Scott Murray's Blog, page 229

Football transfer rumours: Rafael Benítez to Real Madrid?

Today's gossip embraces tomorrow's world

So, following on from yesterday's *truly excellent* news that the Rumour Mill will be turning interactive, we can announce this morning that we're breaking new ground ahead of schedule.

The Mill's going live!

The Mill's letting you HAVE YOUR SAY!!!

Now then, here's how it works. Press 1 or 2 on your keyboard, and then the stuff we're copying from other papers will happen in real life, or they won't happen, or whatever the point of it all is. Ready?

Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaave your say NOW!!!

Press 1 or 2 NOW!!!!!

Rafael Benítez is off to Real Madrid.

1) I would like that to happen as I support Chelsea.

2) I would like that to happen as I support Barcelona.

Real Madrid are also interested in Ashley Cole.

1) Yes, that will definitely happen.

2) Don't know, I have no contacts at Chelsea or Real Madrid, nor am I in touch with Mr Cole or any of his representatives.

Mario Balotelli is going to Milan.

1) Don't know about this either.

2) But in fairness, it's not my job to know.

Wesley Sneijder is interested in Manchester United, Manchester City, Tottenham Hotspur and Chelsea.

1) I thought he'd joined Galatasaray?

2) Hold on, isn't the whole dynamic of this rumour the wrong way round?

Internazionale want Southampton winger Gaston Ramírez.

1) Do we just register likes and dislikes, then, like chimps at a tea party? Well, I'm up for this one. Just let me slice a piece of this Battenberg before I vote.

2) Oh! I've dropped some of the pink square between the 1 and 2 keys of my computer. Erm. Erp. Ach. Hold on, let me work at it with this pair of tweezers. Poke. Prod. Scrape. Aw now the 3 key's stuck down too. 33333333333333333. Ah here we33333333333go, the333333333333re it3333 33is. Delicious c3ake. Nom nom nom. Ach I've accidentally pressed 2 now. Ah well, 2 it is, what difference does it really make.

Fulham are after Jack Butland.

1) Aren't we finished already? I was mainly up for passively reading an article this morning, as opposed to being forced to chip in, if I'm being totally honest.

2) Donny Davies didn't expect me to put my shoulder to the wheel and expend effort back in the day, I can tell you that for nothing. I hope there's not much more for me to do, my super soaraway Guardian!

Newcastle United want the Toulouse midfielder Moussa Sissoko, Tottenham Hotspur will spend £15m on the Sevilla striker Alvaro Negredo and a few more quid on the Intercacional forward Leandro Damiao, and Swansea City will sign the midfielder José Alberto Cañas from Real Betis for nix.

1) Phew, that's better.

2) So, are we done?

Yep! Right, thanks, everyone! And with no time to waste, here are the highly anticipated results of today's Rumours!

Tum te tum.

Pom po pom.

Are your votes not registering? Press 1 or 2 harder!

Tum te tee.

Press harder!

Yum pum pum.

Harder!!!

Paa paa pam.

Oh dear! It's not working. And the ends of your fingers have fallen off. And nobody's heard you have your say.

You've not had your say!

What do we all do now?

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

Chelsea v Swansea City – as it happened | Scott Murray

Minute-by-minute report: Michu and Danny Graham profited from two hideous Branislav Ivanovic errors, as Swansea upset the formbook to shock the League Cup favourites. Scott Murray was watching

Scott Murray

The Fiver | Ambitious Paul's Collapsing Square-Wheeled Hubriswagon

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

SOCIALISM ONE, CAPITAL ONE NIL

If you ever feel the urge to chart this country's sickening, eardrum-bothering plunge from caring, sharing nation into right-wing profiteers' hellhole, you could do worse than use the sponsorship of the League Cup as a metaphor. Back in 1982, the Football League hawked out its three-handled bit of tin for the first time, and the inaugural sponsors were the Milk Marketing Board. Ice cold, nice cold milk, keeping everyone healthy from cradle to care home, Nye Bevan's NHS in liquid form. Lactated socialism, and all for less than 20p a pint. Littlewoods were next up. Younger readers (and middle-class Guardian employees) may not remember these cheap and cheerful high-street retailers: the poor man's Woolworths that wasn't Woolworths, they sold affordable clothing for all. Rumbelows came after that, hawking competitively priced electrical equipment that didn't work for very long to the masses. Still just about acceptable, given that everything on television at that time was anchored by Elton Welsby, so we could only take so much anyway.

But this is where things start going awry. Coca-Cola took over from Rumbelows when that shower went to the wall, rotting the nation's teeth down to the pegs, and selling us the American neo-con capitalist dream while they were at it. Then came the booze years: Worthington's, to help us forget, and then Carling, to help us forget and swing a few random haymakers at passers-by while we were doing so. And now we're lumbered with Capital One, the acceptable face of usury, who help us purchase our milk, clothes, brown goods, cola, fighting juice and anti-depressants on tick, before ushering us to the edge of the abyss, admittedly at a competitive APR rate for the first six months.

But don't worry, folks! Because in a development of the most delicious irony, the League Cup has been fighting a rearguard action on the field! While the Premier League is a stitch-up between competing business interests from the USA, Russia and Abu Dhabi, the League Cup has proved a thoroughly redistributive affair during the last tumultuous decade or so, despite the increasingly depressing stylings of its paymasters. It's been won by modest underdogs such as Birmingham City, Middlesbrough, Leicester City, Liverpool, and a team managed by Graeme Souness for goodness sake. And now fourth-tier Bradford City are one step away from Wembley, where they would at the very worst add their name to a sizable list of recent plucky losing finalists which already features Cardiff City, Wigan Athletic, Bolton Wanderers, Tranmere Rovers and Liverpool.

Bradford can almost taste glory thanks to a magnificent and richly deserved 3-1 victory last night over Ambitious Paul's Collapsing Square-Wheeled Hubriswagon. "We know we are only halfway there and we have a tremendously difficult job in a fortnight's time," straightbatted Bantams boss Phil Parkinson after the rout. "But we're two goals ahead and it's great. It's game on. If [Ambitious Paul's Collapsing Square-Wheeled Hubriswagon] are going to get to Wembley they are going to have to play exceptionally well."

Should Bradford make it to the final, the Fiver fancies them strongly to beat Chelsea, who face Swansea City in the first leg of the other semi tonight at Stamford Bridge. Swansea are a fine side, of course, but they haven't won at the Bridge since 1925, and have shipped ten goals on their last two visits to the Fulham Broadway, so. But even if Chelsea do effectively wrap up their Wembley place this evening, what's the point? They could only beat Ambitious Paul's Collapsing Square-Wheeled Hubriswagon by eight goals the other week, and while that margin of victory was admittedly four times larger than Bradford's, they spent many millions more to achieve the result, which according to the Fiver's broken abacus and childish logic, clearly illustrates how much more efficient Parkinson's side are. They'd get the job done easily come February 24! Another victory for the common man, as good as in the bag, then. Pow! Take that, capitalism! Celebratory pint of milk, anyone?

LIVE ON BIG WEBSITE TONIGHT

Join Scott Murray from 7.30pm for live MBM coverage of Chelsea 2-2 Swansea City.

QUOTE OF THE DAY

"I can only make comment on what I see. And from what I see, Lampard is still one of the best central midfield players in the world. If he wanted to try at playing in Italy, I would welcome him at Juventus for sure. In Italy, Frank would comfortably have another four years at the top level" – feel the geriatrico love as Andrea Pirlo praises Frank Lampard.

GET A FREE £25 BET WITH BLUE SQUARE

Step one: open an account with Blue Square and deposit any amount; step two: place a bet of at least £5 on any sport; step three: we will match your bet with a free bet of up to £25.

FIVER LETTERS

"Re: footballers playing Fantasy Footie (yesterday's last line). Yes, Jermaine Pennant's team name is unfortunate. But my personal highlight was seeing that league-leading manager Peter Crouch hasn't selected himself – not even on the bench – in his own team. Maybe the lad has a coaching future ahead of him" – Mike Wilner.

"Interesting company that Kenwyne Jones aspires to keep. Watching Stoke every week, I dream of a similar forward line … well, two thirds of it" – Dave Murray.

