to Chelsea?

Today's gossip is aghast at the demise of 'What's In The Bag?'

This morning we've got a game the Rumour Mill hopes you'll enjoy playing. The rules are simple. We'll mention a series of soccer stars, each one followed by the name of a football club, or in some cases clubs. What you have to ascertain is this: do the players and clubs match up to make a bona fide rumour from today's papers, or have we mixed them all up in the name of mildly diverting pre-coffee-and-fag-break fun? OK, folks, here we go!

Cesc Fábregas: Arsenal

Fiorentina striker Stevan Jovetic: Manchester City, Manchester United

Darren Bent: Newcastle United, Wolfsburg

Roma midfielder Daniele De Rossi: Chelsea

Scott Parker: Queens Park Rangers, West Ham United

Emmanuel Adebayor: Besiktas

Standard Liège defender Daniel Opare: Tottenham Hotspur

FC Twente and Belgium winger Nacer Chadli: Tottenham Hotspur

Mikel John Obi: Trabzonspor, Galatasaray

Wayne Rooney: Basingstoke Town, Buckie Thistle

Luis Suárez: Nethy Bridge FC, Boat of Garten FC

Peter Odemwingie: Crystal Palace

ANSWERS

We didn't mix any of them up. They all match. No, in retrospect it wasn't much of a game.

Scott Murray
guardian.co.uk © 2013 Guardian News and Media Limited or its affiliated companies. All rights reserved. | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds

Australia 16-41 The Lions - as it happened | Scott Murray

Minute-by-minute report: The Lions secured their first series win since 1997 with an astonishing second-half try blitz orchestrated by man-of-the-series Leigh Halfpenny. Scott Murray was watching

Scott Murray

The Fiver | Getting to the Heart of the matter | Scott Murray

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DUSTING OFF OUR RAINCOAT AND GIVING THE SECRETARY A SAUCY SLAP ON THE BUM

Scotland has always blazed a trail ahead of England when it comes to association football. In the game's infancy during the 1860s, 1870s and 1880s, the Scots invented passing, dribbling, and talent. In 1967, they showed it was possible for a plook-faced shower from northern Europe to make off with the European Cup, which up to that point had previously been the preserve of Latin types who ate properly and knew how to comb their hair. Then in the mid 1970s, they introduced the concept of a "Premier" division, specifically designed to slowly but systematically extract all interest from their national league by making sure none of the smaller clubs had a snowball's chance in the Cairngorm Ski Resort of ever winning the title again.

All these concepts, ideas and capers have since been taken up by the English, who if the truth be told have done them all bigger and better (although they've yet to best their Caledonian counterparts in the production of tricksy alcoholic wingers who enjoy a rammy in a pub car park, but let's not cloud the issue). So it should be with some interest, and perhaps a smidgen of concern to haughty London folk whose clubs are wholly dependent on the whims of Russian businessmen, that a year after the demise of The Pope's O'Rangers, another of Scotland's too-big-to-fail giants are in real bother. Heart of Midlothian, one of the grandest institutions in the country and certainly the club with the nicest crest, were put into administration a couple of weeks ago by the financial bobbies. And now, today, they've suffered the indignity of being put up for sale on the internet.

The advert certainly goes for the big sell, with mention of the club's "loyal fan base including c. 10,000 season ticket holders", a "squad of 22 players, together with a highly skilled, loyal and experienced workforce", the Hearts "brand and associated goodwill", and the freehold to Tynecastle Stadium, which may or may not make it easier to bulldoze. The Fiver initially assumed Irvine Welsh, Andy Murray or The Proclaimers had been fannying around half-cut on eBay, and this was some sort of jolly joke authored by a chortling online Hibee. It couldn't actually be true, could it? So we did what old-school journalists used to do. We dusted down our raincoat, popped on a homburg, wedged a card with PRESS written on it into the brim, took a big slug of whisky, gave our secretary a saucy slap on the bum – he really wasn't happy about it – and went out into the real world to find out what was going on.

OK, we made one phone call. But we did find out that it is indeed a kosher advertisement, albeit not one specifically placed by the administrators. Turns out BDO, the bean counters who are desperate to hawk Hearts by the deadline they set next Friday, put an advert in the altogether more respectable Financial Times last week sometime, and if you do that you get a free listing on BusinessesForSale.com, gratis, albeit not immediately it would seem. "There really is nothing sinister in it," sighed a spokesperson for BDO, who the Fiver sensed had quite a few better things to do with his time than talk through the small print of a free ad with a football email suffering from cognitive issues, but was very kind and patient nonetheless. "We placed the FT ad to make sure everyone knows Hearts is for sale. It's just a marketing tool, to ensure anyone interested knows about it."

Touch wood, but it seems the ploy may be working, because by all accounts there are "three or four parties" who are "seriously interested" in buying the club, including a fans consortium willing to link up with other investors. The administrators are also hopeful that the looming deadline will flush out further interest. But other than that, there's likely to be little to report until all the bids are confirmed and in, at the end of next week. With this in mind, the chap from BDO gave the Fiver a little bit of journalistic advice. "Of course, the problem with the administration process," he said, "is that it isn't quick or instant. So when there's a slight gap in the information, people just make it up." So that's where the Fiver's been going wrong all this time! Come back on Monday, then, when we'll have the latest on the £74bn rescue package being put together by a consortium headed up by Barack Obama, Edward Snowden and Fish from Marillion.

Live on Big Website: David Moyes is saying some things as Man Utd manager , including that Wayne Rooney, unlike Hearts, is not for sale

QUOTE OF THE DAY

"He judged a person and a context without knowing anything about the people he should have dealt with. I never thought of him as an interesting person from a football perspective. We never spoke the same language. And I'm not talking about Italian, Spanish or English. His past at Barcelona? I think he was coming from an airline. I've been in football since I was 13 and I had never heard anything about [Roberto] Soriano" – Roberto Mancini clocks up a creditable 52 days in the Fiver's just-now-invented-for-the-purpose-of-this-quote-of-the-day world biting-your-tongue championships.

