Scott Murray's Blog, page 224

World Cup 2014 qualifiers: 10 talking points from the weekend's action | Guardian Sport staff

Giovanni Trapattoni realises he needs invention, Graham Zusi's star is on the rise and Sweden can ill afford to slip up once again

Can Trapattoni ever feel the Irish force?

A routine win over the Faroe Islands cannot deflect the suspicion that this campaign will represent another opportunity lost by the Republic of Ireland. Wes Hoolahan brought much-needed invention to the Irish attack, as everyone knew he would, and Giovanni Trapattoni finally admitted that the Norwich schemer is yet another player he has ignored for too long, only giving the 31-year-old his first competitive start last week rather than, say, before the predictable Euro 2012 flop.

A similar reluctance to recognise the counter-productiveness of his crude tactics enabled Austria to equalise in the dying seconds in Dublin during March and that result looks particularly damaging to Ireland's qualification hopes after Austria followed it up with victory in Sweden on Friday. Ireland are now likely to need to beat Sweden at home and Austria away and only have a chance of doing so if Trapattoni genuinely realises that Ireland are not as talent-deprived as he has often made them look. It is all very well deploying Hoolahan against the Faroes when James McCarthy is unavailable, but does Trap have the gumption to play them both in high-stakes matches against proper opposition? Paul Doyle

Never mind the maths, feel the passion

The jaded, the desperately cynical and the English will mock the Scots as they celebrate their side's stunning win in Croatia, pointing out the comparatively minor worth of the result to a team already knocked out of the World Cup. But therein lies the root cause of the glee: Scotland were out of the World Cup before a ball had even been kicked in qualifying, Craig Levein's morbid fatalism extracting all the fun, passion, hope, vim and vigour from the national XI.

They were on a hiding to nothing from the off. Compare and contrast with the infinitely more dynamic Gordon Strachan, who has already rebuilt confidence to the extent that Scotland went over to Croatia "believing we could get something", according to Robert Snodgrass, the goalscoring hero also opining that he and his pals "could have nicked a few more goals". A few! A positive attitude isn't the be all and end all, but the fancy tactics and progressive phases of play can come later: for now, Scotland are having to pick themselves off the floor, and the new positivity that fuelled tired legs as they relentlessly pressed Croatia into impotent frustration is a welcome start. Scott Murray

Croatia operating well below billing

Having said all that, Croatia were nothing short of abysmal. The pointlessness of the Fifa world rankings isn't exactly news but players representing a team ranked fourth in the world should be able to perform basic functions like trapping and passing the ball, whether they're being hassled by Alan Hutton or not. Scotland, taking things one step at a time, can be forgiven for their part in a match which at times descended into Sunday park nonsense, but the Croats were too easily harried into a shapeless and panicked mess. Belgium are three points clear at the top now and should seal the automatic qualification spot, for while they still need to travel to Split, a draw shouldn't be beyond their starlets against a rickety team which looks worryingly over-reliant on Luka Modric. SM

Bad noose for Stuart Pearce…

Damage report, Mr Pearce. Best players: out. Defensive organisation: out. Midfield creativity: out. Enough of what's out! What's in? Ice-blended mocha drinks and Stuart Pearce's neck in a noose after Norway's victory over England on Saturday night. "Humiliation isn't a word I'd use," said the Under-21 manager afterwards but a humiliation is exactly what it was as Norway, a country with far less resources and far less money, earnestly embarrassed England for 90 minutes. Afterwards, Pearce was bullish about his prospects of keeping his job – "I always view what I do over a two-year period and results don't change my mentality" – but it is nigh on impossible to see how he will do so, especially given the performances in Israel, not to mention the fact that his side have now failed to pick up a win within the bounds of 90 minutes in their last eight encounters at the Under-21 European Championship finals. The question is: who should be next? Ian McCourt

Good news for Roy Hodgson

But it's not all doom and gloom and fume for English fans. On Friday night, Ukraine mauled Montenegro in Podgorica and in doing so did England the biggest favour since the US accepted Piers Morgan's visa request. Before the game the England manager, Roy Hodgson, had expressed a desire for a draw between the two sides challenging England for a place on the plane to Brazil. However, Ukraine's 4-0 win – during which both sides had players sent off and thus suspended for forthcoming key clashes – is a much better result. It means that England now have a far superior goal difference to the leaders of the group, Montenegro, as well as a game in hand, and yet are still a point ahead of Ukraine. Roy Hodgson's side have four game to go – Moldova at home, Ukraine away, Montenegro at home and Poland at home. The crossing to Kiev will be critical as will the meeting of Montenegro at home but if England come out of those games with four points then Hodgson can start preparing his excuses for a quarter-final finish come next summer. IMC

Zusi creates a problem for Donovan

Graham Zusi continues to make leaving out a legend easy. There is no clearer justification for Jürgen Klinsmann's decision to overlook Landon Donovan than the recent performances of Zusi, who again impressed on the right-hand side of USA's midfield during their dramatic win in Jamaica. Zusi has the discipline and strength that Donovan lacks but also a valuable creative edge, as shown by the perfect cross for Jozy Altidore's goal, the second time in two games that he has teed up the in-form striker. PD

Balotelli remains forever young

Mario Balotelli may have moved club and country but it seems that he has left none of his impetuous nature behind him. Since he moseyed to Milan, he has picked up almost as many yellow cards as he has goals but against the Czech Republic he went one better. With his side drawing 0-0 and in need of some forward force for a win that would have put them six points clear of Bulgaria and dreaming of caipirinhas and capybaras, Balotelli lunged late and led with an elbow to ensure Italy ended with 10 men. The excuses came rolling our afterwards – "he will always be the target of provocation," said Cesare Prandelli, while Gigi Buffon maintained the forward was "unlucky" – but at some stage, Balotelli simply has to grow up. Despite his bouts of brilliance – and he has been brilliant for Milan – Balotelli's temper is far too inconsistent to lead an international side with the type of lofty ambitions that the Azzurri are anchored with. If he can mature, he could ensure Italy do not suffer the same ignominious exit as befell them in 2010 but unfortunately for him and his country, that is still one very big if. IMC

Sweden must avoid another slip-up

When Sweden last played the Faroe Islands, the Faroes' keeper Gunnar Nielsen was in inspired form and kept Zlatan Ibrahimovic at bay for much of the match. At the other end, Rogvi Baldvinsson's surprise 57th-minute strike put the underdogs into the lead before Alexander Kacaniklic evened things up. Eventually, Ibrahimovic scored the winner in the 75th minute but the point remains that the Faroe Islands – given a fair wind and a bit of luck – can beat Sweden. The Group C rivals face each other on Tuesday night in Stockholm and the Swedes are coming into the match on the back of some pretty poor form: their last five games include just one win (against Macedonia), 0-0 draws against the Republic of Ireland and Slovakia, a defeat to Argentina and, last week, another loss to Austria. They sit second in the Group C standings and can little afford a slip-up against the supposed group whipping boys. Tom Bryant