Send your letters to the.boss@guardian.co.uk. And if you've nothing better to do you can also tweet the Fiver. And to placate certain readers, the Fiver awards prizeless Fiver letter o' the day to: Dave Murray.

JOIN GUARDIAN SOULMATES

We keep trying to point out the utter futility of advertising an online dating service "for interesting people" in the Fiver to the naive folk who run Guardian Soulmates, but they still aren't having any of it. So here you go – sign up here to view profiles of the kind of erudite, sociable and friendly romantics who would never dream of going out with you.

BITS AND BOBS

Victoria Beckham is expected to decide in the next week which club her husband David will join next. He has 12 formal offers on her behalf.

David Gold, the West Ham co-owner, is in hospital with pneumonia.

Over 60% of Real Madrid members believe José Mourinho has a negative influence on the club, according to a survey in Marca.

Liverpool managing director has defended Luis Suárez after his handball at Mansfield on Sunday. "These things seem to follow Luis around and it's unfortunate," he deadpanned, "but he has our full support."

Andre Wisdom has signed a new long-term contract at Liverpool, having – you know exactly where this is going, don't you – cut his teeth in the first team this season. Honk! Honk?

And Lionel Messi has sent a signed shirt to Gerd Müller after breaking his goals in a calendar year record. "For Gerd Muller, my respect and admiration, a hug," wrote Messi on the shirt. At least it wasn't his suit.

STILL WANT MORE?

£62 for a ticket? Arsenal are having a giraffe, says Paul Wilson, although he may not have expressed the sentiment in precisely those terms.

Luxembourg's Robby Langers, Albania's Solol Kushta and other unlikely Ballon d'Or contenders feature in this week's Knowledge.

Instead of leering wearily at that in-tray for the last 10 minutes at work, why not treat your eyes with the latest in our Beautiful Games series?

Ten years ago Swansea were rubbish; now they're arguably the model club of English (and Welsh) football. Proper journalist David Conn traces their rise.

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#HASHTAGS!Scott Murray
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The Joy of Six: alternative sporting heroes of 2012

From the Games Makers to Cath Wiggins, via a belting bet, a sporting footballer and a prancing horse

1) The London 2012 Games Makers

Never mind the many jobbing hacks who were forced out of their comfort zones to cover sports they knew nothing about in the most oppressive of conditions (no IOC-sanctioned buffets), it was the Games Makers who were the unsung heroes of London 2012. Well, up to a point. So often did the BBC's school prefect and head girl types John Inverdale, Clare Balding and Sue Barker remind us how selfless and genuinely bloody great this garishly conspicuous army of otherwise anonymous volunteer footsoldiers in their purple, cream and orange livery were, that it's probably no exaggeration to say they've had their praises more widely caterwauled than Bradley Wiggins, Mo Farah and Jessica Ennis combined.

But credit where it's due – the fact of the matter is that without the input of the Games Makers, London 2012 could not have been staged, so it was heart-warming to see their efforts acknowledged at last Sunday's BBC Sports Personality of the Year awards, even if they were once again patronised to within an inch of their lives by being the only guests present at the ExCeL Centre who were forced to turn up in their work duds.

Although there were a few bad apples among the Games Makers (some let the power go to their heads, not least the gang who appeared to be trying to turn one particular Olympic venue into their own independently ruled state) and things didn't always quite run smoothly (the North Korean flag blunder at Hampden Park was a beauty), almost to a man and woman, the 70,000 unpaid volunteers remained resolutely cheerful and helpful, often in the most trying of circumstances. What's more, for most, the jobs were menial, bordering on the downright depressing. For every wide-eyed teenage girl who got to shoot the breeze with Usain Bolt at the start of the 200m, there were unfortunate souls forced to spend long hours pointing left or right with giant foam fingers, deal with the petulant demands from assorted press box divas, or sit opposite the door of the Olympic Family toilets in the Velodrome, making sure no passers-by got hit by the opening door.

A tip of the hat also, while we're here, to the British Army, whose troops marched into the breach when it became apparent that private security firm G4S hadn't realised that providing security for the Olympics would involve more than sticking a couple of goons in tuxedos on the main gate of the stadium armed with nothing more than a guest-list and one of those clicky, handy tally counters. Providing the kind of good PR money just can't buy, these soldiers couldn't have been more personable, friendly and polite as they went about their often tedious and intrusive business. BG

2) David Lynn

It says something about the power of celebrity in modern sport that an English golfer can come second in a major championship yet find himself largely ignored when the end-of-year gongs are being dished out. Admittedly, 2012 was a stellar year for Europe, the oh-me-oh-my comeback at Medinah following hot on the heels of Rory McIlroy's blitzing of the entire field at the US PGA. But England have never had so much to shout about in the majors that they can afford to get sniffy – only Max Faulkner, Tony Jacklin and Nick Faldo have won one since the war – so the almost immediate relegation to historical footnote of David Lynn's calm grasping of second spot behind McIlroy at Kiawah Island is a strange one.

Well, OK, not that strange: McIlroy had, for the second time, won a major by a ludicrous margin of eight shots, an achievement which, with Rory still only 23, suddenly made those New Tiger claims seem slightly less giddy after all. But still, Lynn's serene saunter through the final round, a forensic four-under 68 which culminated in carpe diem birdies at 16 and 17 when it suddenly became clear an unexpected second-placed finish could be his if he really wanted it, merited better response than it has received. A couple of Lynn's countrymen have also finished runner-up in the majors of late – Ian Poulter and Lee Westwood – but to a much louder fanfare, pre-tournament expectation counter-intuitively amplifying their achievements.

But nothing whatsoever had been expected of Lynn, an unknown 38-year-old journeyman from Stoke whose only career triumph came at the 2004 Dutch Open, so the resulting reveille was thoroughly muted. An awfully unjust state of affairs for even when juxtaposed with McIlroy's staggering win, Lynn's performance in often testing circumstances at weatherbeaten Kiawah, was straight out of the top drawer, and deserved to be recognised as such. (A second-place major is something more heralded English stars such as Luke Donald, Justin Rose and Paul Casey have yet to match.) Still, Lynn's lowly status in the top echelons of professional golf gave us the feelgood moment of the golfing year (we're working on the premise that José María Olazábal's "this is for you … this was for Seve" cry to the Medinah skies must be filed under Bittersweet).

Lynn, interviewed in the immediate aftermath of the final round, was informed that his second-place finish had earned him entry into the 2013 Masters. It was a fact he had been totally unaware of. Having never played at Augusta before, a dream had been fulfilled, a new vista of opportunity magically opening out in front of his eyes. Lynn tried to maintain the facade of the cool, detached, urbane professional, simply going about his day-to-day.

And to be fair, he just about managed it. But upon ending the interview, he couldn't even spin through 180 degrees to walk off to the clubhouse before we caught a grin of the most childlike glee spreading right across his coupon. He'd just pocketed $850,000, registered his best-ever championship result, and yet a place at the greatest tournament of all was all he could think about. A beautiful moment of pure golfing pleasure, and one which will stay with him forever, even if he shoots a pair of 79s at Augusta next April. Who needs plaudits from tired old hacks like us anyway? SM

3) Darren Murphy

Back in 2007, the Guardian's very own Knowledge column struggled to find two incidents in the whole of footballing history of a player deliberately missing a penalty. So this must go down as a golden year for deliberate penalty-missing, with the months of March and April surely an all-time peak with three notable examples on their own.

The first came when Al-Nasr, managed by the Italian goalkeeping great Walter Zenga, made their AFC Champions League debut at home to Iran's Sepahan. The Iranians, themselves managed by Zlatko Kranjcar (Nico's dad) were 1-0 up early in the second half when the home side put the ball out of play to allow an injured player to receive treatment. The throw-in was sent back towards the goalkeeper, only for Xhevahir Sukaj to nip in, steal the ball, take it round the keeper and get brought down. A penalty was given – and the goalkeeper sent off – but Omid Ebrahimi thought it would be unfair to profit more than his side already had and passed the ball gently back to the goalkeeper. He may have regretted that decision when Al-Nasr got a penalty of their own a few minutes later, but that too was missed (not deliberately), and Sepahan ran out 3-0 winners.