FIVER LETTERS

"Regarding Liverpool's new third kit, which 'strengthens the club's fashion heritage'. How fitting then, given Liverpool's unique sartorial legacy, that it resembles a shellsuit top circa 1992" – Mike Hopkin.

"My kids finish (primary) school each day at 3pm, and generally the Fiver appears in my inbox around 2 hours later. Coincidence? Surely. However, today the school closed at 12.30pm as it's the start of the school summer holidays up here in Scotland (the definition of summer being "still cold wet and miserable, but slightly lighter for longer"). In any case, as usual the Fiver pops up in my inbox two hours after school's out. Coincidence? I think not. This also goes a long way to explaining the schoolboy journalism you subject us to each day" – Steven Lawson.

"You'd think that having the cameras on you for duration of the film would entitle you to be at the top of the bill, right? Well, think again." – Andy Wraight.

• Send your letters to the.boss@guardian.co.uk. Also, if you've nothing better to do you can also tweet the Fiver. Today's winner of our prizeless letter o' the day prize is: Stephen Lawson.

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BITS AND BOBS

Paulinho will complete his £17m move to Spurs providing he can cough for the doctor without causing any alarm today.

Pep Guardiola has had a look at his sparkly new Bayern toys and decided the only way to make it seem like he is improving something that isn't broken is to resort to football hipster speak. "We can play with real strikers and false nines. It also depends on the physical condition of the players as to which system I will choose," he in-your-face-Jupp Heynckesd.

Burnley have bought Turf Moor back after a successful campaign raised £3.5m. The purchase will save the Clarets £500,000 a year in rent payments, which is roughly what the Fiver has to shell out each year to live in its shed in that there London.

But poor old Coventry City fans face the prospect of a 34-mile hike to Northampton's Sixfields Stadium to watch their team in League One next season after no agreement was reached for the troubled club to use the great big whopping Ricoh Arena in Coventry. Well done everyone.

And Cameroon's World Cup qualification has hit the skids after Fifa provisionally suspended the country's football federation [Fecafoot] "on account of government interference" with the body's elections. You see, Fifa knows how to do elections properly.

RECOMMENDED VIEWING

Frank Ribéry pulls off the oldest trick in the book …

STILL WANT MORE?

For once the prospect of an ageing star turn pitching up in the Premier League is actually intriguing, writes Barney Ronay, in this love letter to David Villa.

Like a panicked Scott Parker surrounded by three players and with nowhere to go, the Rumour Mill just keeps on turning. Today: Pepe to Manchester City?

By making a move to a player-coach role Ryan Giggs is putting himself in line for the Big Seat at Old Trafford, reckons Paul Wilson.

And Fifa has effed up matchday at the Maracanã, writes Jack Lang. Bad Fifa.

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I DREW STOKE CITY. STOKE CITY!HeartsScott Murray
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The Joy of Six: great Wimbledon finals

From cognac-swilling to Arthur Ashe and Jimmy Connors relocating a court case to Centre Court, six memorable finals

1) May Sutton beats Dorothea Lambert Chambers 6-3, 6-4 (1905) and
2) Norman Brookes beats Arthur Gore 6-4, 6-2, 6-2 (1907)

We poor, dyspraxic, lost British souls have been waiting 36 years for a singles champion at Wimbledon. Nearly 77 if you're desperate to see the men make a contribution again. Either way, there's been a lot of time for self-flagellation. All those barren years, it's often said, have given us ample opportunity to turn bemoaning our inadequacies into an art form. Listen to us drone on, we're world leaders at it. And yet if we're being honest with ourselves, we didn't really need 77 years to hone those bitchin' skills at all. We were right on top of it from the get-go.

The 1905 Wimbledon Championships were the 29th staging of the tournament. And the first at which players from overseas made the two singles finals. Norman Brookes of Australia reached the men's final, though he was dispatched reasonably easily 8-6, 6-2, 6-4 by Lawrence Doherty who, noted the gent from the Manchester Guardian, "once more unmistakably established his claim to be regarded as the finest player the world has so far produced". The result was no mean feat, given that Brookes was clearly a serve-and-volley genius. His serves, varied of length and speed and nearly always wildly spinning, were almost impossible to read – "Most puzzling!" chuntered our slightly confused Guardian Gent – allowing Brookes to advance to the net "as active as a cat" to volley "the hottest returns". It was perhaps with a sub-conscious nod to the prevailing wind that the majority of the report was given up to describing the brilliance not of the victor Doherty but instead the loser: Brookes's positioning, his timing, his eye for a ball flying out of court, his especially formidable forehand drive. "Although we lead at the moment, it cannot be denied that the American, Australasian and Continental players have improved enormously of late," concluded Guardian Gent, who added most generously that "in some respects perhaps they have taught us something new here and there".

That was certainly the case in the women's game, where May Sutton comprehensively blootered the reigning champion Dorothea Lambert Chambers off the court, becoming the first overseas player to make off with any sort of Wimbledon trophy. Guardian Gent was smitten, describing Sutton as a "revelation". Dependable, consistent, tenacious, accurate and blessed with a forehand that would have given Brookes a run for his money – "one of the best ever developed by either sex" – her main weapon was nevertheless her tactical nous. "For one so young," our man reported, "she uses her head splendidly. She allows nothing to put her off her game, not even bad decisions or foot faults that looked like no infringement".

Sutton having stormed the citadel, it was only a matter of time before the British men were delivered a belt in the mouth by an uppity foreigner, and it was Brookes himself who did the deed two years later. Guardian Gent, perhaps as a result of having yet to suss out Brookes's service variations, appears to have got himself hooked on downers in the interim, for his report of the Australian's dominance was one of the strangest paeans to genius ever penned. "That Brookes's all-round skill and terrible service would swamp AW Gore with his one stroke and his lack of resource was virtually a certainty ... His service was on this occasion even more embarrassing than usual, and poor Gore was hopelessly at sea with it."

