Still our Owen-ly natural finisher

THE IRONY cannot be lost on Michael Owen.

For a man who has made a career out of being in the right place at the right time, he could not be in a worse place at a worse time. AGREE? DISAGREE? HAVE YOUR SAY HERE

---

Megs

LAST time I checked, professional sport was about winning.

Last time I checked, Gary Megson had won nothing of note.

And thanks to his pathetic, depressing decision to send a reserve team to Lisbon, that won't change this year.

Or most likely, ever. Has it really come to this? That a club like Bolton thumb their nose at the chance to put their names alongside the likes of Real Madrid, Liverpool, Juventus, Bayern Munich and Inter Milan because they have an important engagement with Wigan coming up?

Tired

Don't give me this survival nonsense. If their top players — who have hardly been exhausted by their cup exertions this season — can't play two games in three days, then they don't deserve to stay up.

If they don't remain in the top flight, it will be because they and their manager are not very good, not because they are tired.

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"IT STILL burns inside."

Four words amidst an orgy of self-congratulation that cut to the chase.

Four words to remind us that there are still some people who care about the state of the English GAME rather than simply bathe in the reflected glory of the English LEAGUE.

They came from Wayne Rooney.

As his team-mates talked blithely about winning two trophies, Rooney was looking ahead to his painful summer.

And he wasn't referring to impending nuptials.

"Even if we win the Champions League, it will still be disappointing to watch the European Championships on television. It still burns inside."

Is Wayne right? Let us know here

When let off a spin doctor's leash, Rooney talks from the heart.

Triumph

It was a brief remark but — as the sound of the Premier League patting itself on the back grew to a crescendo — a chastening one.

Rooney played his part in Manchester United's advance to the Champions League quarter-finals, likewise Frank Lampard with Chelsea, even Theo Walcott had a cameo in Arsenal's stunning triumph at the San Siro.

And no doubt Steven Gerrard will be a key figure when Liverpool try to defend a two-goal lead in that very same stadium this week.

But the idea of English domination in Europe is a misguided one.

The Premier League is a great league, for sure. But it is not a great English league — it is a great league which just happens to be based in England.

We are piggy-backing our way to European acclaim on foreign talent.

On the exploits of Cristiano Ronaldo, Cesc Fabregas, Didier Drogba and Fernando Torres.

Fewer than 25 per cent of the players involved in last week's three victories are eligible for selection by Fabio Capello.

Two months into their assignment and, apparently, the Italian and his coterie of assistants are leaving no stone unturned in their quest to improve the fortunes of the national team.

But you would expect nothing less for £6million a year.

Capello might well provide a short-term fix.

But the odds remain stacked against him.

The game against France later this month, for example, is merely a warm-down for the ever-dwindling clique of elite English players who will have been involved in yet another Super Sunday three days previous.

And if England harbour hopes of ever becoming a world force again, then it needs more than a token handful of home-grown players in the Champions League.

Which means the FA, the Premier League, the Government, and local councils need to stop paying lip-service to the development of grassroots football and come up with a structured, co-ordinated plan.

But we have been waiting too long for better schools and club pitches, better coaching, better facilties, an end to kids slugging it out on full-size mudheaps.

Strut

And in the meantime — as the Premier League struts and preens itself en route to Moscow in May — Capello is left to grapple with a slim group of players who still believe they are ‘world-class' because they are being dragged to European success by Continental craftsmen.

For all his faults, for all his scallyness off the field, for all his foul-mouthed antics, for all his tantrums, there is at least one player who knows different.

Which is why — even when he collects his medals, even when he waits for Coleen at the top of the aisle — Wayne Rooney will still be burning inside.

WE'VE all been there. You've got your mates a couple of tickets for the big game and you're trying to arrange a meeting place for the handover.

How about next to that statue of Whatsisname outside the South Stand? Half past two?

No, I'll leave 'em on the gate for you.

Then again, you could do a Cipriani.

Was Ashton right? Let us know here

Midnight, West End, less than two days before the biggest game of your young life.

At the Isis nightclub. Home — according to one website — of "celebrities, Mayfair millionaires and Beirut babes".

If you believe Danny boy was there just to drop off a couple of tickets for the game, then fine.

Cheeky

But next you'll be asking me to believe a budding international rugby player was caught with a woman named Larissa who was really a bloke named Darren while he was seeing a Cheeky Girl named Monica.