Clubs should keep an eye out for Ospina

With the transfer window soon to open, those clubs in search of a keeper could do worse than fluttering their wherewithals in the direction of Colombia and Nice's David Ospina. The 24-year-old beat back wave after wave of one of the most lustrous line-ups in international football when he faced Argentina at the weekend and his double save on the 16-minute mark was one of the highlights of the match. Angel Di María swung in a free-kick from the right, Colombia failed to clear it and the ball dropped on to the foot of Gonzalo Higuaín. At this point fans of La Albiceleste could be forgiven for shouting gooooooooooooooooooooool since Higuaín was inside the six-yard box and missing looked harder than punching a pathway out of a wet and worn paper bag. But somehow Ospina managed to get his body in the way of Higuaín's hammered drive. The rebound fell to Marcos Rojo who, like Higuaín, was inside the six-yard box and who, like Higuaín, looked set to give his side the lead. But Ospina sprung from the ground and into action, tipping Rojo's goal-bound header over the bar. Even when Leo Messi came on in the second half, Ospina's sheet remained free from blemish. IMC

Mifsud and Malta's magic moment

Honk the good-times klaxon, break open that special bottle and blow the dust off that old Maltese jersey you bought on holiday a few years ago but wore only once to five-a-side on a Monday night and then never wore again as you thought it brought bad luck. It is time to celebrate. It had been 20 years since Malta won an away international – Estonia were overcome 1-0 in May 1993 – but that same scoreline was enough for them to claim victory over an Armenia side that are 67 places ahead of them in the Fifa world rankings. Michael Mifsud is the man who will never have to pay for a pint in Valletta ever again as he scored his side's only attempt on target. But the goalkeeper, Justin Haber, was just as crucial to their success, pulling off a lorry-load of saves to ensure Armenia's domination was not converted into goals. The win provided the only points Malta have earned from this current qualifying campaign but that did not seem to perturb Haber: "I am so proud to be part of this team, which goes down in Maltese football history," he maintained jubilantly afterwards. IMC

EnglandScotlandCroatiaRepublic of IrelandItalyUSAColombiaSwedenMaltaFaroe IslandsUS sportsPaul DoyleScott MurrayIan McCourtTom Bryant
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Queensland Reds v Lions - as it happened | Scott Murray

Minute-by-minute report: The Lions took on the free-flowing Reds at their own game, winning a highly entertaining match and making it three out of three victories on this tour. Scott Murray was watching

Scott Murray

The Fiver | Arsenal's grand plan to show off Wayne Rooney like a fancy garden ornament | Scott Murray

Click here to have the Fiver sent to your inbox every weekday at 5pm, or if your usual copy has stopped arriving

CUCUMBER AND POTATOES

Eighty two years ago, work began on the West Stand at Highbury. With the resident football club, The Arsenal, having recently won their first trophy, the renowned architect Claude Waterlow Ferrier was commissioned to oversee the construction of a celebratory grand edifice, to be built in the art deco style, boasting upholstered seats with arm rests, walls adorned with ornamental bas-reliefs of the club emblem, and lounges heated by the new-fangled electricity in which one could imbibe tall glasses of gin and cucumber with the capital's other gentlefolk while discussing matters of great contemporary import, perhaps opining that this noisy New Orleans "jass" music will never catch on, or that young Edward, Prince of Wales is sure to one day reign over us as king for many a year, or that this chappie over in Germany looks to have some solid ideas which will do his country's reputation no end of good in the long run.

What we're trying to say is, Arsenal are not New Money. They are resolutely Old Money, a class apart from the oiks who can be currently found debasing themselves by shamelessly parading around waving shiny tin pots and flaunting other FA-approved trinkets. So why on earth their chief executive Ivan Gazidis is harping on like some common-or-garden lottery winner is beyond us. "This year we are beginning to see something we have been planning for some time – the escalation in our financial firepower," he gauchely chuckled. Asked whether he would be prepared to allow Arsène Wenger to spend upwards of £25m on a single player – the club record remains a refined £15m, every bronze centime wasted on Andrey Arshavin – Gazidis wasted no time in jabbering: "We could do that! We could do more than that!" Really, Ivan, what a merry puddle you'll get everyone into.

To this end, Arsenal are making plans to spend a preposterous sum of money on the retired footballer Wayne Rooney, presumably with the intention of placing him somewhere in their grounds, in full view of the neighbours, as an ersatz ornament which shows off how much money they've got. It's unbecoming behaviour, especially when you consider that Wenger himself has always known that Arsenal should comport themselves with dignity. "He is pretty blind to price tags," admitted Gazidis. "He looks at what he sees with his eyes and makes judgments based on that, not on reputations and prices." Whether he fritters away the best part of £30m on Rooney like Viv Nicholson, then, is a moot point. Although maybe the kindly Arsenal boss will broker a deal simply in order to make poor Wayne feel better about himself. After all, he's currently a figure of fun on the internet due to his appearance in an advert for Malaysian snack Mr Potato, presumably the joke being that he's fat and looks like a potato, except he isn't and he doesn't really, does he.

QUOTE OF THE DAY

"Our goal is to extend Anfield but we need certainty and that comes with the acquisition of properties. Real progress has been made in acquiring them. Once they have all been acquired we will go through the planning process. We would expect to be in a position to make that a certainty this summer. Once planning has been achieved then we can start construction" – having heard as many empty promises as there are empty properties in the L4 area in recent years, residents in Anfield could be forgiven for sighing after Liverpool chief executive Ian Ayre's latest update on the redevelopment of the club's stadium, which is key to the regeneration of the blighted area.

FIVER LETTERS

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BITS AND BOBS

CLUNK! That's the sound of the door closing on the loophole that allowed Watford to benefit from 14 overseas loaned players last season. From now on only five will be allowed in matchday squads.

Napoli's president Aurelio De Laurentiis has started swinging his pocket watch from side to side and told Chelsea to look into his eyes because they are interested in buying Edinson Cavani. "Chelsea are interested in Cavani and they will call me soon," he repeatedly soothed.

Wayne Bridge is chuffed about signing for Reading. "I'm excited to be joining a team that is going to be looking for promotion next season," trilled the man whose slack marking in the play-off semi-final ended Brighton's search for promotion last season.

Michael Laudrup has put down the toy that he was about to throw from his pram and insisted that he isn't about to leave Swansea due to a lack of transfer activity. "I think all the speculation regarding my future is due to the fact that there hasn't been any good news since we played our last game three weeks ago," blubbed Laudrup, overlooking this.