Continued discombobulation at the shock of the new is all we can put that down to, and in fairness Guardian Gent went on to praise the Australian's "sinuous agility of a panther", his "nimbleness" and his "deftness of touch" which was made "with the delicacy of the true artist". Meanwhile in the women's final, Sutton was repeating her victory over Lambert Chambers. The two overseas stars were commonly regarded, without question, as the best players yet to have graced Wimbledon.

But if Guardian Gent had just about managed to hold it together and accept the new world order, the clowns back in the office had been sent into a flat spin. IS ENGLAND LOSING ITS SUPREMACY? burbled a headline at the top of what was less a column, more a foaming shaft. The paper listed a "long list of vanished prizes" which began with Brookes and Sutton at the tennis, and included defeats, mainly instigated by Yanks and Aussies, in yachting, rowing, sculling, running (100 yards, 120 yard hurdles, 220 yards, 400 yards, 880 yards, 440 yards hurdles), running high jump, pole jump, throwing 18lb hammer, rugby football, billiards, cycling (short distance and 100km), shooting, throwing cricket ball, trotting (horse), running (horse), skating (one mile), swimming (200 yards to one mile), and the Derby. Most of all, the paper seemed piqued at the loss of the Open Championship, which had recently been won – gin and tonics down! – by a Frenchman. "The list of cases in which British supremacy has been usurped is alarming!" panicked the paper, emitting guttural sobs which could presumably be heard as far away as the more northern suburbs of Paris though drowned out by gales of laughter by the time one reached the 16th arrondissement.

"There is a solace even in this wholesale list of discomfiture," the tear-soaked rag went on to argue. "The championships in the bulk of these events have merely gone to our colonial kinsmen or our American cousins. It is something to know that the chief of the prizes are all in the family." Yes, you keep telling yourself that. How would these people have coped if ever forced to pin their hopes on Andrew Castle or Jeremy Bates, you have to wonder? If you look at the bigger picture, then, we oft-criticised modern British tennis fans have actually been holding it together rather well. SM

3) Suzanne Lenglen beats Dorothea Lambert Chambers 10–8, 4–6, 9–7 (1919)

A French revolutionary ensured that the first final since the unseemly intrusion of the first world war marked the dawning of a shocking new era.

Suzanne Lenglen was like no other female tennis player – indeed, she was everything that females in tennis were not supposed to be: coarse, uppity, outrageous. And she was utterly brilliant. By 1914 she was a sensation in France, reaching the national final at the age of 14, only three years after her father and mentor, Charles, had introduced her to tennis. Owing to the war it was not until 1919 that she got to cross the Channel to Wimbledon where she made an immediate and lasting impression.

She cruised to the final, where she came up against the seven-times winner Dorothea Lambert Chambers. Lenglen won the first set 10-8, lost the second 6-4 and was visibly tiring in the decider, her shouts of "merde" becoming more frequent, until Charles chucked her something that would become a common part of her kit throughout her career: a silver flask of cognac. Thanks to a few restorative swigs, she saved two match points and came back to claim the final set 9-7. She would win five more singles titles at Wimbledon – in fact, over the next seven years she lost only one match anywhere and that was because illness forced her to abandon the contest.

More than her success, it was her style that made her exceptional and led her compatriots to dub her "La Divine". She was scandalously unladylike, yet unashamedly feminine. Not for her the corsets and ankle-length dresses that women of the day were expected to wear – she sported skirts that only went as far as the knees and tops with no sleeves: this was flesh-flaunting on a scale never before seen in places of good repute! And in breaks in play she would varnish her nails, sip her elixir, berate the umpire or perhaps wave to her latest lover, as she made no attempt to hide a romantic life that was as vibrant as her play on court, where her movements were often described as a form of dance, her balletic habit of stretching out one leg while executing a smash being particularly distinctive. She turned up to matches in fur coats, and even had fur-lined racket handles. She was not classically beautiful, but she was unmistakably box-office.

She was more than just entertaining: she was inspiring. At a time when society's patriarchs were hoping that women, having helped in the war effort, would go back to their chores and secondary roles, Lenglen pursued her interests while conforming to no category, apologising for no discourtesy. People loved her, or at least loved to follow her. So it was understandable, yet absolutely shocking, when, in 1926, she became the first major player of either sex to turn professional, accepting $50,000 to tour the United States. The tennis establishment, though it had been sanctioning underhand payments for years, vilified her, the blazers of Wimbledon even revoking her honorary membership. Lenglen was typically unrepentant: "Under these absurd and antiquated amateur rulings, only a wealthy person can compete, and the fact of the matter is that only wealthy people do compete. Is that fair? Does it advance the sport? Does it make tennis more popular – or does it tend to suppress and hinder an enormous amount of tennis talent lying dormant in the bodies of young men and women whose names are not in the social register?" That victory in 1919 heralded the international arrival of the most influential tennis player of all time. PD

4) Arthur Ashe v Jimmy Connors 6-1, 6-1, 5-7, 6-4 (1975)

The first all-American men's final in nearly three decades was a far from fraternal affair – it was, in fact, an almighty grudge match, what with Connors having announced just a few weeks previously that he was launching a $3m court cast against Ashe for defamation. Ashe, you see, was a staunch supporter of the Davis Cup and was irked by Connors's constant refusal to play for Team USA, suggesting that this was a "seemingly unpatriotic" stance from his compatriot. As it turned out the pair would meet on Centre Court before heading to actual court, and Ashe hinted at their unresolved differences when he turned up for the final in his Davis Cup warm-up jacket. He would soon frustrate Connors in more significant ways.