Brian Ashton's reaction was draconian to say the least.

But when the dry ice has cleared, there is only one real insight gained from this slightly laughable episode.

Ashton wasn't really that keen on picking him in the first place.

IT'S not quite England cricket team proportions yet but give it time.

The Ashes win of 2005 saw Andrew Flintoff and company go on a bender of such proportions that they still bat, bowl and field like dehydrated, morning-after drunks.

Did Ramos get this wrong? Let us know here

Juande Ramos made his first mistake as a Premier League manager when he told his players to go out and celebrate their victory in the Carling Cup Final.

Since then, his Spurs side failed to turn up at St Andrews and capitulated to PSV at White Hart Lane.

Give English sportsmen a pint...and they will take a gallon.

FOR the first time last week, I saw the footage that Sky Sports deemed too horrific to show to their viewers.

And only the stretched nylon of sports sock appears to be keeping Eduardo's ankle in the vicinity of the rest of his leg.

A couple of days later, Derek Dooley died. On February 14, 1953, Dooley challenged Preston goalkeeper George Thompson for the ball.

The immediate outcome of the collision was a double fracture of Dooley's right leg.

The outcome two months down the line was the amputation of Dooley's right leg.

The right leg that had scored 63 goals in 63 league games was cut off from above the knee. He was aged 23.

There is no moral to this. No punchline. No pithy point about medical standards then and now. No ‘you've never had it so good'.

It's just that people should remember things like that. That's all.

IN a predictably charming return to public speaking, Jose Mourinho referred to Arsene Wenger as a coach who has ‘won nothing for years'.

Not strictly true. He has won admiration for the way his team play the beautiful game.

Unlike the Chelsea of Mourinho's era who won virtually everything... apart from friends.

ONLY Chelsea. Only Chelsea could be cruising towards a Champions League quarter-final place and still be in crisis.

Only Chelsea could be dead certs for an FA Cup semi-final slot and still be in crisis.

Only Chelsea could have a fighting chance of landing the Premier League title and still be in crisis.

But a crisis it is. Created by Roman Abramovich — and yesterday's destruction of West Ham does not disguise the frailties at Stamford Bridge.

Is there a crisis at Stamford Bridge? Let us know your view here

The owner has sanctioned a structure at Stamford Bridge that is unworkable, unlovable, unfathomable. Populated by back-stabbers, riddled with Machiavellian plots, threatened by an uprising from players made complacent by Russian riches.

And Abramovich stalks the training ground and then looks down from his lofty throne in the colisseum.

Lackies

His lackies wait for the thumbs-up — or down. Not so much Roman Abramovich as Roman Emperor.

Resentment festers.

How many of the players or backroom staff genuinely believe Avram Grant — amiable, honest bloke that he seems — got the job via his CV rather than via his personal links with Abramovich?

His record is patently not good enough for a job of such magnitude and contains scant evidence of an ability to produce the wonderful football Abramovich apparently craves.

Plenty of us gave him the benefit of the doubt when he succeeded Jose Mourinho.

That benefit has passed its expiry date. His assistant Henk ten Cate is infinitely more qualified. A coach of vast experience. At times, it looks like he talks down to Grant.

But we are told he is the Mr Nasty to Grant's Mr Nice. As if players are going to swallow that.

Manchester United have a good cop/bad cop regime — his name is Sir Alex Ferguson. One singer, one songsheet. That is why there is no turmoil at United or Arsenal — the two teams whose football Abramovich so envies.

He might be able to match them for honours but not for honour.

And then there are characters like

Frank Arnesen, sporting director and, apparently, responsible for the development of young talent. You'd have to search long and hard to find the fruits of his labour.

Ben Sahar is trying to justify his reputation with Sheffield Wednesday while Scott Sinclair is hoping Charlton will bring out his much-vaunted talent.

Piet de Visser remains a personal adviser to the owner. He is a great friend of Guus Hiddink — the Russia coach whose huge salary is bankrolled by Abramovich. Talk about weaving tangled webs.

All it has done is create confusion and acrimony. To the extent where even the indefatigable John Terry now cuts a troubled figure.

It was not long ago that Terry seemed indestructible — mentally and physically. Then along came Fabio Capello. And the name was no longer John Terry England Captain.

Even though he might regain it, Terry has, to all intents and purposes, been stripped of the international armband. The psychological damage of that must be crushing.

And it shows every time his face creases in frustration. This is when his club boss should step in.