And Stuart Pearce has got his excuses in early in case his England U21 boys take a hell of a beating at the hands of Norway in their Euro Championship group match. "You've got to understand, and you don't want to mention it, but I could have named you 13 players that could have been here. I've had two players suspended and two injured, so that's 17 players [out]," mentioned Pearce, mentioning exactly what he wanted to mention.

STILL WANT MORE?

Still feeling the pinch but fancy owning your own Premier League team? Simon Burnton runs through the best XI players available for nowt this summer.

Jacob Steinberg thought football had stopped. Then he was asked to write this blog about 10 things to look out for from this weekend's World Cup qualifiers and felt a bit naive.

And Scott Murray wrote this lovely Joy of Six on US Open golfing glory and felt all warm inside because he thought he'd stopped football … until The Man rang him and asked him to cobble together the Fiver.

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THREE DEFEATS IN THREE FINALS. LEFTY BOTTLERS? PROBABLYArsenalScott Murray
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The Joy of Six: US Open golf glory | Scott Murray

From Willie Anderson in 1901 to step one of the Tiger Slam, via Jack Nicklaus and playing with the threat of death

1) Arnold Palmer (1960)

"You're dead," scoffed golf writer Bob Drum. He'd just been asked by Arnold Palmer, two times a Master but yet to land his national title, if a final-round 65 could win the US Open. "Nah, you're too far back, Arnie. That would do nothing." Palmer threw his half-eaten cheeseburger down – it was lunch between the third and fourth rounds of the 1960 tournament at Cherry Hills near Denver, the final 36 holes in those days all played on the Saturday – and left the locker room in the lofty state of high dudgeon.

In fairness to Drum, his was a reasonable, if slightly tactless, response. Palmer came into the Open as the favourite, fresh from winning at Augusta, but he pushed his opening tee shot into a ditch, double bogeyed the first hole, and never quite got going. He'd putted poorly, and after three rounds was seven shots behind the leader Mike Souchak. There were 13 other players in between the two, including four-time winner Ben Hogan, Gary Player, former champ Julius Boros, the pop singer Don Cherry (!) and a promising young amateur called Jack Nicklaus. Yep, Arnie was dead.

Except, of course, Arnie wasn't dead. Steam trailing from his lugs – "I was a little angry at Drum and his attitude," recalled Palmer – he took to the first tee and attempted to drive the green at the short par four. His ball rolled to 20 feet. He didn't make the eagle putt, but birdie was a good enough start. Come the 4th, he'd made four of them in a row. By the 7th, he'd made another two, by which point he was jigging across the turf in a syncopated manner, repeatedly tossing his visor into the air in celebration. A shot was dropped at 8, but he still reached the turn in 30 strokes, a new tournament record.

That pique-fuelled charge – followed by one last birdie at 11 – was enough to land Palmer the title. Souchak, unnerved by the ear-splitting noise generated by Palmer's gallery – which now included Drum, the player greeting the hapless scribe on his arrival with a raised eyebrow and a wry "fancy seeing you here!" – fell apart. Young Nicklaus briefly held the lead but, callow and nervous, naively elected to putt over a ball mark and three putted, all momentum lost. Finally Hogan, who had hit 34 out of 34 greens in regulation on the final day going up 17, dumped his approach in water while striving too hard to nudge ahead of Palmer, then got wet again from the tee at the last. Palmer's seven-shot comeback was the greatest in US Open history, the visor he launched on the final green still, it's said, in orbit. Nice that Arnie celebrated so well while the going was good, because a mere six years later, he would, unlike his cap, come crashing back down to earth.

2) Jack Nicklaus (1962)

"I'll tell you something," sighed Hogan as he contemplated his capitulation at Cherry Hills. "I played 36 holes today with a kid who should have won this US Open by 10 shots." Displacement and denial, as the old boy tried to detract from his disastrous end to the tournament? Perhaps. Perhaps a tad. But really, Hogan was only telling the world a glaringly obvious truth: the 20-year-old Jack Nicklaus, who had finished in second place, two shots behind Palmer and two ahead of Hogan, was a serious talent ready to flower. It would only be a matter of time before he won one of the big titles.

Two years on, Nicklaus had turned pro. In the meantime, the US Open had become even more of a national obsession, thanks to the increasing popularity of network television coverage, and Palmer was the game's biggest star. In 1960, he had came close to completing the grand slam, a new concept Palmer had whisked up with the aforementioned Drum – a good pal, despite what events at Cherry Hill might suggest. The slam would consist of the Masters, US Open, Open and PGA, a modern twist on the achievements of Bobby Jones, whose 1930 sweep of the Opens and Amateur championships in the USA and Britain had been given an unwieldy but impressively haughty monicker: The Impregnable Quadrilateral of Golf.

The Impregnable Quadrilateral of Golf!

Palmer's 1960 tilt at the all-new Impregnable Quadrilateral saw him, as we've already seen, win the Masters and US Open. But he was pipped to the Open by Kel Nagle, and could only – only! – register a top-seven finish at the PGA. However, coming into the 1962 US Open the slam was on again for Arnie: he had just won his third green jacket at Augusta and, to illustrate his dominance, was the reigning Open champion to boot.

Palmer was the hottest of favourites, not least because he would be performing in front of Arnie's braying Army at his hometown course of Oakmont, Pennsylvania. He was paired with Nicklaus for the first two rounds, during which the crowds persistently berated the gauche Golden Bear for being a fat-faced pup. "I didn't even know Arnold was from that area," shrugged Nicklaus, "and I could have cared less. I didn't pay any attention to the gallery, I was there to play golf."

Nicklaus held his own amid the brouhaha, and by the end of those two rounds was only three behind the co-leader Palmer. By the 54-hole mark, he had made up a stroke on Arnie, who still led. Palmer should have wrapped up the tournament on the 9th hole of the final round when, now four ahead of Nicklaus, he fluffed two chips to turn a birdie chance into bogey. Nicklaus, who made no such mistake, eventually carded a 69 to Palmer's disappointing 71, and the two had to come back the day after for an 18-hole play-off.

"I'd rather play anybody but that big, strong, happy dude," muttered a concerned Palmer ahead of the duel. He was right to fuss and fret. Dropping a shot at the opening hole, he trailed all the way round. Nicklaus had his first slam: one down, 17 to go. Palmer, meantime, already had five in his bag, and would bounce back with another by retaining his Open title in Britain a month later. Plenty at the time will have banked on the man they called The King notching a few more majors on to his belt. But it didn't quite work out like that.

3) Billy Casper (1966)

The final part of our Arnie triptych, and we join our man on the 10th tee of the final round at the Olympic Club, San Francisco, in the 1966 US Open. He's seven clear of Billy Casper, nine ahead of Nicklaus, and a sure-fire bet to land his first biggie since the 1964 Masters, his seventh major title. "Arnold," jabbered a nervous Casper as the two prepared to hit their drives. "If I don't get going soon, Nicklaus is going to beat me for second place." Palmer told his playing partner to calm down, and that he would help him if he could. It was a promise Palmer would, years later, reflect on with a resigned chuckle. "Well, I helped him," he quipped. "I helped him a lot."