A couple of weeks later Termoli were leading 1-0 in the 94th minute of their Coppa Italia Dilettanti quarter-final against Torres, and 3-2 on aggregate (having incidentally scored one of the goals of the year in the first leg) when their forward Vittoria Esposito burst into their opponents' penalty area and dived headlong over the nearest defender's leg. The referee duly pointed to the spot, but in between winning the penalty and taking it Esposito's conscience got the better of him, and he duly sent his effort flamboyantly and rather stylishly (well, he is Italian) over the bar.

In April the action moved to Ireland, where the local side Dungannon Swifts were playing Ballymena United in a match they were desperate to win as they battled against relegation from the Premiership. With the game goalless, a team-mate booted a clearance into the head of the Ballymena defender Chris Rodgers so viciously that it knocked him unconscious. The referee, however, did not stop play, and a few seconds later Gavin Taggart took matters quite literally into his own hands, catching the ball to allow Rodgers to receive treatment. Sadly he was standing in his own penalty area at the time, so the referee had little option but to give a penalty. After Rodgers was carried off on a stretcher, the Swifts' player-manager, Darren Murphy, refused to score from the spot.

"Once I realised what had happened I spoke to my assistant and the two of us decided that the right and honest thing to do was to give the ball back to Ballymena," he explained the following day. "Most people think it's win at all costs but there comes a time when common sense has to prevail. It might have cost us, but I'm a great believer that you should do things the right way, and put in that situation again I would do the same thing."

Unfortunately karma failed to reward him and Dungannon went on to lose 4-2, but still Murphy had no regrets. "Yes, we are fighting for survival, but there comes a time when you have to put your morals first," he said.

There was a happy ending, as Dungannon avoided relegation, and Murphy remains a paragon of rare and rather wonderful sportsmanship. SB

4) Cath Wiggins

Despite what Aretha Franklin and Annie Lennox would have you believe, behind every great man there really is a great woman. And while Bradley Wiggins's greatness has been deservedly acknowledged in the wake of his triumphs on the bicycle this year, the contribution of his wife to his successes in the Tour de France and Olympic time trial, among other big races, has largely gone ignored.

It is an oversight Wiggins himself addressed in an interview with the Guardian's Simon Hattenstone at the beginning of November "Nobody ever asks her how she is," he grumbled. "It's always, 'How's Brad doing?' Nobody ever says to her, 'How are you doing, Cath? How are you handling it all?' It's very difficult for her."

An accomplished cyclist in her own right, Cath won the British women's championship for her age group while her husband was gadding about France during the summer, a triumph that was slightly overshadowed by media coverage of her husband's success. In an undeniably eventful year for the Wiggins family, she did make headlines for becoming embroiled in a Twitter spat with the girlfriend of her husband's super domestique Chris Froome during the Tour and allegedly attempting to confront the woman who knocked Wiggins off his bike while out on a training ride.

However, for all the unswerving loyalty towards and support for her husband, it is thanks largely to her description of him that she has earned her place in this list. "There's Bradley my husband, who is good, considerate, patient, kind, brilliant with the kids," she told the makers of the documentary Bradley Wiggins: A Year In Yellow. "And then there's Bradley the cyclist, who's a bit of a twat." Mrs Wiggins, we salute you. BG

5) Valegro

The only problem with the Sports Personality of the Year awards, other than a perhaps excessive amount of general hoo-hah, was that it was open only to humans – if the BBC were just a little bit more liberal with their rules and regulations Valegro and Frankel could have ended 2012 engaged in the mother of all equine battles. These, after all, are two horses that rank among the greats in their fields. Well, not when they're actually in their fields – then they're just grazing and swishing their tails a bit, hobbies they share with many horses, several donkeys and quite a few zebras – but when they're doing that particular thing that they do: running, in Frankel's case, or dancing, in Valegro's.

In 2012 Brits were blessed to see the best of both, and next year we won't be so lucky. Frankel has retired, and Valegro is for sale and likely to end up elsewhere, with few in this country possessing pockets deep enough to afford his £10m valuation.

The Olympics engendered some debate about whether dressage is a sport, an art, or just a spectacular waste of time and money, but one thing about which there was absolutely no argument was that Valegro is very good at it. "It will be very sad if he goes, but that is something I have to deal with," said Charlotte Dujardin, with whom he won two Olympic gold medals, in September. "It's going to be hard to ever have a horse to replace Valegro. He is a professor. I think he read the dressage book and learnt it all before he ever did it."

His incredible year didn't end with the Olympics, and he was back with Dujardin to break the dressage grand prix world record at Olympia on 18 December, with a score of 84.447%. Interestingly and perhaps pertinently, the previous record of 84.08% had been set by Holland's Edward Gal at the 2009 European Championships on Moorlands Totilas, then seen as the greatest dressage horse in the world and promptly sold to Germany for somewhere in the region of £10m. "People say we have bought an Olympic medal but even if you have the best horse, it won't win gold if you can't ride it," his new rider, Matthias Rath – coincidentally the new co-owner's stepson – said at the time. And he was right: the new partnership disappointed at the 2011 European Championships, and then Rath caught glandular fever and neither he nor Totilas made it to London.

Dressage is about a union between human and horse, a partnership which is nothing without chemistry. So Gal, who was destroying records for fun on Totilas, came to London without him and finished ninth (though he got a bronze in the team event). Dujardin may or may not continue to be good without Valegro, but in the circumstances it's no surprise that she is fighting like a fish on a slab to keep him. "I honestly don't know what is going to happen with the whole situation," she said recently. What's certain is that he's a great horse, that this was a special partnership, and that we might not see it again. SB

6) Conor Murphy

Without stable staff, there would be no horse racing. They are a unique breed of masochists, invariably destined to deal with everything their sport has to throw at them except acclaim. Rising daily before rather than with the lark, they spend long hours mucking out, grooming, feeding, exercising and schooling often ungrateful and cantankerous horses in all weathers, five-and-a-half days a week for little more than the minimum wage.

With perks of the lad and lass's job so few and far between, even the respite of occasional trips to high-profile race meetings from the daily grind brings its own problems: the nagging feelings of worry and helplessness which kick in between handover and safe return of your charge to and from a small jabbering Irishman in arresting silks. Even in victory, similarly nagging feelings of worry and helplessness kick in whenever Channel 4's Derek Thompson pounces with a view to conducting one of his well intentioned, but invariably patronising interviews. Among the ranks of the two-legged in the horse racing game, it is the owners, trainers and jockeys who hog the headlines, money and baubles. Meanwhile the stable staff remain in the shadows, shovels in hand as they load their wheelbarrows with straw and faeces.

For a couple of days at this year's Cheltenham Festival, this changed, when the record-breaking trainer Nicky Henderson and his jockey Barry Geraghty had their thunder stolen by the help after combining to win the Ryanair Chase with Riverside Theatre, who had prevailed by half a length under a quite astonishing ride from the Irishman.

Immediately after Riverside Theatre's epic, hard-fought triumph, rumours began circulating the racecourse that the horse had just landed the bet of a lifetime for an employee of Henderson's, netting him the guts of £1m, and later that evening the speculation was confirmed. The lucky punter in question was an Irishman named Conor Murphy, the trainer's assistant head lad and the regular work rider of a horse named Finian's Rainbow, one of four winners Henderson had saddled the previous day. It emerged that approximately three months previously, Murphy had placed a £50 five-horse accumulator bet including both Riverside Theatre and Finian's Rainbow, as well as their stable-mates and fellow Festival winners Sprinter Sacre, Simonsig, and Bobs Worth.

"It's absolutely wonderful," said Henderson in the wake of his employee's triumph. "He's the nicest, kindest, gentlest man and he rides Finian's Rainbow every day. He's got more confidence in me than I have and he obviously took a rather strong view, before Christmas, I gather."

Having initially refused point-blank to give any interviews in the wake of his life-changing win, Murphy realised the jig was up as far as keeping a low profile was concerned when an army of reporters converged on Henderson's yard, none of whom seemed interested in talking to the trainer in the most successful week of his career. "Initially I was hoping to stay anonymous, but there's no chance of that," Murphy conceded. Asked when and why he struck his wager, which required all five horses to win, he admitted that he'd no recollection of placing it. "To be honest, I don't even remember having the bet," he said. "It was on 23 December [traditionally a non-racing day] and I must have been bored."