Terry needs managing — not confronting, not being made the centre of a selection farce as he was prior to last weekend's debacle at Wembley.

You can almost understand how Abramovich has let it get to this stage. The uber-rich, the uber-powerful have courtiers tugging at their gown every minute of every day.

Pulse

Through sheer weight of wealth, through the recruitment of the world's best players and their ability to find a way to win regardless of political distractions, Chelsea will still challenge for major trophies.

But if Abramovich wants a team that quickens the pulse, that sets new standards, that can attract the neutral without advertising tickets on talkSPORT, he needs to clear his vision. One top-class manager, one trusty lieutenant. And that's it.

Regardless of their connections, links, standing in the blurred territory where football, money and politics mix. Ferguson and Carlos Quieroz, Arsene Wenger and Pat Rice. Even Spurs have cottoned on. Juande Ramos and Gus Poyet.

Four of the top 10 earners on the players' global rich list have their cheques signed by Abramovich. But, despite the lavish wages, despite another realistic, multi-pronged quest for silverware — his is a club still in crisis. Only Chelsea.

SOMETIMES in this business you have to suspend all normal rules of thought.

Thaksin Shinawatra was duly arrested on corruption charges when he returned to Thailand on Thursday.

This on top of the disquiet about the deaths of 2,500 people when Shinawatra's government launched a crackdown on drugs in 2003.

Stumps

Yet Sven Goran Eriksson's insightful comment was to reassure Manchester City fans his transfer policy would not be adversely affected.

Ah, that's OK then.

Shinawatra can stand accused of defrauding a nation out of hundreds of millions and can be implicated in human rights atrocities.

But so long as he stumps up the cash for a decent midfielder, he's all right by us.

Do you agree? Let us know here

BURN effigies of me on the streets of Toxteth.

Trash my car the next time I leave it in Stanley Park. Run poisonous internet campaigns.

But, Liverpool fans, your club — the 2008 version — does not deserve Steven Gerrard. "How could I leave after a night like that?" Gerrard said in the giddy aftermath of Istanbul.

Almost three years on and Gerrard has — true to his word — not moved on.

But neither has his club.

The journey that finished in the Ataturk Stadium in May 2005 actually started when Newcastle, in typical style, could only manage three points from their last four games of the 03-04 season —thus gifting Liverpool a Champions League slot.

If they are to scrape fourth place in the league this term, similar fortune could well be required. And Gerrard must wonder, must think back to those long discussions he had with Rick Parry when Chelsea first flattered their eyelashes during Euro 2004.

Must think back to broken promises.

At the time, Liverpool had three world-class outfield players. Gerrard, Jamie Carragher and Michael Owen. Gerrard was told that would change.

Yet right now, Liverpool have three world-class outfield players. Gerrard, Carragher and Fernando Torres.

Bond

At the time, Liverpool were targeting two top-class widemen and a quality partner for Owen. Gerrard was told they would get them.

Yet right now, Liverpool are targeting two top-class widemen and a quality partner for Torres.

Gerrard himself talked about the importance of a local heartbeat for a club that has a special bond with the community.

Yet since Liverpool's academy opened in 1999, how many first-team players has it produced? The departed and forgotten Stephen Warnock. Er, and that's about it. Changes in the boardroom, changes in the backroom staff, wholesale changes in playing personnel. Precious little change on the field.

Still relying on Gerrard — with the yeoman assistance of Carragher and the exhilarating interventions of Torres — to bend his back, hoist the club on to his shoulders and carry it through the blizzard of behind-the-scenes bickering.

Still relying on him to be the rock amidst the recklessness of rotation.

Of course, no one player is bigger than a club — especially a club of Liverpool's tradition, their history, their honour and achievement.

That is why the greats of Anfield past — from Billy Liddell to Kenny Dalglish — have one thing in common. Humility. Gerrard has the same thing in abundance. But his is a unique position.

He is to Liverpool what Maldini is to Milan, what Raul is to Real Madrid. An icon. A talisman.

But the weight of Liverpool's troubles falls heaviest on Gerrard's shoulders.

When another round of verbal sparring erupts between manager and owner, who do the supporters, the media look to for answers? Gerrard.

Vain

When Rafa Benitez's tinkerings bring more confusion to Liverpool's vain quest for domestic improvement, who do the players look to to sort it out? Gerrard.

And on top of this, he has to cope with the problems of life in a city dominated by the two football clubs.