Palmer hooked his drive into rough down 10 and bogeyed, though he picked the shot up again on 12, a hole Casper also birdied. With six holes remaining, there were six shots between the top two. Palmer, any nerves settled by the birdie, decided to go for the kingpin: Hogan's tournament record score of 276, set in 1948. Bad decision. Playing with needless aggression, he dropped a shot at 13, then another at 15, recklessly going for a pin tucked behind a bunker and finding sand. Casper knocked in a 20-footer for birdie, and suddenly the lead was only three.

At which point Palmer, as Casper later had it, "panicked". On 16, he hooked another drive into trouble; Casper met the resulting bogey with a birdie of his own and the lead was whittled down to a single shot. That shot went on 17, when Palmer left an eight-footer for par one dimple short of the cup, swishing his putter after the ball in an impotent frenzy. The scores were tied. As the enormity of his meltdown sunk in, Palmer stared at the crowd awhile, then turned to shoot daggers at his ball, before his eyeballs rolled to earth in a race with his shoulders. As a study of angst, inner turmoil and sheer helplessness, it's hard to beat.

Another play-off for Palmer, then, and there would be another collapse on Olympic's back nine. He led by two at the turn, but a two-shot swing at 12, followed by a long Casper birdie effort on 13, put paid to his hopes. Despite another 14 top-10 finishes in major tournaments, Palmer would never win another one. The King was dead.

4) Ken Venturi (1964)

When rampant Rory McIlroy won the US Open by eight shots at Congressional in 2011, the parallels with Ken Venturi, forefather of Brave Golf, were hard to ignore. McIlroy had stormed the field in Maryland after being written off by the world and her playing partner, a result of that final-round capitulation in the Masters two months earlier. It was a stunning response to adversity, a rocky road not dissimilar to the one travelled by Venturi 47 years earlier. Venturi, too, as a young man had thrown away a four-shot lead going into the last round of a Masters, shooting 80 like McIlroy, in 1956. And he too would find salvation at Congressional in the US Open, an unexpected triumph after three seasons in which, the Observer had noted, "he simply couldn't hit his hat".

There was one crucial difference between the two feats, though. McIlroy, staunch as he was, hadn't been advised to pull out after three rounds by a doctor concerned that another 18 holes could result in death.

That Venturi was in contention at the halfway mark of the 1964 US Open was jaw-dropping in itself. At least McIlroy was young and on the up when he won his Open. Venturi, by contrast, was widely considered to be yesterday's news. After announcing himself with that near miss at the '56 Masters, he had finished in the top 10 at that year's US Open, before going on to register five more top-10 major finishes in the following four years, a run which included two further near misses at Augusta. But injury had taken its toll, and his form dropped off to the point that he informed pals of his plan to quit. He had earned less than $4,000 in 1963.

But while considering his options at home, Venturi was given a kick up the pants by a local priest, who proselytized for a more relaxed attitude to life. Ahead of Congressional, the man of the cloth sent Venturi a letter urging him to take one last push at glory, and that should he win, it would be "a blessing and a tonic to so many people who desperately need encouragement and a reason for hope". Concentrating on one shot at a time and refusing to look at the leaderboards or worry about any of the names appearing on it, Venturi carded stress-free opening rounds of 72 and 70 to find himself in fourth place going into the final 36 holes on Saturday. One last push at glory, then. One last big push.

Only that was easier said than done with temperatures at Congressional touching 100 degrees and humidity in the 90s. Venturi reached the turn of his third round in 30, but the wheels came off alarmingly at the end; dehydrated and delirious, and stumbling around the course under a large white cloth cap, a dangerously overheating Venturi missed short putts at 17 and 18. Walking off the last green, two shots behind the leader Tommy Jacobs, he attempted to pass his putter between his hands. His weak left paw made a pathetic grab through thin air and the club fell to the floor. With the final 18 holes still to play after lunch, Venturi's race looked run.

"I recommend you don't go out there," said the club doctor to Venturi, who was sprawled on the floor of the locker room, his coupon drained of colour, unable to eat and barely able to drink any restorative lemon tea. "It could be fatal." Venturi, gathering together his last slivers of strength, asked the doc whether the prospect of expiring on the scorched fairway was any worse than the way his career, and by definition his life, had been going for the past few years. He stumbled back out on to the course, medicine man in hot pursuit with ice bags, water and salt tablets.

Until his dying day, Venturi insisted he could not remember a single stroke of the next nine holes. But with a determined trudge, fuelled by Dr Salt who was shadowing his every step under the searing sun, he somehow reached the turn in 35, and it was Jacobs who inexplicably wilted in the heat. After raking in a birdie putt on 13, Venturi found himself four clear and just needed to make it home in one piece. Informing the referee – and current Chinese prodigy Guan Tianlang will be interested in this, given what happened to him at this year's Masters – that he can "penalise me two strokes if you want, but I'm slowing down", Venturi shuddered along at snail's pace, before dropping his putter on the 18th green again, this time in disbelieving joy. "My God," he whispered, half to his caddy, half to the shimmering sun: "I've won the Open."

5) Tiger Woods (2000)

Pebble Beach only became a US Open venue in 1972, though the picturesque Californian course quickly became ingrained in competition legend: Nicklaus winning stage two of his grand slam attempt in '72, only to be undone by Lee Trevino at Muirfield a month later; Tom Watson realising his destiny by chipping in at 17 to deny Nicklaus in 1982; 2010's modern classic, albeit one framed in old-school grinding terms, where Graeme McDowell took advantage of Dustin Johnson's spectacular meltdown to scrap his way to Europe's first victory since Tony Jacklin's brief pomp.

Most memorable, though, was the Open of 2000, when Tiger decimated the field. "It's the best I've ever played," he insists today, though he's hardly shining a light on his innermost secrets. Woods shot 65-69-71-67 for two contemporary records: an aggregate low of 272 strokes, and a mark of -12, double figures under par then unknown in US Opens. (The third-round par 71, incidentally, was arguably the most impressive of all, carded with the winds whipping in from the bay and the rest of the field in abject turmoil.) Both records have since been superseded by Rory McIlroy, on his Congressional cakewalk of 2011, but one other still stands: the margin of victory, a ludicrous 12 shots.

It was also the first stage of the Tiger Slam, which would be completed after Woods followed this up by winning the 2000 Open, 2000 PGA, and 2001 Masters, a majestic feat and an unparalleled achievement, which counts as a full-on grand slam, an unquestionable Impregnable Quadrilateral, in the minds of all but the most tragic pedant. And its brilliance was timely, for not only was it the centenary US Open, but also the first since the death of the reigning champion Payne Stewart. A finer tribute than Tiger's win there could not have been, though the poignant twist on the 21-gun salute – a row of Stewart's friends and colleagues firing drives into the watery vagueness of the ocean – ran it pretty damn close.