Connors was the defending Wimbledon champion and, at 22, evidently destined to keep getting better. Ashe was the sixth seed and enjoyed a successful career but, nearly 10 year older than his adversary, appeared to be on the wane, having reached just one grand slam quarter-final in the previous five years. Critics reckoned he no longer had the hunger to add to his two grand slam titles. Well, he had the hunger here. What is more, he had a plan.

To counter Connors's ferocity, Ashe deployed a "low-and-slow" strategy, hitting shots soft and gentle to Connors's forehand and forcing him to hit his returns upwards and without the usual power. "Junk shots", he called them, explaining that taking the speed off the ball prevented Connors from effecting his trademark deadly returns. The ploy worked.

The overwhelming favourite made a lot of errors and was also flummoxed by Ashe's nimble play at the net. Connors also struggled to deal with the wide serves to his backhand that Ashe kept producing. The underdog raced into a 6-1, 6-1 lead. Connors fought back to take the next set and when he charged into a 3-0 lead in the fourth, it seemed as though the upset had been thwarted. But Ashe was having none of it: he broke Connors's next two service games and won the fourth set 6-4. He was the first black man to win the Wimbledon title but that was not the only reason that this was particularly sweet victory. PD

5) John McEnroe and Michael Stich v Jim Grabb and Richey Reneberg 5-7, 7-6 (7-5), 3-6, 7-6, (7-5), 19-17 (1992 men's doubles)

Length does not matter, some say, but others disagree. Partisans of the latter view were amply satisfied by this breathtaking encounter.

After four gruelling sets, Jim Grabb and Richey Reneberg were poised to prevail in the final one until their unseeded opponents saved two match points to bring the scores level at 7-7. With night falling, three of the players suggested deciding the match with a tie-breaker but Grabb dissented so play continued until the referee, Alan Mills, suspended it for the day with the scores locked at 13-13 in the final set. They returned on the morrow to complete the contest, with John McEnroe and Michael Stick eventually triumphing in the 36th game of the decisive set, winning 5-7,7-6, 3-6, 7-6, 19-17. PD

6) Goran Ivanisevic beats Pat Rafter 6-3, 3-6, 6-3, 2-6, 9-7 (2001)

Sometimes it is the way you tell them. But this really is the kind of story that requires no embellishment simply because you could be forgiven for wondering where Kirsten Dunst's character in that execrable film Hollywood made about tennis fits into it all. This was fantasy played out in real life. There have been superior champions and more important finals but few have been more heartwarming, dramatic or nerve-shredding.

Goran Ivanisevic had no business being in the 2001 Wimbledon final. In fact, for all his talent, the 29-year-old really had no business making it into the second week, having only qualified courtesy of a wildcard. The 6ft 4in left-hander was a fine player in his day but his powers had waned, he was the world No125, did not make it through qualifying for that year's Australian Open and did not even bother trying for the French Open. A first-round loser at Wimbledon the year before, he was struggling with injuries and had warmed up for the tournament by losing his opening match at Queen's. It was his sixth first-round defeat of the year.

His defeat to Pete Sampras over five sets in the 1998 Wimbledon final hit him hard. "I go kill myself," he said afterwards. Believing his chance to win a major had gone, his career declined and he became known more for his showmanship, such as the time he smashed all three of his rackets at a tournament in Brighton and had to concede because he had no others. He might as well have aimed a rifle at his own feet at the same time.

Ivanisevic, three times a losing finalist at SW19, was not an ordinary player. "The trouble with me is that every match I play against five opponents: umpire, crowd, ball boys, court and myself," he said. There was Good Goran, the Goran who was capable of beating whoever stood on the other side of the net, there was Bad Goran, who would smash rackets and rage at umpires, and there was Emergency "911" Goran, who was required to clean up the mess.

His preparation for Wimbledon in 2001 was unorthodox. He took himself back to Split in order to see his football team, Hajduk Split, take on Varteks in a title-defining match. He turned down the offer of a VIP ticket and stood with the 6,000 travelling fans. Split won 4-2 to seal their first title in six years and as their fans danced on the pitch, Ivanisevic had an epiphany. "God, it would be great if I won Wimbledon and made something like this happen for me," he said.

Maybe it was destiny. He went about his business quietly enough early on, until victories over Fredrik Jonsson, Carlos Moya and Andy Roddick set up a fourth-round match against the British No2 Greg Rusedski. In a battle between two big servers, Ivanisevic came out on top in three tight sets and suddenly people were taking notice of him, even more so after he beat the No4 seed Marat Safin in four sets in the quarter-finals. The wildest of wildcards was proving to be the joker in the pack.

By then, the draw had been flung wide open after Sampras, the seven-time champion, had gone out in the fourth round to Roger Federer, who was then beaten by Tim Henman in the last eight, setting up a semi-final with Ivanisevic. It turned out to be the most agonising defeat of Henman's career.

The weather, so pleasant until then, turned for the worse and halted Henman's momentum when he had just won the third set 6-0 to lead by two sets to one. At that point, Bad Goran had taken over. And then came the rain. When they returned the next day, Good Goran was back and a match that began on Friday ended in a 7-5, 6-7, 0-6, 7-6, 6-3 for Ivanisevic on Sunday. "I'm a genius," Ivanisevic said.

Because of the rain delays, the final had to be held on the third Monday – or People's Monday. Fans queued for 24 hours to get their hands on £40 tickets and the atmosphere on Centre Court was more akin to a football match than a tennis final.

Pat Rafter, who was set to retire at the end of the year, took the first set but Ivanisevic hit back and after four sets of classic serve-and-volley tennis, the pair could not be separated. Aside from a tantrum in the fourth set, when Ivanisevic objected to being foot-faulted, there was no sign of Bad Goran, even as the tension became unbearable at the end of the fifth. With Rafter leading 7-6 and 15-30 on Ivanisevic's serve, the Croatian could have crumbled, two points from defeat.