A city where Chinese whispers become cold, hard fact at the touch of a computer mouse, a press of the text button.

He is, of course, rewarded handsomely. But his last-minute goal against Inter was yet more justification of his enormous salary.

His last-minute goal against Inter might yet start another run towards Champions League glory, as that is clearly a Benitez speciality.

He is a great 90-minute manager. A great European manager. A great manager when he doesn't cloud his thinking with games on a distant horizon.

So European success might come again, bolstering the reputation of Benitez in the managerial markets of Spain and Italy.

But Premier League success is a million miles away. And that's what matters to Gerrard and Carragher.

Other clubs will glance towards Gerrard this summer and he will doubtless turn a blind eye to their advances.

But if Benitez continues to make mediocre signings, if he continues to under-perform in the league, if the uncertainty of ownership plans continues, who would blame Gerrard if he tired of the unyielding pressure on his body and mind?

There is nothing quite like the moments before a major European tie at Anfield. Nothing that moves you quite like the deafening strains of the most famous anthem in football.

You'll never walk alone. But too often over the last few years, Gerrard has been doing just that.

THEY waved their shoes at him in protest. Their grubby trainers, their tatty Timberlands, their sweaty slip-ons.

They waved them at Bryan Robson OBE, Captain Marvel, England veteran of 90 caps.

As insults to legends go, this was right up there.

Soon after, Sheffield United chairman Kevin McCabe rang Kevin Blackwell and discussed the possibility of him joining the coaching staff.

Robson was offered the post of Director of Football.

"The role they offered me was fantastic," said Robson, clutching a substantial pay-off cheque.

No it wasn't, Bryan.

It was a shame-faced fobbing-off. AGREE? DISAGREE? CLICK HERE TO SHARE YOUR OPINION

And to take it would have been the one final undermining moment of your managerial career.

Thanks goodness you walked with a semblance of credibility left.

Where does Robson go from here?

Probably into another decent job, despite one very basic truth — he is clearly not an overly talented manager.

People point to a couple of promotions with Middlesbrough.

Well, it had to be two because somehow he took a star-studded team down in 1997. The same fate would probably have befallen them in 2001 had Terry Venables not been summoned for a white knight act.

Robbo kept West Brom up in 2004-05, thanks to a last-day miracle but it only delayed the inevitable and they were relegated the following season.

And he leaves Sheffield United in 16th place in the Championship.

His pals can protest all they want — and Sir Alex Ferguson and Gareth Southgate have launched the most vigorous defences. But the stats just don't stack up.

Trophies

That Robson will probably get another opportunity ahead of a promising lower league manager is not his fault. AGREE? DISAGREE? CLICK HERE TO SHARE YOUR OPINION

It is down to star-struck chairmen more interested in name than nous.

Who — despite the likely Big Four sweep of trophies — is heading towards the Manager of the Year award?

David Moyes. When he was interviewed for the Everton job back in 2002, he was unheralded, hard-working, determined, meticulous. But Bill Kewnright saw talent and industry before stardust and fame.

Hiring names for the sake of hiring names is still a disease. Look at the current incumbent at Newcastle.

Clubs suffer — but the individuals suffer and their places in history suffer.

There is a whole generation of football fans out there who don't remember the GREAT Kevin Keegan.

They don't remember the irrepressible little striker who destroyed his beloved Newcastle in the 1974 FA Cup final with one of the finest virtuouso performances ever seen at Wembley.

They have no idea that Keegan was TWICE European Footballer of the Year while at Hamburg.

They won't be able to recall the time Keegan gave fabled full-back Berti Vogts a monumental runaround as Liverpool beat Borussia Monchengladbach in the European Cup final of 1977.

They might even struggle to remember the panache with which his Newcastle team of the mid-90s graced the Premier League.

And should — after a thumping from Manchester United on Tyneside next Saturday — he walk out of the shambles he joined only five weeks ago, I would not vilify him.

My generation still has some fond memories of Keegan.

It would be a shame to have them banished by this farcical return to Newcastle.

And for the same reasons, that is why Robson — who turned 51 last month — should think long and hard before accepting another offer from a gullible chairman.

He is fantastically wealthy and has just about enough playing credit in the bank to pay off his managerial debts.

Ultimate

And when I think of Bryan Robson, I want to think of the man who came to epitomise the ultimate skipper.