6) Willie Anderson (1901)

Tiger is going for his fourth Open title this week. Should he make it, he'll join an exclusive gang of quadruple winners which includes three greats – Jack Nicklaus, Ben Hogan and Bobby Jones – as well as one forgotten man. Willie Anderson was born in North Berwick, Scotland, and emigrated to the US as a teenager. A golfing prodigy, unerring accuracy his trademark, he nearly won the third US Open in 1897 at the age of 17, only to be denied by a birdie at the last by English pro Joe Lloyd. No matter, because four years later he won the tournament at the wonderfully titled Myopia Hunt Club in Massachusetts.

That victory was, in many respects, very much of its time. Anderson's determined spirit was apparent from the off. Informed by a club member that the players were to eat their lunch in the kitchen – professionals were not allowed in the clubhouse due to their reputation for hard boozing and creative swearing – he responded by hacking up several huge divots while shouting "naw naw naw" in the full and frank style. A few minutes later, the suddenly knock-kneed member had erected a tent where the players could munch their lunch in style.

The course itself was not so accommodating. The greens made those at Pinehurst No2 look like deep-pile carpet – one player overhit a putt and watched his ball roll off the surface and under some greenside shrubs, losing it in the process – and scores were high. Anderson and fellow Scot Alex Smith made a play-off, the first in the US Open, with scores of 331, still the highest winning total in the tournament's history. Anderson prevailed in the play-off – which had to wait three days, the course having been reserved for members over the weekend – after coming back from five strokes down with five holes to play to win by one shot.

Another record awaited Anderson: by winning again in 1903, 1904 and 1905, he became the first – and still the only – player to manage three consecutive victories. He died tragically young, aged 31, the rumour mill suggesting the businesslike consumption of cheap liquor had played a role in his demise. Still, at least he had left an indelible mark on ancient US Open history, one still visible from a distance to all but, well, the most myopic.

US OpenGolfUS sportsScott Murray
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Football transfer rumours: Arsenal to sign Marouane Fellaini?

Today's stuff is nonsense

We start today with word of Leighton Baines going to Manchester United. Not because it's a new rumour – it has featured every single day for the past two months, after all – but you knew it was coming at some point, so we may as well get it over and done with. Anyway today's status is that it's not on, Everton aren't having it. With no Rumour Mill published over the weekend, the forecast is that on Saturday it will be on again, and on Sunday it probably won't be but it might. United are also after the young Peñarol right-back Guillermo Varela, who we tag on to the end of this paragraph simply so we don't have to bold up Manchester United twice. Ah. Basic error, we have indeed bolded up Manchester United tw … oh we're all over the shop here.

With pantomime villain Luis Suárez leaving Liverpool for Real Madrid or Bayern Munich, those who enjoy posting pompous comments on the bottom half of the internet will need a new stimulant for the froth gland in their mouths. Oh look! Here comes £8m-rated Carlos Tevez!

Having won the League Cup and joined the pantheon of managerial greats such as Alex McLeish, Brian Little, Steve McClaren and Graeme Souness, Michael Laudrup has decided he has done enough at Swansea City. Also annoyed at the club's unwillingness to spend ready cash on the Sevilla striker Alvaro Negredo or the St-Etienne forward Pierre-Emerick Aubameyang, he'll be packing a couple of sticks of Danish dynamite under the club by swanning off to Real Madrid.

Arsenal are desperate to show that they are moving forward as a club. With this in mind, they are going to put together a £200,000-a-week package and £25m bid for 2004's Wayne Rooney. They are also now in pole position to land Marouane Fellaini, because Everton have clearly had more than enough of being asset stripped by Manchester United, it's not funny any more.

Stoke City have a "traditional long-ball style", according to the papers, which may or may not come as a surprise to anyone who saw Stanley Matthews or George Eastham play. Mark Hughes is looking to change that, anyway, and with this in mind his first signings will be Junior Hoilett of QPR and PSV Eindhoven's left-back Erik Pieters.

And finally, in a story we should probably have led with, now we come to think about it, the Chelsea boss José Mourinho is on the lookout for the Robert Huth de nos jours, and is in for the Napoli striker Edinson Cavani, Zenit St Petersburg's Hulk, Fiorentina's Stevan Jovetic and Manchester City's Edin Dzeko. Yes, all of them.

Transfer windowScott Murray
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Football transfer rumours: John Terry and Patrice Evra to Monaco?

Today's gossip can't be encapsulated by a mere standfirst

The only reason today's Rumour Mill can't be legally described as super soaraway is because it's so big it can't get off the ground. Speaking of a distressing lack of mobility, knackered old warhorse John Terry has been deemed surplus to requirements at Chelsea. That decision was reached by Roberto Di Matteo and then Rafael Benítez, but José Mourinho's actually going to do something about it. He'll pack off his old pal towards Monaco, flinging his armband and ceremonial shinpads after him as he bounces across Wandsworth Bridge Road on the reddest section of his blue shorts.

Terry may be joined at Monaco by Daniel Agger of Liverpool and Manchester United's Patrice Evra. New money trying to buy themselves a few years of family history with a few antiques, there, but they're fooling no one.

Manchester United have made few inquiries in the transfer market of late, if the number of rumours about them in the press is anything to go by, which to be honest it isn't. They've got to be up to something, though, and it seems they're keeping tabs on the Paris Saint-Germain target Cristiano Ronaldo, though they've been doing that since 2009 so there's limited news value in that.

They're also in for the PSV midfielder Kevin Strootman, the Benfica defender Ezequiel Garay, and the Everton duo Marouane Fellaini and Leighton Baines. Should David Moyes land Fellaini and Baines, he'll annoy the Goodison support, but then he'd been doing that to sizeable enough chunks of it since 2009 so there's limited news value in that.

More unimaginative transfer news: Roberto Martínez, newly installed at Everton, will go back to Wigan for the midfielders James McCarthy and Callum McManaman. All good news, but wait until he makes a bid for Gary Caldwell too.

Tottenham Hotspur want a new striker. Oh they want a new striker. Valencia's Roberto Soldado, Benfica's Rodrigo, Barcelona's David Villa, Internacional's Leandro Damião, and Christian Benítez, formerly of Birmingham City but now at Club América, are all on their list. But Christian Benteke heads it, and they'll offer Aston Villa a bag of coins with Jermain Defoe poking out the top of it in order to seal a deal.

Arsenal, Atlético Madrid and Liverpool also want the big Belgian. The latter may consider throwing in Andy Carroll as part of a cheeky bid, but he won't fit inside a bag of coins. Perhaps they'll give him a large, outsized cheque to hold instead. Carroll, currently starring as Lennie in Of Mice And Men at the National, is also considering a permanent move to West Ham.