The pressure was back on Rafter and he blinked. Two brilliant returns from Ivanisevic saw him break for an 8-7 lead and left him serving for the title. He walked back to his chair, put his towel over his head and had a swig of an energy drink that was so green it looked radioactive. In his box, his entourage prayed and when Ivanisevic stood up, there were tears in his eyes.

He lost the first point, blazing a forehand volley wide and then double-faulting at 15-all. His response? An 116mph second-serve ace to make it 30-all. Was it destiny? It was destiny. An ace brought up championship point and suddenly Ivanisevic was praying, crying and taking a deep breath ... before double-faulting for a second time. Deuce. A second chance arrived after Rafter netted – and again he double-faulted. Ivanisevic was more or less playing himself now.

Rafter then sent a slice inches wide to give the Croatian a third championship point, only for the Australian to save it with an outrageous lob. But there was to be no reprieve a fourth time. Rafter slapped a tired forehand return into the net, Centre Court erupted and Ivanisevic collapsed. Good Goran had finally won. JS

WimbledonTennisJohn McEnroeScott MurrayPaul DoyleJacob Steinberg
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Football transfer rumours: Pepe to Manchester City?

Today's flim-flam is in a jam

Today's gossip wonders if we should possibly think about what on earth we're actually doing, all of us, first thing every single morning, meeting same time, same place, to obsess about millionaires dilly-dallying over contracts offering the sort of ludicrous remunerative terms we could never imagine even if every frame of our dreams was chiselled out of platinum and gold and soundtracked by angels' tears dropping onto a harp, yet here we are spending whole days, fingers tightly crossed, refreshing Twitter every 10 minutes, desperately wishing the deals go through in the hope of those extra five goals we'd like from midfield next season.

Oh the Rumour Mill's got plenty of nothin'! And nothin's plenty for the Rumour Mill! The Rumour Mill's got no car! Got no mule! The Rumour Mill's got no misery!

Folks with plenty of plenty ...

... Edinson Cavani (going to Paris St Germain and not Chelsea);

Hulk ( Chelsea and Tottenham Hotspur interested);

Javier Saviola ( West Ham United and Cardiff City fancy the old boy);

Demba Ba (a target for Anzhi Makhachkala );

Pepe (leaving Real Madrid for Manchester City );

Senegal striker Dame N'Doye (Lokomotiv Moscow striker joining Norwich City );

Miralem Pjanic (£20m-rated midfielder to Tottenham Hotspur );

Gerard Deulofeu (Barcelona prodigy to Everton or Tottenham Hotspur );

Carlton Cole and Gary O'Neil (free agents joining Crystal Palace );

Leandro Damião (off to Southampton for £18m instead of Tottenham Hotspur);

Arouna Koné (stiffing Everton in favour of Newcastle United );

Nacer Chadli (FC Twente winger to Swansea City);

Gary Hooper (Celtic to Queens Park Rangers ahead of Hull City and Norwich City) ...

... got a lock on the door! Afraid somebody's gonna rob them, while they're out makin' more!

What for?!

The Rumour Mill has no lock on the door. That's no way to be! They can steal the rug from the floor, that's OK with [RUMOUR MILL stifles a sob] the Rumour Mill. Cos the things that the Rumour Mill prizes, like the stars in the [RUMOUR MILL breaks down along with rhyme scheme].

Transfer windowScott Murray
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The Fiver | Wayne Rooney's chat o'crisis | Scott Murray

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EVERTON AND MANCHESTER UNITED: A NEW RIVALRY FOR A NEW ERA

To the outsider – and during summer that's literally what the Fiver is, enjoying the sun in the park, behind our bush, having woken up from a little impromptu lunchtime street sleep, holding our bottle of drink purchased from the decorating aisle in Wickes, get off, get off, it's our bottle of drink purchased from the decorating aisle in Wickes – those involved with Everton Football Club have been taking a little too much satisfaction from the fact that Manchester United nicked off with their manager. Admittedly, most of this very public show of parental pride at wee Davie Moyes's ascension to a Big Club will have been a performance put on solely to annoy Liverpool fans, which is fair enough, and quite a few folk have been desperately trying to rationalise 11 years of not particularly entertaining football by making justificatory references to net spend, which is also fair enough, nobody likes to waste whole decades watching grass grow after all. But there are limits. After all, Everton are a Big Club too, as anyone with a memory that pre-dates Sky Sports, or those who don't gorge themselves on items bought from do-it-yourself retailers, will attest.

Thankfully Roberto Martínez has finally decided enough is enough, and that it's time for Everton to flex a little Big Club muscle in the direction of Old Trafford. He's come out throwing hands, rather like the Fiver does upon imbibing one of those big tins of creamy emulsion drink you can get from B&Q, after Moyes came back to Goodison with an improved offer of £12,000,000.01 for Leighton Baines. Martínez isn't having it, and has effectively told United to do one, because he's not intending to sell. "This is a big season for him and for us as a club," he thundered today. "He is the best left-back in the country. I can't wait to start working with him." Admirably strong words, though he probably went a bit far by adding that he considers Baines to be "more than a player, he is an icon", a statement which might raise the odd eyebrow among those who have heard tell of Dixie Dean, Tommy Lawton, Dave Hickson, Alex Young, Howard Kendall, Kevin Sheedy and Ray Atteveld.

The gloves having finally come off, tensions between the two clubs could rise further with Everton's Wayne Rooney, currently employed by Manchester United, set for showdown talks, crucial discussions, a face-to-face meeting, and a chat o'crisis with Moyes to decide whether he'll leave for Chelsea, Arsenal, Paris St-Germain or Barcelona, or stay put to see if he can become United's record goalscorer. The Rooney issue was the fourth to-do item on the new manager's agenda since taking control on Monday, after being pictured ostentatiously turning up for work in his car, being pictured disingenuously wedged in behind a big desk, and being pictured having a forced politician-style blue-collar laugh and joke with the tea lady and the bloke who refills the paper in the traps, and it's a hot issue he could have done without.