The man who got a nation off its feet with that goal against France in the 1982 World Cup.

The man who led Manchester United to an era of unprecedented glory.

The man who confronted so much physical adversity and refused to let it defeat him.

I don't want to think of him as the man chased out of town by taunting fans waving grotty Nikes in his face. AGREE? DISAGREE? CLICK HERE TO SHARE YOUR OPINION

In Roo-ins

"IT STILL burns inside."

Four words amidst an orgy of self-congratulation that cut to the chase.

Four words to remind us that there are still some people who care about the state of the English GAME rather than simply bathe in the reflected glory of the English LEAGUE.

They came from Wayne Rooney.

As his team-mates talked blithely about winning two trophies, Rooney was looking ahead to his painful summer.

And he wasn't referring to impending nuptials.

"Even if we win the Champions League, it will still be disappointing to watch the European Championships on television. It still burns inside."

Is Wayne right? Let us know here

When let off a spin doctor's leash, Rooney talks from the heart.

Triumph

It was a brief remark but — as the sound of the Premier League patting itself on the back grew to a crescendo — a chastening one.

Rooney played his part in Manchester United's advance to the Champions League quarter-finals, likewise Frank Lampard with Chelsea, even Theo Walcott had a cameo in Arsenal's stunning triumph at the San Siro.

And no doubt Steven Gerrard will be a key figure when Liverpool try to defend a two-goal lead in that very same stadium this week.

But the idea of English domination in Europe is a misguided one.

The Premier League is a great league, for sure. But it is not a great English league — it is a great league which just happens to be based in England.

We are piggy-backing our way to European acclaim on foreign talent.

On the exploits of Cristiano Ronaldo, Cesc Fabregas, Didier Drogba and Fernando Torres.

Fewer than 25 per cent of the players involved in last week's three victories are eligible for selection by Fabio Capello.

Two months into their assignment and, apparently, the Italian and his coterie of assistants are leaving no stone unturned in their quest to improve the fortunes of the national team.

But you would expect nothing less for £6million a year.

Capello might well provide a short-term fix.

But the odds remain stacked against him.

The game against France later this month, for example, is merely a warm-down for the ever-dwindling clique of elite English players who will have been involved in yet another Super Sunday three days previous.

And if England harbour hopes of ever becoming a world force again, then it needs more than a token handful of home-grown players in the Champions League.

Which means the FA, the Premier League, the Government, and local councils need to stop paying lip-service to the development of grassroots football and come up with a structured, co-ordinated plan.

But we have been waiting too long for better schools and club pitches, better coaching, better facilties, an end to kids slugging it out on full-size mudheaps.

Strut

And in the meantime — as the Premier League struts and preens itself en route to Moscow in May — Capello is left to grapple with a slim group of players who still believe they are ‘world-class' because they are being dragged to European success by Continental craftsmen.

For all his faults, for all his scallyness off the field, for all his foul-mouthed antics, for all his tantrums, there is at least one player who knows different.

Which is why — even when he collects his medals, even when he waits for Coleen at the top of the aisle — Wayne Rooney will still be burning inside.

Cip it and see

WE'VE all been there. You've got your mates a couple of tickets for the big game and you're trying to arrange a meeting place for the handover.

How about next to that statue of Whatsisname outside the South Stand? Half past two?

No, I'll leave 'em on the gate for you.

Then again, you could do a Cipriani.

Was Ashton right? Let us know here

Midnight, West End, less than two days before the biggest game of your young life.

At the Isis nightclub. Home — according to one website — of "celebrities, Mayfair millionaires and Beirut babes".

If you believe Danny boy was there just to drop off a couple of tickets for the game, then fine.

Cheeky

But next you'll be asking me to believe a budding international rugby player was caught with a woman named Larissa who was really a bloke named Darren while he was seeing a Cheeky Girl named Monica.

Brian Ashton's reaction was draconian to say the least.

But when the dry ice has cleared, there is only one real insight gained from this slightly laughable episode.

Ashton wasn't really that keen on picking him in the first place.

Ramos got this Juan wrong

IT'S not quite England cricket team proportions yet but give it time.

The Ashes win of 2005 saw Andrew Flintoff and company go on a bender of such proportions that they still bat, bowl and field like dehydrated, morning-after drunks.

Did Ramos get this wrong? Let us know here

Juande Ramos made his first mistake as a Premier League manager when he told his players to go out and celebrate their victory in the Carling Cup Final.

