Roy Keane's death stare points to Hollywood

Roy Keane's BBC interview last week was a masterclass in understated intimidation. As a manager, Keane's intelligence shines through his aggression in a way it rarely did as a player. In his leg-breaking days, we could happily pigeonhole him somewhere between passionate and psychopath and be done with it. But as he's spent more time in front of the camera, he's added a touch of criminal genius to the hard-man routine.

When his face locks up into the death stare on 0m17, you can see the calculations running through his head. Roy will still screw you up, but he'll be imaginative about it. Mobster Keano makes good viewing, but you can see why he's struggled as a club manager. Dwight Yorke's a bit of a wally himself, but his account of Keane's Sunderland reign of terror seems totally plausible. You can't run a football team on a cult of personality alone. 

The path from footballing psycho to silver screen success has been well-trodden by Cantona and Vinnie Jones. Maybe instead of scaring the living daylights out of journeymen footballers, Keano should follow their lead and find a creative outlet for his gift for dramatising ill will?

Is the media spoiling football fans?

Gareth Southgate is quoted in today's Guardian blaming internet forums and football phone-ins for the increasing  impatience of home fans. Apparently Boro are being booed off the pitch to the extent that they prefer away games to home, which Southgate attributes to laymen being encouraged to sound off "without accountability."

Personally, I'm not too bothered about Boro, but he raises an interesting point. The Internet is supposed to be a democratising force, breaking down the experts' monopoly on opinion. But in making potential journo's of us all (ummm...), does it mean we spend more time shouting to be heard, and less time thinking or listening? In media studies, this is known as the "Babel effect ", as it recalls the Biblical tale in which God inflicts confusion and misunderstanding on humanity by replacing one language with several. So the more people chatter about what's in their heads, the less they actually communicate.

Clearly, the Internet and radio phone-ins have not given birth to opinionated football fans -  they've been around a while. For most of us, half the fun of being a fan is to talk endlessly and animatedly about it until you've forgotten where you started. But it seems plausible that in briefly giving your everyman a massive audience, opinions that would otherwise stay locked into a small circle can gather momentum very quickly. The rumbling of the mob is amplified by the media, and negativity can spiral quickly. Likewise, in our fifteen seconds of radio fame the temptation to make dramatic claims is greater than it is down the pub with your mates. And on the Internet, the anonymity of the medium has consequences galore for what we're ready to do and say. So on these counts, maybe Southgate has a point - the lack of accountability in letting everyone have their say can harden opinions against a team more quickly than in real time.

There's much discussion right now of the future of the media and journalism in the digital age. Citizen journalism and shrinking print revenues are threatening the established infrastructures, with many arguing that this erodes the "closed-shop" relationship between business and political elites and media powerhouses. In other words, they're less able to shape how we think without us realising it. This is possibly true of politics and business, although you need sites of authority of some description (these will emerge, but not painlessly). That's why the BBC is becoming less proprietorial about its content - its role is shifting from exclusive production to content facilitation, reflecting the general trend in the new media marketplace. But in sport, where sophisticated production techniques and specialist expertise are so crucial to the entertainment, and where we don't need to worry so much about Big Brother anyway, I don't think this change will be as marked. As Southgate suggests, expertise and talent in sports journalism should be preserved and cherished, because there are a lot more people who want to say something than actually have something to say.

Goldmine or minefield?

Clearly, staging a major sporting event represents a big opportunity for an emerging economy. It offers a chance to announce its newfound power and status on the world stage, and delivers an army of overexcited consumers on a mission to spend. So these blockbuster events have become a means of recognising, measuring and furthering economic progress. But the stakes are high. While the cash injection and the attention of tourists worldwide are obvious incentives, these promises bring with them the need for a massive investment in infrastructure, and international scrutiny of social and economic structures. The inclination to overpromise at the bidding stage is strong, while failure to deliver is unthinkable.

When South Africa was awarded the 2010 World Cup, many questioned its ability to produce the goods . And if it did deliver, they worried about the social cost of that preoccupation in a society beset with problems. Would the country's elites craving for international recognition that lead them to sweep inconvenient people and problems under the carpet? Those concerns linger, as they do from Beijing last year, but South Africa has surprised everyone by fast-tracking construction and development. To the naked eye at least, its house is in order for next summer's big party and its hosting has proven a net positive.