Despite his windfall, Murphy was back at work at 5.30am the following morning, having celebrated his good fortune in low-key fashion with a few drinks in his local pub. "I'll keep working, I'll be working all the time," he said. "Nothing will change."

As an interesting footnote to our modest hero's tale of good luck, it later emerged that he actually should have won a lot more – £2,153,100 more, to be precise, as the reported odds against his accumulator being landed were 63,062-1, but the small print regarding maximum pay-outs in the terms and conditions of bookmakers Bet365, with whom he placed the bet, meant he "only" pocketed £1m. BG

BBC Sports Personality of the YearScott MurrayBarry GlendenningSimon Burnton
guardian.co.uk © 2012 Guardian News and Media Limited or its affiliated companies. All rights reserved. | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds

Leeds United v Chelsea – as it happened | Scott Murray

Minute-by-minute report: Chelsea outclassed their hosts in a resounding second-half blitz, and will face Swansea City in the semi final. Scott Murray was watching

Scott Murray

The Fiver Christmas Awards 2012

Give the one you love something special this year: a free subscription to the Fiver. The gift that keeps on giving

Welcome to the 13th Fiver Christmas Awards. Or is it the 14th? Oh, we don't know. But given that it's now a decade since we awarded Bayer Leverkusen an unprecedented Fiver Christmas Awards quadruple, and in honour of their legendary coach Klaus Toppmoller, we declare that now is a time for cigarettes and booze. And curly hair. Oh, and a few awards.

THE LATE-ERA RADIOHEAD AWARD FOR SLIGHTLY DULL TECHNICAL BRILLIANCE

Spain. Very clever, lads, but we're under no obligation to enjoy watching it. Contrary to what one grinchy goalkeeper fetishist and Pyramid-inverter would have you believe, goals are under-rated.

THE GEORGE GIDEON OLIVER OSBORNE AWARD FOR UNWAVERING RIGIDITY IN THE FACE OF THE WORST RECESSION SINCE THE WAR

When Llewellyn Charles "Alan" Curbishley resigned as West Ham manager in September 2008, the same month Lehman Brothers' collapse sent the free-market into what seemed like a violent death-spin, he must have reasoned that another gig would turn up soon enough. Four years on he is still waiting. Others would have signed on. Retrained. Perhaps even become a regular pundit on Sky Sports News. Not Curbs. Even now he is regularly being made favourite for lower-level Premier League and decent Championship jobs only to see them slip by. But does he budge? No. Four years, people. Four years!

THE NANI STATUE FOR SELF-AGGRANDISING FALSE IDOLATRY

A close call this year. We're going to give it to David Beckham for discovering America, winning the Olympics and brokering Peace In Our Time.

WORST HEADLINE OF THE YEAR

The Metro for its frankly baffling "Taste of Terry's all-no-goaled" headline following Plain Old John Terry's beyond-the-goalline clearance against Ukraine in Euro 2012. Incidentally, is it just us who read goaled as gaoled?

THE MEG RYAN AWARD FOR MOST CONVINCING FAKE CLIMAX

"Awwwwwoooooaahooooooooooooooooooaaaaaaaaaaaahunbelievable!" – Gary Neville's goalgasm.

THE INCE/ADEBAYOR MEMORIAL AWARD FOR ACCEPTABLY OUTRAGEOUS CELEBRATIONS

When Denis Law put the symbolic seal on Manchester United's relegation in 1974, you could forgive him for not celebrating, what with him being one of the three legendary players who had rebuilt the club post Munich. But now every ship that passed by in the night is at it. Scott Sinclair, then of Swansea City, wins our award, for scoring against his former club Chelsea (one league start) and then wandering back up the pitch faux-sheepishly with his hands up. That was back in January – which means these fools have been at it all year! It's getting very old very quickly – if they're that concerned about the fans from their last club, why aren't they still playing there? – and what's even more unforgivable, it's really, really boring. Compare and contrast to Emmanuel Adebayor's majestic baiting of Arsenal while at Manchester City, or Paul Ince ingratiating himself with the Kop after denying Manchester United. Fans on the receiving end are old and ugly enough to suck it up. Well at least they should be and if they're not - well, tough.

THE GUY RITCHIE AWARD FOR BEST DIRECTOR

Derek Llambias. Eight-year contracts, eh Derek? Good one.

THE NICK 'CLEGGMANIA' CLEGG AWARD FOR MISTAKEN FIRST IMPRESSIONS

Chelsea fans win this hands down. The Fiver has no problem with them booing Rafa Benítez on his arrival at Stamford Bridge – we just think they haven't quite thought it through. Consider this: Chelsea travel to Anfield at the end of April. It's just about possible that they'll be on the verge of the title [Really? – Fiver Ed]. And what if Fernando Torres scores a matchwinning hat-trick? [But of course – Fiver Ed]. And then a fully vindicated Rafa forgets himself and goes crowdsurfing over the away end? (Think Wayne Coyne at a Flaming Lips concert, only this time Rafa is both man and ball.) Even distraught Liverpool fans would have to concede that such a situation would be quite interesting.

THE ARTHUR NEVILLE CHAMBERLAIN AWARD FOR WOBBLY-KNEED GOVERNANCE IN DEALING WITH THE BIG ISSUES OF THE DAY

The Football Association, Uefa and Premier League can share this one. Sure, dealing with the POJT racism affair was never going to be easy (and Chelsea hardly covered themselves in glory either) but between them they created the sort of giant dog's dinner rarely found outside vats in a Pedigree Chum factory. And as for Uefa's response to the shameful scenes in Belgrade …

… SPEAKING OF WHICH: THE FATHER DOUGAL McGUIRE AWARD FOR HAVING A SENSE OF PERSPECTIVE

Uefa, which fined serial offenders Serbia £65,000 for the comparatively trivial offences of violence and r@cist abuse during an Under-21 match against England in October, but hammered Denmark striker Nicklas Bendtner with an £80,000 penalty and a one-match ban for the comparatively heinous offence of … revealing the waistband of a pair of sponsored smalls during a goal celebration at Euro 2012.

PLAYER OF THE YEAR

Lionel Messi, again.

THE OTTO FROM THE SIMPSONS AWARD FOR PARKING THE BUS

Chelsea in Big Cup. And yes, of course they're entitled to their bus but it doesn't mean the rest of us have to blow smoke up their nether regions for doing so. Besides, their fans had the last laugh – they've won Big Cup and look how happy they are now.

THE JOHN MENZIES AWARD FOR CAUSING SHARP DOWNTURNS IN THE STATIONERY SECTOR

Craig Levein, who was told to do one by Scotland, and now doesn't have to buy any more notepads in which to scribble his needlessly complicated tactical diagrams. Given that Scotland weren't particularly adept at defending when they were half decent, why they even bother pretending to be an amalgam of Helenio Herrera's Inter, Karl Rappan's Switzerland and the Liverpool side from 1978-79 now they're useless is beyond us. But there is hope: perhaps Levein will be replaced by a little red-faced shouting man, who will only dip into the stationery cupboard to grab a sharp pencil for intimate post-match one-to-one debriefs with players who have failed to follow his explicit tactical instructions of "get right intae them".

THE MEMORIAL PIERS MORGAN AWARD FOR MOST ODIOUS FORMER NEWSPAPER EDITOR

"It took 23 years, two inquiries, one inquest and research into 400,000 documents, many of which were kept secret under the 30-year no-publication rule, to discover there was a vast cover-up by South Yorkshire police about the disaster. Where does that leave me?" Oh Kelvin. You're the one demanding an apology? Really?