With Rooney insisting he never asked for a transfer at the end of last season, contrary to the claims of former boss and looming presence Sir Alex Busby – claims now backed up by erstwhile cone-stacker Mike Phelan, who has opined of Rooney's supposed second transfer request in three years that "you can put the first one down to inexperience but the second one is putting yourself right out there" – the talks represent an awkward start for poor Moyes. He'll be forgiven for reflecting that he never had to put up with this sort of carry-on from Leighton Baines, icon or not. It's an observation that may persuade him to finally up his bid to the £15m Everton and Martínez are after, and be done with it.

QUOTE OF THE DAY

"We have apologised to Adidas on the phone. We have promised them: such a thing will never happen again" – Bayern spokesman Mark Hörwick reacts after wide-eyed £31.5m scamp Mario Götze pulled off a textbook Modern Football atrocity: turning up for his unveiling at the Adidas-backed club … sporting a giant Nike swoosh.

FIVER LETTERS

"Despite the campaign to STOP FOOTBALL seemingly working for the next week or so at least, it never seems to completely go away. In Big Website's preview of the tennis quarter-finals, there's this: 'I like Janowicz. The way he plays is unique because he can play big-man tennis but he's also got a lot of touch.' Excellent use of a footie cliche" – Simon Dunsby.

"Perhaps you could suggest to the marketing bods at Guardian Soulmates that their budget would be better spent advertising in Moscow's Sheremetyevo Airport. There's certainly one person there who comes under the umbrella of 'interesting people' who's run out of mates" – Alistair Drummond.

"Re: yesterday's Joe Kinnear Quote of the Day. The Fiver making fun at someone else for being factually inaccurate? May I be the first of your regular 1,057 pedants to be standing around outside the Fiver's glass house with a pile of stones to sell you?" – Michael Hogan.

"I initially had a pedantic chuckle about the use of present-tense in Kinnear's quote: 'Every top club in the land has [a director of football]. We haven't – that's the difference.' Then I thought, hang on … he's basically still right about the second part, isn't he?" – Phil Ostrowski.

"As a diehard Arsenal fan, I feel the need to clarify the definition of what it means 'to Arsenal' as per Emdre's missive (yesterday's Fiver letters). 'To Arsenal' is to blow a comfortable lead of two or more goals by conceding through a variety of comical errors that would be embarrassing in an elementary school gym class. This happens most often against teams that should hypothetically be 'easy' to beat, including lower-division teams. Red cards and own goals are frequently involved. If there is still some confusion, I believe a certain infamous 4-4 draw against Newcastle quite accurately illustrates the term" – Leila Jutton.

"I would like to correct a suggestion that to finish fourth is 'to Arsenal'. Being a native of Vancouver, I must point out that the art of finishing fourth has probably been copyrighted as 'to Canada' although that is generally applicable to Olympic sports. Being Canadian I am quite willing to let Arsenal franchise the concept for Premier League football, especially as I have high hopes football will soon be stopped" – Wayne Isley.

"A particularly egregious example from the USA is 'to ofer', as when a sportsman scores zero points in any endeavour. This new 'verb' manages to combine three grammatical mistakes: the replacement of the number zero by the letter O, the concatenation of two words, and the use of noun as verb. The translation is an amusing progression, for example: 'they missed all of their penalties' = 'they went O for five' = 'they ofered'. Really. It's true" – Dargal O'Fennell.

"I can only wonder … and shudder to contemplate … at possible definitions of 'to Fiver'" – Mike Fichtner.

• Send your letters to the.boss@guardian.co.uk. Also, if you've nothing better to do you can also tweet the Fiver. Today's winner of our prizeless letter o' the day prize is: Phil Ostrowski.

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BITS AND BOBS

Cristiano Ronaldo is definitely not going back to Old Trafford, unless he does. "United is still in my heart. I really miss it," he pined. "But I'm really, really happy in Spain. Part of my life is there. The future we never know."

New PSG coach Laurent Blanc says a £50m deal for Napoli's Edinson Cavani would make him happy. "He is a player that I love," cooed Blanc. "Should he become part of the Parisian team, I would be very happy."

Sunderland have landed Arsenal icon Vito Mannone for £2m, but will have to up their offer for AZ Alkmaar legend Jozy Altidore. "This first offer was not sufficient," sniffed an AZ voice. "Now it is wait and see."

Joe Kinnear has shown what makes him head and shoulders above all other directors of football: visionary deals like flogging 27-year-old utility man James Perch to Wigan for an undisclosed fee.

And Lyon ace Clément Grenier has issued a come-and-get-me-maybe to Arsenal. "I cannot say [about my future]. I do not know where my future lies. I'm not 100% sure about what to do."

STILL WANT MORE?

Czech beat combo Petr Cech give some big chat about José Mourinho and their summer festival plans.

The Knowledge archive digs up some of football's booziest bonuses.

And the Rumour Mill brings bad news to fans of Arsenal and Spurs.

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'NEARER, MY GOD, TO THEE'Scott Murray
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Football transfer rumours: Gareth Barry to Arsenal or Spurs?

Today's tittle tattle is. It just is

Wayne Rooney wants to quit Manchester United, according to their former assistant manager Mike Phelan. Wayne Rooney doesn't want to quit Manchester United, according to Wayne Rooney and Manchester United. Like cats in a bag, this lot. Here's hoping this gets settled at some point, especially as it's just keeping Arsenal, Chelsea, Barcelona and Paris Saint-Germain hanging about, but when the truth's finally uncovered, don't bother rushing here with the news, because Jimmy crack corn and the Rumour Mill don't care. Accuse us of being jaded all you like, but United reportedly have 659,000,000 fans worldwide, and at least 659,000,000 of them, we'll be bound, will also have better things to do.