Since then, his Spurs side failed to turn up at St Andrews and capitulated to PSV at White Hart Lane.

Give English sportsmen a pint...and they will take a gallon.

Let's not forget Dooley

FOR the first time last week, I saw the footage that Sky Sports deemed too horrific to show to their viewers.

And only the stretched nylon of sports sock appears to be keeping Eduardo's ankle in the vicinity of the rest of his leg.

A couple of days later, Derek Dooley died. On February 14, 1953, Dooley challenged Preston goalkeeper George Thompson for the ball.

The immediate outcome of the collision was a double fracture of Dooley's right leg.

The outcome two months down the line was the amputation of Dooley's right leg.

The right leg that had scored 63 goals in 63 league games was cut off from above the knee. He was aged 23.

There is no moral to this. No punchline. No pithy point about medical standards then and now. No ‘you've never had it so good'.

It's just that people should remember things like that. That's all.

Mour a misery

IN a predictably charming return to public speaking, Jose Mourinho referred to Arsene Wenger as a coach who has ‘won nothing for years'.

Not strictly true. He has won admiration for the way his team play the beautiful game.

Unlike the Chelsea of Mourinho's era who won virtually everything... apart from friends.

This could only happen at Chelsea

ONLY Chelsea. Only Chelsea could be cruising towards a Champions League quarter-final place and still be in crisis.

Only Chelsea could be dead certs for an FA Cup semi-final slot and still be in crisis.

Only Chelsea could have a fighting chance of landing the Premier League title and still be in crisis.

But a crisis it is. Created by Roman Abramovich — and yesterday's destruction of West Ham does not disguise the frailties at Stamford Bridge.

Is there a crisis at Stamford Bridge? Let us know your view here

The owner has sanctioned a structure at Stamford Bridge that is unworkable, unlovable, unfathomable. Populated by back-stabbers, riddled with Machiavellian plots, threatened by an uprising from players made complacent by Russian riches.

And Abramovich stalks the training ground and then looks down from his lofty throne in the colisseum.

Lackies

His lackies wait for the thumbs-up — or down. Not so much Roman Abramovich as Roman Emperor.

Resentment festers.

How many of the players or backroom staff genuinely believe Avram Grant — amiable, honest bloke that he seems — got the job via his CV rather than via his personal links with Abramovich?

His record is patently not good enough for a job of such magnitude and contains scant evidence of an ability to produce the wonderful football Abramovich apparently craves.

Plenty of us gave him the benefit of the doubt when he succeeded Jose Mourinho.

That benefit has passed its expiry date. His assistant Henk ten Cate is infinitely more qualified. A coach of vast experience. At times, it looks like he talks down to Grant.

But we are told he is the Mr Nasty to Grant's Mr Nice. As if players are going to swallow that.

Manchester United have a good cop/bad cop regime — his name is Sir Alex Ferguson. One singer, one songsheet. That is why there is no turmoil at United or Arsenal — the two teams whose football Abramovich so envies.

He might be able to match them for honours but not for honour.

And then there are characters like

Frank Arnesen, sporting director and, apparently, responsible for the development of young talent. You'd have to search long and hard to find the fruits of his labour.

Ben Sahar is trying to justify his reputation with Sheffield Wednesday while Scott Sinclair is hoping Charlton will bring out his much-vaunted talent.

Piet de Visser remains a personal adviser to the owner. He is a great friend of Guus Hiddink — the Russia coach whose huge salary is bankrolled by Abramovich. Talk about weaving tangled webs.

All it has done is create confusion and acrimony. To the extent where even the indefatigable John Terry now cuts a troubled figure.

It was not long ago that Terry seemed indestructible — mentally and physically. Then along came Fabio Capello. And the name was no longer John Terry England Captain.

Even though he might regain it, Terry has, to all intents and purposes, been stripped of the international armband. The psychological damage of that must be crushing.

And it shows every time his face creases in frustration. This is when his club boss should step in.

Terry needs managing — not confronting, not being made the centre of a selection farce as he was prior to last weekend's debacle at Wembley.

You can almost understand how Abramovich has let it get to this stage. The uber-rich, the uber-powerful have courtiers tugging at their gown every minute of every day.

Pulse

Through sheer weight of wealth, through the recruitment of the world's best players and their ability to find a way to win regardless of political distractions, Chelsea will still challenge for major trophies.