ORDRE NATIONAL DE LA LEGION D'HONNEUR FOR UNMASKING THE BRITS AS A SNEERING SHOWER OF SNIDE GALOOTS

Joey Barton. Ha ha ho ho hee heeeeeee, isn't he amusing, what with his attempts to better himself by trying to integrate in a foreign land. Almost as hilarious as the time he made efforts to broaden his horizons by publicly discussing books, philosophy and music. The glee with which everyone jumped on Monsieur Barton for his linguistic faux pas was as unedifying as it was predictable, and you can't even lay the blame solely at the feet of the ultra-conservative baying mob of mouth-foamers online; they were even riffing on his pain on the Six O'Clock News. State of us. Oh, and while we're on the subject, his last act in English football – that meltdown at Manchester City – was entertainment of the highest order, let's not be pious. Nobody was hurt – and it didn't even cost QPR the game. It was hardly Barton's fault, after all, that the rest of his team-mates' shorts started to blow up like bags of microwave popcorn during injury-time.

THE TOM DALEY AWARD FOR BEST DIVE

No, not Ashley Young or Gareth Bale. The prize goes to dyspraxic Premier League supremo Dave Richards for his flying forward one-and-a-half somersaults, pike, when stumbling into an ornamental pool at a Fifa shindig in Doha earlier in the year.

THE ANNUAL RONNIE ROSENTHAL OPEN GOAL

Roberto Mancini taps this one away, for installing a Babyliss hairdryer in the City changing room. Brown goods are presumably not required by his opposite number over the road at Old Trafford.

THE VIC REEVES TROPHY FOR ENJOYING A BIG NIGHT OUT

The Republic O'Ireland probably shouldn't have bothered going to Euro 2012, truth be told. But the sorry state of the players on the pitch was nothing compared to their administrators off it. FAI head honcho John Delaney went out for a half pint of Artisan Dehydration Accelerator in Sopot one evening, cradling the small glass until carouse o'clock, at which point he was divested of his shoes and socks by equally emotional Irish fans chairlifting him around the streets. "A couple of hundred fans raised me up in the air and carried me head-high home," was his fond reminiscence. "If that's a crime, I'm guilty!"

TEAM OF THE YEAR AWARD (SPONSORED BY HEINEKEN AND DOMINO'S)

Levante. Despite having the oldest defence in the history of La Liga and a tiny budget (their sporting director says "players run away when they hear what we have to offer" and they've spent less than £500,000 on transfers in four years) they reached Big Vase this season. This year, incredibly, they are threatening to get into Big Cup. The club's secret, according to the club's doctor, is simple: "Beer and pizza."

THE WILLIAM CAXTON OPEN JOURNALISM AWARD FOR MOST INSIGHTFUL CONTRIBUTION TO A GUARDIAN FOOTBALL COMMENTS SECTION

Nicky, knacky, knocky noo.

THE HENRY ALFRED KISSINGER AWARD FOR REALISM

The English press pack, who for the first time in living memory didn't spend the build-up to Euro 2012 jingoistically tub-thumping about how England could sweep all before them and win the tournament. Admittedly it was only because they were all in a big sulk because 'Arry Redknapp hadn't taken over from Bo Selecta's Fabio Capello and they all want Mr Roy to fail, but it was a welcome relief nonetheless.

BUMPER ONE-OFF FESTIVE TV & RADIO SPECIAL: ALL THE HIGHLIGHTS FROM THE CHRISTMAS AND NEW YEAR PERIOD

Right, aye. You are joking, aren't you?

MAIL! MAIL! MAIL!

Send your emails, presents and Christmas cards to the.boss@guardian.co.uk.

HAVE A MERRY CHRISTMAS AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR, WE'LL BE BACK ON MONDAY 7 JANUARYScott MurraySean IngleBarry GlendenningDan Rookwood
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The Knowledge Christmas special: Did world war one matches really happen?

Plus: who were the first team to use a Christmas tree formation and a plethora of other festive questions and answers. Send your questions and answers to knowledge@guardian.co.uk and follow us on Twitter

"Did the Christmas football matches between British and German troops in the first world war trenches really take place?" wonders a sceptical Sandy Brook.

As you imply in your question, Sandy, most folk raise an eyebrow nowadays at the thought of Tommy and Jerry getting together for a spot of festive soccer on a patch of no-man's land so churned it made the Baseball Ground circa 1972 look like the gardens of Tresco. It seems highly improbable, especially to modern minds conditioned by social media, that petty grudges could be set aside in the name of peace and goodwill to all men. But some contemporary reports suggest that's exactly what happened on Christmas Day 1914.

To borrow (and then misuse) one of the oldest football zingers in the book: in the middle of a fight, a football match broke out. A report in the Guardian on Boxing Day 1914 described how in one region "every acre of meadow under any sort of cover in the rear of the lines was taken possession of for football". In their letters home, British soldiers told of shaking hands with their German counterparts and swapping cigarettes. A Scottish brigadier described how the Germans "came out of their trenches and walked across unarmed, with boxes of cigars and seasonable remarks. What were our men to do? Shoot? You could not shoot unarmed men."

While there was undoubtedly continued gunfire along many sections of the front, most soldiers appear to have laid down their arms and called an unofficial truce that day, with fußball uppermost in the minds of many. A letter published on New Year's Day from a British officer reads: "I hear our fellows played the Germans at football on Christmas Day. Our own pet enemies remarked they would like a game, but as the ground in our part is all root crops and much cut up by ditches, and as, moreover, we had not got a football, we had to call it off." A letter in the Times, meanwhile, from a major reported that a German regiment "had a football match with the Saxons [regiment], who beat them 3-2".

One match appears to have started between the Germans and a regiment from Cheshire, one of whom years later explained how a ball suddenly came hurtling over the top from the German side. "I should think there were about a couple of hundred taking part. I had a go at the ball. I was pretty good then, at 19. Everybody seemed to be enjoying themselves. There was no sort of ill-will between us. There was no referee, and no score, no tally at all. It was simply a melee – nothing like the soccer you see on television."

Nevertheless, the young men were organised enough to arrange a festive feast of a hare for the winners. "The grey-tunicked Germans the one side, and the kilted Jocks the other. The game was won by the Germans, who captured the prize. But more was secured than a hare. A sudden friendship had been struck up, the truce of God had been called, and for the rest of Christmas Day not a shot was fired along our section."

Amid the atrocities of the Great War, then, came a great moment for humanity, love and mutual understanding. One that has fortunately survived as a lesson for us all, even if the details are sketchy, down the ages – albeit with the unfortunate side effect of reminding a blighted generation from the 1980s of Paul McCartney's ear-bothering No1 hit single, Pipes of Peace.

CHRISTMAS ARCHIVE

"Who were the first team to use a Christmas tree formation?" wondered Martyn Anderson back in 2010. "Surely Terry Venables wasn't the first?"

Indeed, the 4-3-2-1 was around long before El Tel stuck Alan Shearer on his own up front. The earliest reference we can find in the British press comes from August 1970, when Peter Dobereiner was at Selhurst Park to watch Crystal Palace v Newcastle for the Observer, and delivered a pretty damning verdict on Bert Head's defensive tactics:

"Last season Palace played an uncompromising 9-1 formation," he wrote. "Now they were deployed in a loose 4-3-2-1. It made little difference to the plot.

"The ball would be floated up to Queen, whose tactical role has always been to have the living daylights hammered out of him by four defenders acting in concert. Mathematically, such a situation ought to have left several Palace players unmarked elsewhere on the field. It might even have happened momentarily when they were a safe distance from the ball. Whenever the ball was returned upfield, however, the Palace men seemed outnumbered two to one.

"Then an extraordinary, almost unprecedented event occurred. Two Palace men so far forgot themselves as to stray way out of position, right into the opposing penalty area no less. Birchenall headed the ball towards goal. Queen, possibly unnerved at the sight of one of his colleagues at such close quarters, promptly headed it straight back and Birchenall kicked it into goal."

Head, having led the side to promotion to the First Division for the first time in their history the year before, had the Eagles battling for their lives at the foot of the table – a tad harsh, then, to bash his understandable caution.

But the 4-3-2-1 as we know it may have emerged from the Netherlands. As tactics über-guru Jonathan Wilson writes in the award-winning Inverting the Pyramid: "The 4-2-3-1 is just one variant of the five-man midfield. One of the additional attacking midfielders can be sacrificed for an additional holder, producing the 4-3-2-1 – the Christmas tree – or the modern 4-3-3. Co Adriaanse seems to have been the first exponent of the 4-3-2-1 at Den Haag in the late 80s."