With Benteke seemingly out of the door, Aston Villa need a boost, and the Montpellier midfielder Younès Belhanda may give them that. Internazionale, Milan, Atlético and Galatasaray are all sniffing about, but the Moroccan fancies the Premier League for some reason, presumably labouring under the misapprehension that it's still 2007.

Laurent Koscielny and Bacary Sagna have both been emptying the pram of toys, though not before shifting the beads back and forth along the abacus running across the top. They want Arsène Wenger to spend some of his money, and they're off if he doesn't cough. Koscielny's tantrum is box fresh, so much so that there are no suitors lined up for him yet, but Sagna has been stomping the booties for a while now, and is likely to join PSG or become part of Monaco's ludicrously superannuated back line.

Arsenal's £23m move for the Fiorentina striker Stevan Jovetic might convince the pair to stay, though Chelsea are also sniffing around, ready to annoy. Mourinho also wants Edin Dzeko of Manchester City and 2010's Wesley Sneijder.

And finally, Hull City will buy the Leicester keeper Kasper Schmeichel, unless their manager Steve Bruce can be persuaded to up sticks and bugger off mid-project for Wigan Athletic. Can Steve Bruce be persuaded to up sticks and bugger off mid-project?

Transfer windowScott Murray
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England to experience the rich history of Brazil's Maracanã stadium

Newly renovated, the venue for World Cup despair in 1950 and Pelé's thousandth goal is still steeped in Brazilian football lore

The newly renovated Maracanã, as was revealed this week, is still a turn of a spanner and a whack of a hammer away from perfect nick. Seasoned observers can be forgiven for performing a quick double take in front of the calendar, for the more things change, the more they have stayed the same.

Rio de Janeiro's famous stadium was officially opened on 16 June 1950, eight days ahead of the World Cup for which it had been commissioned. The Fluminense striker Didi scored the first goal at the ground, for a Rio representative team facing a São Paulo selection, and was cheered for his efforts by a crowd of builders, who were still beavering away pitchside as the game went on.

The intensity of that beavering is open to interpretation, for the first phase of construction, which began in 1948, would not be officially completed until 1965. This led to one or two minor embarrassments when the 1950 World Cup got under way. Before the opening match, which Brazil won 4-0 against Mexico, Fifa staged a curtain-raising spectacular featuring a few fireworks followed by a 21-gun salute. It was a nice idea except that the ceremonial explosions sent a shower of commemorative concrete pellets raining down on to the heads of the 81,649 crowd, the walls of the stands having not quite hardened.

If that was harmless fun, the same cannot be said for Brazil's next match at the stadium, a winner-takes-all group game against Yugoslavia. Trotting out on to the pitch, the star Yugoslav striker Rajko Mitic ripped his head open on an exposed steel girder in the tunnel and, the referee cussed and impatient, was forced to miss the start of the game. Mitic eventually made it out on to the pitch after 20 minutes of medical treatment, whereupon his side gave as good as they got until half-time. Heading back to the changing rooms content with a 0-0 scoreline – a draw would see Yugoslavia through to the final pool at Brazil's expense – Mitic was delivered his second blow of the afternoon: he had not realised the Yugoslavs were in fact one down, Ademir having scored early on while he was being bandaged up.

The Maracanã was proving a difficult child but the nation failed to heed the karmic signs. Brazil made it to the final pool, whereupon they beat Sweden 7-1 and Spain 6-1. Then, exactly one month after the doors first creaked open, the place would become forever synonymous with gut-wrenching failure. Uruguay – their captain Obdulio Valera strutting around as if he owned the joint – bested their expectant and slightly complacent hosts 2-1 in what was effectively the final (although with Juan Alberto Schiaffino and Alcides Ghiggia also in their team, Uruguay were probably just the better side). A nation was plunged into manic depression and the legend of the Maracanazo – "the Maracanã Blow" – was born. It has never been forgotten.

Despite the searing pain, the defeat did Brazilian football a massive favour in the long run. Not only did it convince a superstitious Brazilian Football Confederation (CBF) to ditch the workaday white team uniform in favour of a shimmering yellow shirt, and encourage a nine-year-old Pelé to promise his heartbroken father that he would win the World Cup for him one day; it also gave the Maracanã instant legend status and a tarnished, romantic, adult glamour which belied its 30-day age.

A world-record crowd of approximately 205,000 desperados witnessed that fateful final. The Maracanã later hosted the largest-ever gathering for a club match, too. Flamengo and Fluminense met in the Campeonato Carioca, the Rio state league, on 12 December 1963. Predictably the 194,603 crowd was served up a totally uninspiring goalless draw, which at least goes to prove that size is not necessarily everything: arguably the most entertaining story in the entire history of the Fla-Flu rivalry concerns a league decider in 1941 at Flamengo's tiny Gávea stadium, which saw Fluminense – who needed only a draw – waste much of the second half, taking advantage of the ground's fun-sized dimensions by repeatedly booting the ball out of it and into a nearby lake.

Lest it be thought that the Maracanã always fluffs its lines, the stadium was the scene of Pelé's thousandth goal, a landmark passed neither before, nor since. Serendipity sent Santos to the world's largest stadium to face Vasco da Gama on 19 November 1969 with Pelé stuck on 999 goals. Sprinting to meet a high cross launched into the Vasco area, the great man leapt into the air and ... watched in impotent frustration as a defender beat him to the ball and planted it into his own net. No worries, for a few minutes later Santos were awarded a penalty, which Pelé converted with a shuffle and stutter, a trick he had picked up from his two-time World Cup-winning team-mate Didi.

But the old construction problems have never quite gone away. An urgent need for renovation was brought into sharp focus when a stand collapsed in 1992, killing three spectators. Tragedy was followed by high farce eight years later, when supporting girders in access ramps were found to have been eroded by dipso fans turning them into urine flumes, tangy ammonia eating through concrete and corroding the steel within. Brazil, it appeared, were not the Maracanã's only yellow menace.

And now a new era begins on Sunday with a big unveiling so nearly aborted. The place, then, is clearly still far from perfect – but then perfection has never been the attraction of the Maracanã. Would anyone want it any other way?

EnglandBrazilPeléScott Murray
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British & Irish Lions v Barbarians – as it happened | Scott Murray

Minute-by-minute report: A highly satisfactory victory for the Lions as they ease into their 2013 tour in hot and humid Hong Kong. Scott Murray was watching

Scott Murray

The Joy of Six: England and Brazil

From a Stanley Matthews schooling to Gary Lineker's dubious dink, via Pele, Jimmy Greaves and a pitch-invading dog

1) England 4-2 Brazil (1956 friendly)

The notion that English football instantly understood its place in the grand scheme of things once Hungary gave the national team a clip round the lug in 1953 is somewhat wide of the mark. When Brazil came to London for the first meeting between these two famous countries in May 1956, expectations were high that England would win easily. "It looks as though the English can fail today only if they lack physical and cerebral sprightliness," opined the Manchester Guardian, in the trademark haughty fashion of the time.