But if Abramovich wants a team that quickens the pulse, that sets new standards, that can attract the neutral without advertising tickets on talkSPORT, he needs to clear his vision. One top-class manager, one trusty lieutenant. And that's it.

Regardless of their connections, links, standing in the blurred territory where football, money and politics mix. Ferguson and Carlos Quieroz, Arsene Wenger and Pat Rice. Even Spurs have cottoned on. Juande Ramos and Gus Poyet.

Four of the top 10 earners on the players' global rich list have their cheques signed by Abramovich. But, despite the lavish wages, despite another realistic, multi-pronged quest for silverware — his is a club still in crisis. Only Chelsea.

Sven's close Thais

SOMETIMES in this business you have to suspend all normal rules of thought.

Thaksin Shinawatra was duly arrested on corruption charges when he returned to Thailand on Thursday.

This on top of the disquiet about the deaths of 2,500 people when Shinawatra's government launched a crackdown on drugs in 2003.

Stumps

Yet Sven Goran Eriksson's insightful comment was to reassure Manchester City fans his transfer policy would not be adversely affected.

Ah, that's OK then.

Shinawatra can stand accused of defrauding a nation out of hundreds of millions and can be implicated in human rights atrocities.

But so long as he stumps up the cash for a decent midfielder, he's all right by us.

Do you agree? Let us know here

LIVERPOOL'S NEW REGIME DON'T DESERVE STEVIE G.

BURN effigies of me on the streets of Toxteth.

Trash my car the next time I leave it in Stanley Park. Run poisonous internet campaigns.

But, Liverpool fans, your club — the 2008 version — does not deserve Steven Gerrard. "How could I leave after a night like that?" Gerrard said in the giddy aftermath of Istanbul.

Almost three years on and Gerrard has — true to his word — not moved on.

But neither has his club.

The journey that finished in the Ataturk Stadium in May 2005 actually started when Newcastle, in typical style, could only manage three points from their last four games of the 03-04 season —thus gifting Liverpool a Champions League slot.

If they are to scrape fourth place in the league this term, similar fortune could well be required. And Gerrard must wonder, must think back to those long discussions he had with Rick Parry when Chelsea first flattered their eyelashes during Euro 2004.

Must think back to broken promises.

At the time, Liverpool had three world-class outfield players. Gerrard, Jamie Carragher and Michael Owen. Gerrard was told that would change.

Yet right now, Liverpool have three world-class outfield players. Gerrard, Carragher and Fernando Torres.

Bond

At the time, Liverpool were targeting two top-class widemen and a quality partner for Owen. Gerrard was told they would get them.

Yet right now, Liverpool are targeting two top-class widemen and a quality partner for Torres.

Gerrard himself talked about the importance of a local heartbeat for a club that has a special bond with the community.

Yet since Liverpool's academy opened in 1999, how many first-team players has it produced? The departed and forgotten Stephen Warnock. Er, and that's about it. Changes in the boardroom, changes in the backroom staff, wholesale changes in playing personnel. Precious little change on the field.

Still relying on Gerrard — with the yeoman assistance of Carragher and the exhilarating interventions of Torres — to bend his back, hoist the club on to his shoulders and carry it through the blizzard of behind-the-scenes bickering.

Still relying on him to be the rock amidst the recklessness of rotation.

Of course, no one player is bigger than a club — especially a club of Liverpool's tradition, their history, their honour and achievement.

That is why the greats of Anfield past — from Billy Liddell to Kenny Dalglish — have one thing in common. Humility. Gerrard has the same thing in abundance. But his is a unique position.

He is to Liverpool what Maldini is to Milan, what Raul is to Real Madrid. An icon. A talisman.

But the weight of Liverpool's troubles falls heaviest on Gerrard's shoulders.

When another round of verbal sparring erupts between manager and owner, who do the supporters, the media look to for answers? Gerrard.

Vain

When Rafa Benitez's tinkerings bring more confusion to Liverpool's vain quest for domestic improvement, who do the players look to to sort it out? Gerrard.

And on top of this, he has to cope with the problems of life in a city dominated by the two football clubs.

A city where Chinese whispers become cold, hard fact at the touch of a computer mouse, a press of the text button.

He is, of course, rewarded handsomely. But his last-minute goal against Inter was yet more justification of his enormous salary.

His last-minute goal against Inter might yet start another run towards Champions League glory, as that is clearly a Benitez speciality.