Post-Head, the formation appears to have taken a 25-year British break. One of the first references to the 4-3-2-1 back in English domestic football came in January 1995, when Russell Thomas saw Leeds United face Aston Villa with Howard Wilkinson sending out his side "in an intriguing 4-3-2-1 formation", with Brian Deane and David White playing off the lone frontman Philemon Masinga. Yes, you read that right.

Although the 4-3-2-1 was around long before Venables's appointment as England manager on 28 January 1994 – his use of the formation spawning copycats in the nascent Premier League – its festive moniker only entered the British footballing lexicon during his tenure. By May and the friendlies against Greece and Denmark the phrase was being happily bandied about by one and all.

For previous Christmas specials, including the last time football was played on Christmas Day and when Lapland were World Cup winners , click here , here , here , here , here , here and here .

And for thousands more questions and answers, festive or otherwise, take a trip through the Knowledge archive

Can you help?

"Has a player ever been 'gifted' as a Christmas present?" wonders Craig Fawcett. "I'm thinking of a poor, rubbish neighbour getting a player to help them out of trouble from a more salubrious club …"

"In the Copa Sudamericana final second leg, Tigre, who were losing 2-0 on aggregate against home team Sao Paulo, refused to play on the second half, accusing police of violence," writes Pablo Miguez. "Whether this is true or not, my question is: when was the last time a team refused to play the second half of a game?"

"My team, the Central Coast Mariners in the A-League, play their matches at a stadium with three stands, and the fourth side is simply a line of palm trees due to the water being so close," writes Daniel Bryant. "I was wondering, are any other professional teams' stadiums only 'half-built' due to natural space constraints?"

Send your questions and answers to knowledge@guardian.co.uk

First world warScott MurrayJohn Ashdown
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Newcastle United v Manchester City – as it happened | Scott Murray

Minute-by-minute report: The champions City made it six on the bounce against Newcastle, and kept on the tail of leaders Manchester United. Scott Murray was watching

Scott Murray

The Fiver | This independent Uefa shower | Scott Murray

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ANOTHER RACE-RELATIONS TRIUMPH FOR FOOTBALL! GOOD OLD FOOTBALL!

So last night, the Serbian FA was fined three dinara by Uefa's independent Control & Disciplinary Panel for the infamous melee-and-monkey-chant brouhaha which soured the match their Under-21 side "hosted" against England in Krusevac the other month. It was a shockingly lenient punishment, and continent-wide outrage was further fuelled by the paltry individual penalties handed out to Serbia's most notable miscreants: two players were given big bowls of ice cream, another two got ice cream as well but with lashings of toffee sauce, and a pair from the coaching staff received goody bags containing crayons, packets of stickers and a seven-inch single from the latest hit parade, as well as a lift home from the hearing in a sedan chair.

The folks at the FA, rather understandably, have as a result developed a temperature nudging the upper side of warm, not least because Danny Rose, Tom Ince and Steven Caulker were all given suspensions merely for throwing hands in response to the crock they had been presented with. "Let's be clear," the FA general secretary Alex Horne said, "racism is unacceptable in any form." A fairly obvious point, one would have thought, but then this independent Uefa shower either don't give a flying one, or are labouring under the complacent misapprehension that racism was fixed in 1983 by Alexei Sayle, Dawn French and Ben Elton, and therefore nobody needs to bother doing anything about it any more.

"We do not believe the sanction sends a strong enough message," added Horne, taking the lead melody in a chorus of disapproval also featuring Kick It Out chairman Lord Ouseley (tenor), Fare director Piara Powar (baritone), and vending machine impersonator Rio Ferdinand (vibes). It's proven a worthwhile song to sing, because Uefa president Michel Platini, fresh from causing irreparable damage to the European Nations Cup (1960-2020 RIP), has spotted a chance to claw back some moral credit by actually doing something worthwhile for once. Currently halfway through a charity climb up a mountain of foie gras at the World Club Jolly in Japan, he'll come home next week and attempt to increase Serbia's bans and fine, via the mechanism of a ludicrously byzantine internal appeal system which involves Uefa moaning about and to itself. Ooh, Uefa is angry with Independent Uefa all right! Just you wait to see how hard Michel presses down with his pen when he's writing out the complaint chit!

QUOTE OF THE DAY

"The very idea and club of AEK is dying. We have decided to put an end to the r@pe of our dreams by making an occupation of the club's offices and training centre in Spata. We want to put an end to the attack, the humiliation and shaming of our childhood love as a pr0stitute of Greek football" – AEK Athens fans group Original 21 explain the reasoning behind their sit-in protest at the club's training facilities.

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FIVER LETTERS

"The one-handed basketball player in your embedded photo/video is extremely impressive (yesterday's Recommended Viewing). Almost as impressive as Arsenal's football player, Gervinho, whose feet disappear every time he gets near the goal" – Dan Davis.

"Re: 'civilised MLS fans'. I have to take exception to Paul Dixon (yesterday's Fiver letters). True, there are some MLS fans who politely sing, follow instructions and give security personnel a quiet afternoon of work. But then again there are the fans of Toronto FC who have had a habit in recent years of throwing things on the pitch and disrupting games. Don't they realise those streamers could put out someone's eye?" – Bruce Cooper.

"I would like to add the following piece of evidence towards the American v English sports debate on who is the most pathetic, from The Highbury Gunners' sister club St Louis Rams. This could actually be of use at the Emirates now I think about it …" – Craig Peters.

"While MLS chant coordinators seem an odd idea to an English fan, they don't do a bad job in Serie A, as well as the Bundesliga and further afield in Europe? Even Scotland has them, if you stretch the definition slightly, so England is the odd one out. That said, MLS still has the LA Riot Squad which makes me squirm every time I hear about it" – Mark Jelbert.

"As a relatively new reader of the Fiver I tend to read a day's back output. So on a Monday I read Friday's, and Tuesdays I read Monday's and so on for the rest of the week. Just wondering am I alone in this or is it a common Fiver reader trait?" – TJ Brennan.

"As I was reading yesterday's Fiver, I was listening to The Smiths. At the exact moment I read 'Plain Old John Terry is believed to be booking a ticket to Japan and packing his full kit, shin guards and armband', Morrisey wailed 'that joke isn't funny any more'. How timely" – Josh Guiry.

Send your letters to the.boss@guardian.co.uk. And if you've nothing better to do you can also tweet the Fiver. And to placate certain readers, the Fiver awards prizeless Fiver letter o' the day to: Dan Davis.

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BITS AND BOBS

Arsène Wenger reckons he's definitely the right man to lead Arsenal into the abyss. "My job is to be determined and give importance to what is important," Wenger wept. "What is important is I love football, I love this club and I give my best for this club. The rest, I cannot interfere with."

A Bastia official is so hungy after going on hunger strike to protest the club's ground being closed after recent violent incidents. "I am ready to sacrifice myself for my club," said 73-year-old Jo Bonavita.

Darren Bent won't be able to sit on the Aston Villa bench in a hot funk over the festive period after being ruled out with hamstring twang. Merry Christmas, Darren!

And the BBC has taken on the duty of patronising women's football after winning the rights to show all of England's matches at next summer's European Championship.

RECOMMENDED VIEWING

AC Jimbo. The European papers. A cake shot. In that order.

STILL WANT MORE?

Backsides on seats don't stop fans acting like eejits, so we might as well bring back terraces, sighs David Lacey.

This week's Joy of Six is all about showboating, from Tommy Murray sitting on a ball to the Fiver breaking its leg after attempting a David Dunn.

Sid Lowe talks goals and Radamel Falcao.

Barney Ronay reckons only the hardest heart would deny Michael Owen the chance to rise again from his clanking trolley.

And Scott Murray was asked to pick 10 things to look out for in the Premier League this weekend and wrote about Scottish fitba instead. So sue him*!

*Please don't sue him.