Thing is, in this particular instance, they had a point. Brazil had, by the admission of their own journalists, gone backwards since their impressive showings at the 1950 and 1954 World Cups. "The Brazilians said that their team was inferior to the side Hungary beat in 1954," reported this paper, noting that the Seleção "seemed a little tired" at the end of a workmanlike European tour which had seen them defeat Portugal, Austria and Turkey by one-goal margins, draw with Switzerland and Czechoslovakia, and suffer a 3-0 thumping at the hands of an Italian side slap-bang in the middle of a two-decade malaise. "In no game have they played up to their reputation," suggested our man, not inaccurately.

The guy from the Times would be more generous in spirit, but only to emphasise how well Walter Winterbottom's side managed to play when the teams met at Wembley. "Make no mistake, these Brazilians are maestros," clapped the Thunderer. "Wearing shirts of daffodil colour and the briefest of pale blue shorts, they might have belonged to a wood in springtime. Their gyrations, too, told of dance steps in wild woods with a special relish for flexibility and flourish. But this day it all faded against the solid oak of England. Brazil were ever fearful of the pass to Stanley Matthews."

The 41-year-old Matthews – 41! – was majestic, having a hand in all of England's goals in a 4-2 victory, Tommy Taylor and Colin Grainger with two apiece. The scoreline was all the more remarkable for the fact that the home side also missed two penalties. The Blackpool winger's performance – he bossed Nilton Santos, "the greatest left-back of all time", according to the soccer historian Cris Freddi – effectively secured the first-ever Ballon d'Or. He finished three votes ahead of Alfredo di Stefano, who had just led Real Madrid to the first European Cup, 47 to 44.

The citation by France Football, the mag running the new European Footballer of the Year award, makes for some reading. "Even when he was forcibly marked his face didn't move," wrote Gabriel Hanot, the journalist behind the launch of the European Cup. "He didn't laugh but he made the whole stadium laugh. After the Brazil match he was applauded like no other player ever had been, by both teams and officials. His gestures were comic and over the top. Chaplin and Matthews, two comic heroes of silent cinema, both English, two strings of a country with a natural sense of humour!" SM

2) Brazil 3-1 England (1962 World Cup)

Brazil and England's first meeting at the World Cup finals came four years before this one, in Sweden '58, but there's not a whole lot to say about that match, other than it was the first-ever goalless draw in a finals, and the last international contested by the Brazilians before the explosive introduction of Pele and Garrincha, a combination unleashed on the USSR, and the world, four days afterwards. Next! Onward!

The World Cup quarter-final in Chile four years later, the second time the countries met in official competition, also had an air of fin de siècle about it, at least for the English. It would prove to be the final international match in the careers of both Johnny Haynes and Gerry Hitchens, Walter Winterbottom's XI totally outplayed by Garrincha Plus Ten, the Little Bird beating several men with one dribble, scoring with his head from a corner, pelting another one home from 25 yards, and setting up Vava for the other. Hitchens had briefly given England hope with an equaliser by whacking in a rebound after Jimmy Greaves had planted a header on to the bar, but it was a futile boost. "Brazil beat England with no great difficulty," sighed the Guardian's headline. "Striking comparison in forward play."

These days, with the English forever locked into a self-serving state of denial, the game is remembered less in this country for the skelping administered by Brazil than for an incident with Greavsie and a little black dog. The curly cur ran on to the pitch, stopping play for a couple of minutes as it sashayed around the field avoiding capture Garrincha-style. Eventually the Spurs striker got down on all fours and grabbed the mutt, only to be rewarded for his efforts with a steaming hot jet of soupy brown urine, straight from the excitable doggie's front tail, right in the coupon and all down the bib. An instant metaphor, albeit a fairly cheap one. SM

3) Brazil 5-1 England (1964 Taça das Nações)

Stanley Matthews had been the star man eight years earlier, but the world game had moved on, and this time it was the turn of Pele to shine. England were over in Brazil for the Taça das Nações, a tournament also known as the Little World Cup, which was being held to celebrate the CBF's 50th anniversary. Alf Ramsey had been manager of England for just over a year, and his side was very much a work in progress, with Jimmy Greaves, Johnny Byrne and Bobby Moore more interested in going out on the larrup than concentrating on their football.

Whether this showed in England's first game of this mini tournament – also featuring Portugal and Argentina – is a moot point. Pele was in such scintillating form, it was difficult to know how anyone could have stopped him. For the first goal on 35 minutes, he skittered up and down the English half with the ball at his feet for the best part of 20 seconds before finally teeing up Rinaldo, who rifled a shot into the top left from distance. "He makes our hearts stop beating every time he's got the ball!" simpered the BBC's Kenneth Wolstenholme as Pele embarked on that particular baroque meander.

Greaves equalised at the start of the second half, bundling in from close range after legendary keeper Gilmar failed to deal with a long-range George Eastham shot, and England held their own until the hour. At which point Pele, with a delicate scooped crossfield pass, again set up Rinaldo – a two-hit wonder who did little else in his international career – to score another heatseeker into the top left. Pele then blasted one in from 25 yards for Brazil's third, before going on a 70-yard run down the middle of the pitch and sliding a pass wide right to Julinho for the fourth. He was buggering around with his sock when Roberto Dias flipped a free–kick into the net to set the seal on a 5-1 win, but you can't have everything.

But hold on, here's how you stop Pele: kick him all around the park like an old sock, that's how! And that's what Argentina did when the teams met in the next match, Pele getting so agitated that he stuck the head on José Agustin Messiano. As the players surrounded Pele and the referee, demanding action, more than 100 people, mainly photographers, invaded the pitch. It took five minutes for the police to clear the field and restart the game, by which time everyone had calmed down allowing Pele to shake hands with a few of his opponents and even hug one or two. Adults, see. The febrile atmosphere was retained in the stands, however, where Ramsey, watching events unfold in agog disbelief, was hit on the back of the noggin by an apple and stormed out in disgust.

Argentina won 3-0, incidentally, a result which led Ramsey to conclude, not incorrectly, that if his team could beat them, they'd win the World Cup on home soil two years later. SM

4) Brazil 2-1 England (1969 friendly)

And so the next time England travelled to Brazil, it was for a proper summit meeting between two of the best teams in the world. Ramsey's side were on a tour of America ahead of the upcoming World Cup, and had won in Mexico and Uruguay. But this was the big test. And a clash between cultures. "We use more physical energy than the South Americans and play more quickly towards goal," explained Sir Alf. "They like to elaborate more."