Arsenal and Tottenham Hotspur are both sniffing around Gareth Barry, who has only one year left on his deal at Manchester City. Arsène Wenger reportedly tried to sign Barry from Aston Villa a few years ago, but nobody noticed because everyone was too busy critisising Rafael Benítez for trying to do exactly the same thing.

Tottenham, for whom Barry and indeed David Villa will not be enough, also want the Aston Villa striker Christian Benteke. (Darren Bent's still not getting a game, incidentally. Paul Lambert's got him cleaning the traffic cones alongside Stephen Irel… actually, no, that's not Stephen Ireland, that's one of the cones.)

West Ham United, who have just spent £15m on Andy Carroll, but they've checked the terms and conditions and there's no going back now, are hoping they can get Romelu Lukaku on loan from Chelsea for a season. The Belgian international is not guaranteed to enjoy a great deal of football if he stays at Stamford Bridge, and this season's all about the World Cup, which is a tournament West Ham excel at. Their fans may have even mentioned it to you.

Salomon Kalou is the old Lukaku: unloved at Chelsea, he's currently rattling them in elsewhere. Now scoring for fun at Lille, he could soon become the new Lukaku: West Bromwich Albion want a go.

A landmark occasion in Wigan, where the club chairman Dave Whelan has been talking to the press about something which is actually his business. Arouna Koné is definitely leaving, he says. "Three clubs have made offers for him. Everton is definitely one." Roberto Martínez's buy-what-you-know policy continues apace with a £5m bid for his former Swansea charge Nathan Dyer.

Chelsea will come back at Norwich City with an improved £10m bid for keeper John Ruddy. Roman Abramovich is sure to be excited at the prospect of this one, functional rather than fancy. It's almost as though José Mourinho is spoiling for a fight already, but of course that could never be the case.

Confederations Cup fallout dept: Bayern Munich will spend £35m on David Luiz; Manchester City are interested in Spain-slaying hero Fred; and Galatasaray are prepared to spend £16m on Mikel John Obi, who did a goal.

Finally, Cardiff City will see off a late challenge from Liverpool for the Celtic midfielder Victor Wanyama, but they'll make up for it by also spending £8m on Blackpool winger Tom Ince, with the Anfield club trousering nearly half the cash. There's nice.

Wayne RooneyManchester UnitedTransfer windowScott Murray
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From six points up to heartbreak – how the Lions lost it in 18 minutes

The missed chances which gave the Wallabies the chance to snatch victory from defeat in the Melbourne second Test

63min 9-15 Penalty: miles out? No problem! Halfpenny sends the ball whistling through the ether and over the posts. Only just, but then he was nearly on halfway. What a performance with the boot.

66min Australia have plenty of men over on the left, but when the ball's shipped across, Beale makes a rare handling error and once again the pressure on the Lions is released. This is far from over.

67min Any result is always going to come at a physical cost, and inspirational captain Warburton is helped off the field looking very confused. Croft comes on in his stead.

69min Sexton garryowens towards Bowe down the right. He claims and the Lions are on the front foot – but they don't release in the breakdown and the chance to waste a couple more minutes is gone.

71min Australia, playing the advantage, aim a crossfield kick towards Tomane, on the left, but the move splutters out. Penalty. But Australia aren't going to kick it and opt for a scrum in front of the posts. Huge call!

73min Australia shuttle the ball back to O'Connor, but once again the home side's passing lets them down, and the ball's mishandled forward and cradled by a grateful Lion. The Lions clear, but not particularly far upfield.

75min TRY!!! 14-15This had been coming! The Aussies set themselves in front of the posts. The ball is snapped back left to O'Connor. He draws his man and flings one to Ashley-Cooper, who bursts through from five yards.

77min 16-15Near the left touchline, Leali'ifano strokes a gorgeous effort between the posts. Under so much pressure, especially off the back of what happened to Beale last week, that is simply immense!

79minA line-out to the Lions on the Wallabies 22, but they melt in the heat. Gill, who has just come on to the field, snaffles the ball, allowing the home side to clear their lines upfield. This is going to the deciding play!

80+1minWith three seconds on the clock, Australia inexplicably refuse to release down the right and concede a penalty. It gives the Lions one last chance to create a scoring chance and snatch the match and the series.

80+1min And... well, do they have one?! Sort of, as a loose Aussie hand concedes a penalty just inside the Lions half. Can Leigh Halfpenny make it from 53m, just inside the Lions' half? Surely not?

The last kick Nope. Halfpenny doesn't have the distance. And so that's it! The Aussies have dug themselves out of the largest hole, responding magnificently with the clock against them. Full time 16-15

Lions tour 2013Rugby unionAustralia rugby union teamBritish & Irish LionsAustralia sportScott Murray
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Australia 16-15 Lions: second Test – as it happened | Scott Murray

The Lions were five minutes from a series win, until Adam Ashley-Cooper popped up with the only try of the game. Scott Murray was watching

Scott Murray

The Fiver: Hopelessly Addicted To Crack Cocaine | Scott Murray

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JADED AFTER 15 YEARS? NOT US, NO MA'AM, NO SIR, NOPE

The Fiver is getting on a bit now - we're 15 years old, reader, and yes this is fast becoming a tragically undignified state of affairs, but there's no point kicking folk when they're down - but despite our advancing age we do still try our best to keep up with the modern world. We've got a gramophone that plays electrical stereophonic recordings in the new 162⁄3, 331⁄3 and 45 rpm formats. Our television transmits pictures in full living Technicolor, with an extra button spare for when the fourth channel arrives. We've ditched the stovepipe hat for a more contemporary bowler. And we've got ourselves hopelessly addicted to crack cocaine, just like all of your kids. But ultimately a doddery old fool, no matter how hard they try, is inevitably going to be found lagging behind the pack at some point. And the Fiver simply can't get with these young football hipsters they have today, we've all seen them, who are able to kid themselves that every other 0-0 has represented the apex of sophisticated entertainment.