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The Joy of Six: showboating

From an impromptu sit down to Kevin Pietersen's switch hit, we celebrate the sporting show-off

1) Tommy Murray 'has a seat on the ball' (December 1972)

We're second to nobody in our appreciation of the grand artistic statement. Ambition doesn't even have to be commensurate with talent; the world would be a very boring place if people didn't try to fling a rope around the moon occasionally. But there are, of course, limits. If you can barely run a roller of Dulux over the bathroom wall without applying a matt coat to the carpet or glossing the cat, you'll probably raise eyebrows if you grow a Salvador Dali moustache especially for the job. If the only song you can play on the piano is Chopsticks, it's for the best if you don't form a prog rock band and position yourself on stage behind a bank of 15 synthesisers sporting a wizard's cape. And if you're a garden-variety Scottish league team, playing dress-up in the distinctive jerseys of the reigning European champions is positively begging for karmic humiliation.

For the duration of the 1972-73 season, mid-table Scottish First Division side Heart of Midlothian opted to ditch their all-maroon shirts, and play in white tops with a single thick maroon panel running down the middle. They were the spit of Ajax, who had won the 1971 European Cup. Ajax, who had won the 1972 European Cup. Ajax, who were about to become only the second side in history to win the European Cup three times in a row, elegantly laying Bayern Munich, Real Madrid and Juventus to waste on their valedictory march. The 1972-73 season would also see them win the Dutch league, the Uefa Super Cup, and the Intercontinental Cup.

Hearts, by comparison, would be bundled out of the League Cup in the early group stage by Berwick Rangers, Dumbarton and a monumentally inept Airdrie, the latter nevertheless also knocking them out of the Scottish Cup. They finished the season in 10th place, having only won once in their last 14 matches. And they suffered perhaps their greatest humiliation in the club's history, losing 7-0 at home on New Year's Day to bitter Edinburgh rivals Hibs. Not exactly Ajax, then. An unfair comparison, perhaps, but then we didn't force them into that garb.

Yet as we inferred earlier, just imagine how much great art would have remained unmade had certain folk not wildly over-reached themselves. And Hearts' preposterous get-up inspired them to one moment that, while not quite qualifying as Total Football, was nonetheless totally fantastic, a goal the Dutch masters would have been proud to score themselves. In early December, Hearts were getting thoroughly worked over by Rangers at Ibrox, but the home team had failed to score. With four minutes to go, the ball was worked out to Tommy Murray on the left wing. At which point a light bulb turned on above his head.

Murray recalled a game between the two sides the previous season, which Rangers had won comfortably. As the game died out, Rangers winger Willie Johnson sat on the ball to goad opposing defender Ian Sneddon. Haw haw haw. Now, Murray decided it was payback time. He – in the words of STV soccer sage Arthur Montford – "had a seat on the ball" himself. The mist descended on Rangers right-back Sandy Jardine, who came charging towards Murray with the battle fever on. Murray quickly got up and flicked Jim Brown into the space vacated by Jardine. Brown crossed to the far post, where Donald Ford headed the winner. "A sensation," cried Montford. Murray celebrated by skittering back down the pitch flicking Vs at the home support, who in fairness kept their responses to phrases beginning with EFF and EFFING CEE, as opposed to crying like big bairns to the polis in the modern style.

Rangers had lost a game they should have won. They'd lose the title to Celtic by a point. Murray's showboating, as well as salvaging something from Hearts' heartbreaking season, had cost Rangers dear, though they'd not suffer similarly ever again: an SFA committee quickly banned "having a seat on the ball" and made it a bookable offence for ungentlemanly conduct. Another triumph for the dust-caked burghers of Hampden! Scott Murray

2) Jockey Anthony Knott celebrates his first winner after 28 years of trying (Wincanton racecourse, 2008)

No doubt because of their origins as servile, forelock-tugging peasant folk who were expected to know their place, showboating of any kind by jockeys plying their trade in the occasionally snooty world of horse racing has long been frowned upon. Frankie Dettori may be renowned for his celebratory flying dismount, but celebrating – or even acknowledging – a big win in the shadow of the winning post is a relatively recent and rare phenomenon; witness eight-times champion jockey and former BBC pundit Peter Scudamore's obvious irritation when his son Tom occasionally stands in his irons to salute the crowd with a wave of his whip while cantering past the post.

Premature celebration in the saddle can be perilous, a lesson famously learned by Irish jockey Roger Loughran, who stood, whip hand triumphantly in the air while recording what he thought was his first winner as a professional on board a chaser named Central House at the Leopardstown Christmas meeting in 2005. Considering he'd just recorded his maiden success as a jump jockey in a televised showpiece, Loughran had every reason to be jubilant, except one: he hadn't crossed the finish line. Instead, the hapless jockey had mistaken the end of a running rail for the winning post and still had nearly 100m to go when he rose to bask in the cheers of encouragement from the crowd. It was adulation that quickly gave way to bewildered, stony silence as his mount was passed by two rivals on the run-in. On an otherwise slow festive news day, the story made national headlines and the unfortunate Loughran's humiliation was complete.

Perhaps the most ostentatious example of showboating from a horse's pilot was staged by Anthony Knott, a west country dairy farmer and occasionally amateur jockey who could be forgiven for celebrating his first ever winner after 28 years of trying. Booting 7-1 shot Wise Men Say around the course with his legs dangling so long in the stirrups he rode the horse only marginally more elegantly – to borrow a gag from Blackadder – than another horse would, Knott found himself in front with a furlong to go and began waving to the crowd with the breath of several pursuant runners and riders still hot on his neck. Luckily for him, the brave Wise Men Say managed to maintain his lead to the line, despite the best attempts of his jockey to put him off his stride with celebrations so exuberant he almost fell off as the weary winner paddled home in testing conditions.

"Twenty-eight years I've been waiting for that," said the exuberant Knott in a post-race interview that went on so long he almost forfeited the first win of his career by forgetting to weigh in until reminded to do so by his interrogator. Earlier, upon being asked if he'd begun his celebrations early after mistaking the furlong pole for the winning post, Knott was most indignant. "No," he said. "I thought I'd give a salute on the way in."

Racing buffs will recognise Knott as the owner of Hunt Ball, a seven-year-old steeplechaser that was bought for just £400 before going on to win an astonishing litany of prestigious prizes, including one at this year's Cheltenham Festival. Despite leaving the job of riding his horse into the ranks of the jump game's elite to jockey Nick Schofield, Knott could be found showboating at Wincanton once again in January, when he was fined £100 for clambering up to join Schofield on Hunt Ball's back as the victorious horse and jockey made their way to the winner's enclosure after one of many unlikely victories the pair notched up this year. Barry Glendenning

3) Gerrie Mühren, Real Madrid 0-1 Ajax (European Cup semi-final, 1973)

Context matters. Context is why Zlatan Ibrahimovic's stunning overhead kick against England last month is not the greatest goal of all time because, to put it in context, it happened in the last minute of a friendly against England, Ryan Shawcross was playing and Joe Hart was already on the plane home, which means the Swede's moment of magic does not compare to Diego Maradona against England in 1986, Dennis Bergkamp against Argentina in 1998 or Lionel Messi against Real Madrid in 2011. Without wishing to downplay how difficult a skill Ibrahimovic mastered, they all did it when it mattered. All goals are equal, but some are more important than others.

Just as context matters for goals, so it does for the showboat. Ibrahimovic once said that what John Carew can do with a football, he could do with an orange yet while he may well be right, skill alone does not make a footballer. No one gave Mr Woo a professional contract because he can do tricks in the centre circle at half time, no matter how entertaining they are.

A few years ago, the next big thing to emerge from Brazil was supposed to be YouTube sensation Kerlon, the inventor of the seal dribble, whereby he would scoop the ball up on to his head and keep it balanced there with his nose, just like a seal, and the only way to stop him was to foul him. Which is precisely what Atlético Mineiro's Dyego Rocha Coelho did in 2005, flooring the performing seal with a vicious elbow, earning himself a red card, a five-game ban and an inauspicious place in football folklore.

Yet the problem for Kerlon, now 24, is that he is only known for one thing. A high-profile move to Internazionale did not work out and he has failed to live up to his potential. Showboating only has so much value, because professional sport throws so many obstacles in the way of those trying to make it to the top. Johan Cruyff is known for more than his signature turn.