Ramsey's opposite number, former journalist and gun-toting nutter João Saldanha, was more interested in tactics than training. "Even in the days of Richard the Lionheart, they knew better than to line up abreast in defence," he bellowed. "Once one defender is beaten, the line is beaten. The system of 4-2-4, with four abreast, is stupid. We must have a zig-zag defence. We are likely to play 4-1-2-3, with Clodoaldo, a fine new Santos player, as the odd man in the middle."

The game was played in front of a crowd certainly in excess of 130,000, and probably nudging 135,000 (though that was small beer compared to the 160,000 who flocked to the Maracanã in 1959 to see Don Howe, Eddie Hopkinson and Norman Deeley in the flesh, a crowd which still stands as the largest ever at an England game). England, their confidence buoyed by the wins in Mexico City and Montevideo, played marvellously well. Colin Bell bossed the midfield in the first half, and opened the scoring on 14 minutes by slotting past Gilmar, the two-time World Cup winning keeper who was playing in his 100th and final international.

Tommy Wright had upended Gerson in the box on 28 minutes, but Carlos Alberto had spurned the penalty. Bobby Charlton had a great chance to put England two up on 51 minutes, only to shoot wide. England held out until there were 11 minutes remaining, but a goal had been coming, with the visitors suddenly feeling the heat and the effect of four games in 12 days. Martin Peters miscued to set up Tostão for the equaliser, and two minutes later that same player fed Jairzinho for the winner.

Saldanha admitted that "we had luck, and if Charlton had scored, we would have been finished". Ramsey was happy enough – "No one disappointed me" – and went away in the knowledge that his team could go toe to toe with the world's best on their own continent, something that would be proven in the famous match starring Jairzinho, Pele and Bobby Moore the following summer in Guadalajara.

But on the whole, Pele had been pretty quiet this time, having been marshalled magnificently by Alan Mullery. After the game, the Spurs midfielder admitted he had expected more from Brazil's star. His subsequent analysis – and if there's ever been a purer distillation of the differences in English and Brazilian attitudes, we've yet to taste it – was priceless. "He's a very clever player, although he strolls about too much." SM

5) Brazil 0-2 England (1984 friendly)

England consoled themselves for their failure to qualify for the 1984 European Championships by embarking on a three-match South American tour, starting in the Maracanã. The stadium was not full but the most significant gaps were in Brazil's line-up, which did not include Zico, Falcao, Socrates, Careca et al. Leandro, Junior and Roberto Dinamite were the only survivors from the 1982 World Cup and only three would make it to the 1986 tournament; indeed, there were only three survivors from Brazil's previous game, which had been more than seven months prior to the visit of England.

Still, England were not quite at full strength either and Brazil had not been beaten in the Maracanã for more than 20 years. John Barnes, only 20 years old and still a newcomer to the England squad, illuminated the match with one of the most brilliant individuals goals ever scored by his country. After receiving a pass from Mark Hateley some 30 yards out, Barnes feinted and glided his way past five strangely passive defenders before rolling the ball into the net. "The Brazilians never put a tackle in, but maybe they were shocked," Barnes said years later. "They probably thought no Englishman could do this – let him have a shot!" In the second half the Watford winger excelled again, sending in a cross for Hateley to head past the feeble Roberto Costa in Brazil's goal. PD

6) England 1-1 Brazil (1992 friendly)

Bebeto scored for the visitors before David Platt equalised but this match is remembered as the one that set the template for Gary Lineker's television career: a penalty gave the striker the perfect opportunity to draw level with Bobby Charlton in England's all-time scoring stakes but the goalkeeper saved his dink down the middle. Lineker was not, alas, sufficiently embarrassed to refrain from further attempts at wit. PD

EnglandBrazilScott MurrayPaul Doyle
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Football transfer rumours: Liverpool enter race for David Villa?

Today's gossip loves the java jive and it loves me, a cup a cup a cup a cup a cup

Apologies in advance for the lack of fizz, the absence of oomph, the non-appearance of verve in today's Rumour Mill. We just popped out to the local caff to grab our morning coffee, only to find the place has been transformed into a 24-hour news-gathering operation. Same with the Costa across the street. And you can't even get into the Starbucks down the road for the queues; they're offering a free slice of carrot cake if you download their new breaking-comment app for tablet and iPhone, you see. Everyone's at it! As a result, there's been no breakfast caffeine hit for po' Rumour Mill. Po' Rumour Mill's a-tired! Albeit now totally up to speed on the geopolitical ramifications of the latest developments in Syria.

Anyway, here we go. Yawn, stretch, yawn, etc.

Manchester City will splurge on the Shakhtar Donetsk defender Fernandinho, Real Madrid hoodlum Pepe, the Málaga playmaker Isco and the Barcelona midfielder Thiago Alcântara.

Arsenal will have first option on Manchester United and the Manchester City target Cesc Fábregas, but may baulk at the £25m asking price.

Everton may forget about Roberto Martínez and plump for Ralf Rangnick, formerly of Schalke and now a Red Bull Salzburg penpusher, instead.

Luis Suárez is this close to leaving Liverpool for Real Madrid, if you believe Marca, and certain of staying at Anfield if you trust what his agent is sayi ... no, we can't bring ourselves to finish that sentence. The Spanish club will offer Liverpool £20m plus the young striker José Callejón.

The Rumour Mill is opening up a bar and grill.

Better news for Liverpool fans: they're now in the race, along with Arsenal and Tottenham Hotspur, for David Villa. And while in Spain, Brendan Rodgers will also make off with the Sevilla duo Jesús Navas and the young midfield prospect Luis Alberto.

Carlos Tevez isn't sure if he wants to stay at Manchester City, with Monaco and Juventus sniffing around.

Eliaquim Mangala, who shores things up at the back for Porto, is first on José Mourinho's Chelsea want list. Luke Shaw is also being considered, although the young Southampton left-back wants a guaranteed starting spot, and I want doesn't get.

The Rumour Mill has ditched its bar and grill plans, and has purchased a kebab van instead.

Porto's defence could be properly jiggered come the start of the season: an increasingly hectic Liverpool may be making off with Christian Atsu, too.

We're going to drive it up and down Euston Road.

Fulham will pluck the Holland keeper Maarten Stekelenburg from Roma.

Hull City are after the Burnley striker Charlie Austin.

Some footpad has only gone and nicked our van!

Sunderland's manager Paolo Di Canio will raid his former club Celtic for the goalkeeper Fraser Forster, and his former club Lazio for the centre-back Modibo Diakité.

Wolverhampton Wanderers are in a tug of love with Sheffield United for manager Kenny Jackett. Presumably they've got hold of an arm each.

And finally the Rumour Mill plans to sell matches on the corner of York Way just by King's Cross station, barefoot in the snow.

Transfer windowLiverpoolBarcelonaDavid VillaEuropean club footballScott Murray
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