He is a great 90-minute manager. A great European manager. A great manager when he doesn't cloud his thinking with games on a distant horizon.

So European success might come again, bolstering the reputation of Benitez in the managerial markets of Spain and Italy.

But Premier League success is a million miles away. And that's what matters to Gerrard and Carragher.

Other clubs will glance towards Gerrard this summer and he will doubtless turn a blind eye to their advances.

But if Benitez continues to make mediocre signings, if he continues to under-perform in the league, if the uncertainty of ownership plans continues, who would blame Gerrard if he tired of the unyielding pressure on his body and mind?

There is nothing quite like the moments before a major European tie at Anfield. Nothing that moves you quite like the deafening strains of the most famous anthem in football.

You'll never walk alone. But too often over the last few years, Gerrard has been doing just that.

The strife of Bryan is no laughing matter

THEY waved their shoes at him in protest. Their grubby trainers, their tatty Timberlands, their sweaty slip-ons.

They waved them at Bryan Robson OBE, Captain Marvel, England veteran of 90 caps.

As insults to legends go, this was right up there.

Soon after, Sheffield United chairman Kevin McCabe rang Kevin Blackwell and discussed the possibility of him joining the coaching staff.

Robson was offered the post of Director of Football.

"The role they offered me was fantastic," said Robson, clutching a substantial pay-off cheque.

No it wasn't, Bryan.

It was a shame-faced fobbing-off. AGREE? DISAGREE? CLICK HERE TO SHARE YOUR OPINION

And to take it would have been the one final undermining moment of your managerial career.

Thanks goodness you walked with a semblance of credibility left.

Where does Robson go from here?

Probably into another decent job, despite one very basic truth — he is clearly not an overly talented manager.

People point to a couple of promotions with Middlesbrough.

Well, it had to be two because somehow he took a star-studded team down in 1997. The same fate would probably have befallen them in 2001 had Terry Venables not been summoned for a white knight act.

Robbo kept West Brom up in 2004-05, thanks to a last-day miracle but it only delayed the inevitable and they were relegated the following season.

And he leaves Sheffield United in 16th place in the Championship.

His pals can protest all they want — and Sir Alex Ferguson and Gareth Southgate have launched the most vigorous defences. But the stats just don't stack up.

Trophies

That Robson will probably get another opportunity ahead of a promising lower league manager is not his fault. AGREE? DISAGREE? CLICK HERE TO SHARE YOUR OPINION

It is down to star-struck chairmen more interested in name than nous.

Who — despite the likely Big Four sweep of trophies — is heading towards the Manager of the Year award?

David Moyes. When he was interviewed for the Everton job back in 2002, he was unheralded, hard-working, determined, meticulous. But Bill Kewnright saw talent and industry before stardust and fame.

Hiring names for the sake of hiring names is still a disease. Look at the current incumbent at Newcastle.

Clubs suffer — but the individuals suffer and their places in history suffer.

There is a whole generation of football fans out there who don't remember the GREAT Kevin Keegan.

They don't remember the irrepressible little striker who destroyed his beloved Newcastle in the 1974 FA Cup final with one of the finest virtuouso performances ever seen at Wembley.

They have no idea that Keegan was TWICE European Footballer of the Year while at Hamburg.

They won't be able to recall the time Keegan gave fabled full-back Berti Vogts a monumental runaround as Liverpool beat Borussia Monchengladbach in the European Cup final of 1977.

They might even struggle to remember the panache with which his Newcastle team of the mid-90s graced the Premier League.

And should — after a thumping from Manchester United on Tyneside next Saturday — he walk out of the shambles he joined only five weeks ago, I would not vilify him.

My generation still has some fond memories of Keegan.

It would be a shame to have them banished by this farcical return to Newcastle.

And for the same reasons, that is why Robson — who turned 51 last month — should think long and hard before accepting another offer from a gullible chairman.

He is fantastically wealthy and has just about enough playing credit in the bank to pay off his managerial debts.

Ultimate

And when I think of Bryan Robson, I want to think of the man who came to epitomise the ultimate skipper.

The man who got a nation off its feet with that goal against France in the 1982 World Cup.

The man who led Manchester United to an era of unprecedented glory.

The man who confronted so much physical adversity and refused to let it defeat him.

I don't want to think of him as the man chased out of town by taunting fans waving grotty Nikes in his face. AGREE? DISAGREE? CLICK HERE TO SHARE YOUR OPINION