Kerlon's improvisation is perhaps one of the most remarkable ever seen on a football pitch but it will never be regarded as legendary because it is highly unlikely he will ever replicate it on the grandest stage. By contrast, Gerrie Mühren's ball juggling at the Bernabéu is nothing special. But context matters. This was a European Cup semi-final against Real Madrid at the Bernabéu and Mühren, who scored the only goal of the match for Ajax, was taking the mickey out of the Spanish giants in their own stadium. Mühren claimed he was merely being efficient, buying time while he waited for his team-mates to join him, and no Madrid player went to challenge him. It must be an Ajax thing; in 1997, Richard Witschge rubbed Feyenoord's nose in it during a 4-0 thrashing by juggling the ball down the wing.

Dutch footballers like to talk a lot but Mühren's humiliation of Madrid spoke volumes for Ajax's Total Dominance of the era. They were, after all, on their way to winning their third successive European Cup, the win over Madrid followed by an admittedly turgid victory over Juventus in the final. David Winner, author of Brilliant Orange, suggests it was the most memorable moment of Ajax's golden generation. "It was the moment when Ajax and Real Madrid changed positions," Mühren said. "Before then it was always the big Real Madrid and the little Ajax. When they saw me doing that, the balance changed." And rather than wave the white hankies, the packed Bernabéu crowd applauded – as they did when Ronaldinho eviscerated them with Barcelona in 2005.

If only Nani had been so fortunate when he tried a similar trick in an FA Cup tie against Arsenal in 2008; he ended up being booted through the air by Justin Hoyte and everyone agreed he deserved it for not showing nuff respect.

The Dutch are cooler than us. Jacob Steinberg

4) Dave Mohammed makes a call at the Stanford 20/20 (February 2008)

Chances are you don't know much about Dave Mohammed, unless, that is, you're a particularly keen student of the history of mediocre West Indies wrist spinners. Mohammed played five Tests in the mid-2000s, took 13 wickets at over 50 runs each, and had a similarly underwhelming ODI career. He may not have been blessed with all that much talent, but Mohammed compensated for it with his ludicrously inflated sense of self-worth and a repertoire of celebrations which he appeared to have spent an inordinate amount of time honing on his own at home in front of the bathroom mirror.

Playing for Trinidad & Tobago against Jamaica in the final of the 2008 Stanford 20/20 beano, Mohammed produced a performance he had been working towards all his life. And bowled OK too. Mohammed took four wickets for 20 runs. The second of them saw Danza Hyatt charge down the pitch, swing and miss at a googly, and get stumped by the 'keeper. As Hyatt trudged off,  Mohammed whipped off his shoe, held it up to his ear, and started conducting an imaginary telephone call. His team-mates, who were just as baffled as everyone else in the crowd, tried to hug him but Mohammed broke away and ran off so he could carry on holding a conversation with himself. "I was just trying to give my fax number to Mr Hyatt to call, because he mistook my googly," said Mohammed afterwards. "He answered in the pavilion." There was, it is worth remembering, a $1m jackpot at stake. Which may explain why he was so excited. Though it's best not to ask where Mr Allen got the money from. Andy Bull

5) Kevin Pietersen's switch-hit (June 2008)

Rumours that this week's Joy of Six was convened solely for its writers to spend the week humming songs from Hammerstein and Kern are false, but if Pietersen rhymed with Bill, well, that would've been handy. It doesn't, though; typical arrogance.

Between February and July 2008 England's cricketers played two series against New Zealand, neither of which especially exercised anyone. Still, there were some memorable moments: Andrew Strauss's career-saver, Tim Southee's career-starter, Ryan Sidebottom's hat-trick and various efforts from Pietersen, all upstaged by the inaugural switch-hit.

The moment came during the first ODI of the second series, when, with Pietersen on 68, Scott Styris ran in to bowl. In the time it took him to hurl a sphere of cork-covered leather 22 yards, Pietersen pirouetted en pointe, switched from right- to left-handed stance and slurped a glass of Amarula, before humiliating the ball over the boundary for six. Shot!

By way of context, humans have redeemed the species via the game of cricket for several hundreds of years – yet it took this particular incarnation to conceive, attempt, and execute the switch-hit. Play every ball on its merits, says the truism. Play every ball on my merits, said Pietersen.

Given cricket's duelling, repetitive nature, its potential outcomes are relatively few and apparently finite, leaving little that's new and even less that's positively shocking. And yet Pietersen found both, subsequent debate regarding the shot's legality polishing its status; not just reimagining the technical manual but bothering the rulebook too, iconoclastic as well as creative.

Though every showboat boasts a subversive aspect thanks to the disdain necessarily at its core, the switch-hit is special. Even the action is gloriously dismissive, a swatting swish of superiority. Begone! It might not be delivered as powerfully as a cover-drive, but you could say the same of how punch relates to slap: a punch hurts more, but only slap can take the prefix bitch. Roughly, the difference is that between pain and suffering.

Still, purists might challenge its showboating status on the basis that it's just a shot to score runs; Adrian Lewis' blind 180, say, or Leeds teasing Southampton, both rank higher on the dog-tongue-testes scale. But the problem with the gratuitous, if you'll pardon the heresy, is that there's no pressure to succeed – if it fails you look silly, but that's it. When, on the other hand, you incorporate into general play what is by nature a showboat, failure also encompasses a competitive penalty, in cricket a more significant one than in any other sport.

And once there's a genuine purpose, the criticism of not paying opponent or game requisite respect vanishes – but we ought to be above such delicate sensibility in any event.  It is, after all, only sport, and in every other art-form – literature, painting, music, films, plays, comics, comedy – a goodly chunk of the best and most important are underpinned by the total absence of deference.

Nonetheless, Pietersen has been constantly criticised for his style, an attitude peculiarly British in its carping churl. It oughtn't to be surprising; our language does, after all, consider "too clever by half" an insult, "don't get clever" a warning and "audacious and bold" a primary school telling-off. People don't cope well when other people are unashamedly better than them at stuff, but really, there's no need; we are, genuinely in this circumstance, all in it together, all of us in the world who aren't KP. It's fine.

To the spectator, a showboat should be inspirational, not threatening. David Foster Wallace once described high-level sport as "human beings' reconciliation with the fact of having a body", and channelling hopes and dreams through the brilliance and beauty of others should help reconcile us to all that we can't do ourselves.

The problem arises when it's done by someone we don't like, which turns flair to flash and a show into showing-off. But that's what professional sport is, what anything competitive is, and what anything professional is: a show. No one goes to the opera and grumbles about a singer trying to reach the high notes, or is aggravated by a surgeon who performs a tricky operation. Yes, it's principally for their pleasure, but why shouldn't it be? How couldn't it be?

It's no coincidence that the sportsman most similar to Pietersen was also underappreciated while he played in the purportedly green and pleasant land. Cristiano Ronaldo is a competitor of similar confidence and conviction, of all the things, also committed to intense practice and innovation, desperate to be the outstanding individual in a team sport. Oh, the effrontery! That being good, it's just not on!

So instead, people focus on their demeanour. It's understandable in a sense: the only thing more annoying than someone shouting the talk is someone sprinting the walk switch-hitting or stepping-over as they go, before refusing to denigrate their genius with phony humility and team ethic platitudes. And yet, in every school changing room there's a kid with a very adult attribute, displayed at every opportunity, in exchange for due adulation. We've changed.

Which is to say that the point is this: showboats and showmen remind us why we love sport, and rekindle the childish wonder legitimised by sport that we wish was legitimised by life. Yeah, everyone loved watching Rahul Dravid bat because he was classical and beautiful and a mensch, but he didn't make hearts jump, nor force involuntary exclamation of the desire to perform a biologically impossible act.

Consider then, that, at worst, Pietersen is a bit of an idiot. Then, consider all the other sportsfolk and teams who've brought you pleasure: are you sure they're not guilty of anything a lot more reprehensible? Lastly, consider yourself. Are you sure you're not a bit of an idiot? Can you say for certain that you're a superior incarnation of humanity? Or put another way, there's no one on the planet not an ordinary guy, but only a few who make us thrill. Enjoy them. Daniel Harris

6) And if you are going to showboat ...

... make sure you look over your shoulder first.

Kevin PietersenScott MurrayJacob SteinbergDaniel HarrisAndy BullBarry Glendenning
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