The Fiver isn't having it. Take last night's goalless draw between Spain, the reigning world and European champions, and Italy, who try their best, in the Confederations Cup. It was mildly diverting, but to read some of the reports afterwards you'd think we'd just witnessed Hungary and Uruguay face off in the 1954 World Cup semi, only this time in full living Technicolor while on crack cocaine. All the Fiver saw was a few half-decent passing moves interspersed with a cavalcade of ineptitude in front of goal. Still, well done to everyone except poor old Leonardo Bonucci for scoring a penalty, another act contemporary mores demand is now rewarded with an overwhelmed jig by us, the grateful peon rank and file, even though nobody exactly roofed one like Graeme Souness in the 1984 Big Cup final or anything. Some would say standards are slipping in international football and that everyone's in thundering denial, but we're sure the Fiver's glazed expression is simply the result of our own rank stupidity and resulting inability to process the tactical brilliance unfolding in front of our flabbergasted slack-jawed coupon.

Turns out the real action was going on outside the stadium in Fortaleza anyway, where 5,000 anti-corruption protesters were going about their business quietly, until the bobbies turned up and started randomly pinging rubber bullets off their noggins before finishing everyone off with tear gas. The protesters, who had been outrageously demanding that some of their tax money be spent on schools and hospitals instead of being stuffed into one of those supermarket suction tubes and wheeched off into Fifa's trousers, now plan to conclude two weeks' worth of staunch mobilisation with a mega demo in Rio before the final between Brazil and Spain Nil on Sunday night. Precedent suggests that what happens on the streets will make more waves around the world than whatever unfolds inside the Maracana.

QUOTE OF THE DAY

"The two things that I can bring to the club are experience and the quality of my play. These are certainly the most important things" - Carlos Tevez sells himself short by failing to mention the many other things he can bring to Juventus: impromptu bench-tantrums, a penchant for unannounced three-month mid-season golf holidays in Buenos Aires and the thick end of 250 hours Community Service that still has to be completed ... in England.

FIVER LETTERS

"Dear God, I hope I am the only one whose life is so empty that I feel the need to write in to point out that contrary to Thursday's Still Want More? section the suits worn by Liverpool in the 1995 Cup Final were cream not white. I'm 51, FFS. Why oh why do I feel this is important?" - John Stainton (and nobody else whose life is so empty they feel the need to etc, and so on).

"Is this how The Fiver is earning its Tin money?" - Ian Hutchinson.

"Re: figuring out how Macclesfield can make millions by only fielding supporters for £20,000 a time (Fivers passim). I see what you are trying to do. I read James O'Donoghues letter and then your own dodgy maths calculation and immediately opened Excel to begin constructing my own formula. I got to 20,000 x 11(players) x 9 (10 minute spells), at which point I stopped to ponder the amount of injury time, what league this was in, the number of subs, consideration as to whether completion of a whole 10 minutes was needed for full payment of £20,000 and then realised that to continue down this path (in all likelihood along with 1,056 other pedants) would serve only to ruin my weekend. I will not be draw into your cunning plan to STOP WEEKENDS" - Chris Harrison (and no other pedants).

Send your letters to the.boss@guardian.co.uk. And if you've nothing better to do you can also tweet the Fiver.

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BITS AND BOBS

A life of double-training sessions, no booze, lengthy rants in Italian and not lying around on casino floors covered in £50 notes awaits Tom Huddlestone if talk linking the Spurs midfielder with an imminent move to Sunderland prove to be on the money.

Ahmed Elmohamady will have to endure no such hardship, having made his loan move from Sunderland to Hull permanent and signed for Steve Bruce's considerably less spartan regime on a three-year deal.

Djinkin' Djibril Cissé has left Queens Park Rangers by mutual consent, despite having one year left on his big fat contract. The Fiver's at a loss to know who's consent was more mutual in this one, if we're honest.

Everton have rejected Manchester United's offer of £12m for left-back Leighton Baines, but talk on Merseyside suggests they'll take £20m for the 28-year-old who looks like he should be playing lead guitar or at least shaking a tamborine for Arctic Monkeys on Glastonbury's Pyramid Stage tonight.

Blackeye Rovers have cancelled the contract of Portugal international Nuno Gomes by mutual consent, which came as big news to the Fiver, who had no idea Portugal international Nuno Gomes had signed for Blackeye Rovers.

Ian Harte has signed for Bournemouth on a one-year deal, having been released by Reading at the end of the season. "He's impressed me since he was playing for Leeds," said Cherries gaffer Eddie Howe, who clearly didn't think much of the Irishman's formative years playing for St. Kevins in Dublin.

There's a rumour doing the rounds that Paul Ince has offered to resign his position as Guv'nor of Blackpool, but the Fiver neither cares nor is well connected enough to find out if it's true.

And in Scotland, the Euro Disnae League and the Scottish Fitbaw League have agreed to merge after a marathon meeting that lasted 15 hours and probably consisted of a lot of men who sound like Groundskeeper Willie in The Simpsons shouting at each other a lot.

STILL WANT MORE?

Identify the retro football computer game from the graphic in this lovingly compiled quiz by Merseyside's own Gregg Bakowski.

In Not Football: rather than scour the city's fast food retail outlets for rogue Australian international rugby players, Andy Bull spent his night in Melbourne getting a wee bit chippy with a couple of annoying know-alls in a webchat. Here's how it went down.

Remember Paolo Bandini? Writes about Serie A, got too big for his boots, went off to live in the American mid-west and write a biography of some Sporting Kansas City goalkeeper from Denmark that you've never heard of? Here's an extract from that very tome.

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PLEASE. MAKE. IT. STOP.Scott Murray
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