Likewise, when Poland and the Ukraine were awarded the 2012 European Championships, a similar combination of promise and apprehension presented itself. Everything needed a thorough makeover - transport, stadiums, accommodation, administration - and the Championships seemed the ideal stimulus for such investment. But with Ukraine's economy having taken a spectacular hammering in the credit crunch, it is having difficulty financing the operation and its hosting looks in doubt.  Stadiums remain substandard or unfinished, the project is riddled with corruption, critical hub airports are underdeveloped, and UEFA stands on the brink of stripping the staging rights from Donetsk, Lviv and Kharkiv.

Ukraine has perhaps been unlucky, but its problems also expose the fault lines in the policy of using major sporting events as catalysts for further growth in developing economies. There are tensions between the need to resuscitate its economy and the need to stage a safe and successful tournament. Construction at the Lviv stadium is on hiatus because the Austrian contractors were dropped in favor of Ukrainian equivalents who have no experience of stadium construction. What is good for the Ukrainian economy is potentially calamitous for the football tournament it is staging. Likewise, there is concern that the games have become another pawn in the increasingly desperate power struggle between President Yushchenko and Prime Minister Tymoshenko. Accusations of politicking, withholding funds and overpromising are traded back and forth, whilst progress stagnates and the prospect of a footballing celebration of Ukraine's progress looks like increasingly unlikely.

If it comes to it, UEFA's Michel Platini has said he will be brutal in his assessment, and is ready to strip Ukraine of some or all of its rights. The tournament should be neither a life raft for the economy, nor a plaything for its politicians. Of course he's right, but this precarious situation demonstrates how sporting bonanzas bring unique pressures as well as opportunities for developing economies. They are axes of rather than agents for change, and can serve to catalyse problems as well as potential. In Beijing and apparently South Africa, the pressing need to keep up appearances has led many to believe that social problems have been silenced rather than remedied. In Ukraine, the problems are more immediate and globalised, but the legacy of a failure this conspicuous and systemic may hamper its progress more in the long term. Hopefully, these issues will be factored into assessment of bids going forward, with fewer promises and more caution.

Let's get silly

Nobody chooses to be an England fan - we're saddled with it. We've all spent the quieter moments of major tournaments questioning why we're investing all this emotion in a largely pedestrian outfit, with ideas above its station and a media that likes talking to itself. Most of the finals I've been alive for have suddenly become enjoyable as soon as we're out of the picture - that's why Euro 2008 was so brilliant. Without England to be silly about, football was just a spectacle again and we could bowl around carefree, stick £3 on Spain and come over all composed and perceptive in our punditry. No more screaming and gurning and footstamping, none of those awkward jumpy hugs when we score, no nagging sense of shame about getting in such a tiz. It was great.

But this time we are going, and they reckon it might be different. England look good right now, even allowing for our unhappy knack of overpromising. Fabio Capello is sniffy, terrifying and brilliant, and he's on our side. The media like him, and he doesn't care. The players respect him, and he'd expect no less. He's our greatest asset and he can't get injured.

All this is good. Personally, I'm excited about us all blowing our tops for the next 10 months, stewing and chewing and teamsheeting ourselves into a right old lather. The best thing about talking about football is that nobody really has a clue about any of it. It's completely circular - you can witter on for days about formations and combinations and SWP vs Lennon, because nobody really knows and when it comes down to it we forget the lot in a flash. In 90 little minutes the truth we never saw coming will catch us clean on the nose, and it'll all suddenly seem very obvious and hollow again. That's what it's like - being an England fan is an absurd cycle of extremes, a screaming, boozy kneeslide from false promise to cold truth and back again, seldom tasting the bit between.

I'm not suggesting we take a rational approach to supporting England - balancing the odds would be much less fun. Like everyone else, I'll hope and chinstroke and get wildly indignant about starting Emile Heskey, and it'll be great. But by the time those BBC montages that make real life seem all dreary and grayscale are rolling in July, I reckon I'll feel silly again.

The case for Crouchy

Now I'm as big an England fan as the next man, but if we win the World Cup with Emile Heskey up front, it'll be a miserable old tournament. There's not enough space on the Internet to explain why Heskey is not a good enough player to lead the attack at the World Cup finals. All the layoffs and knockdowns in the world do not make up for a striker with no touch who can't shoot. In any case, if we really are fixated with having a big man up front, we've a much better model in Peter Crouch. And the good thing about him is he can actually play proper football. First touch and everything. Granted, he's not been starting for Tottenham, but he is at least an important part of Harry Redknapp's plans this season, which is more than can be said for Heskey and Martin O'Neill.

Personally, I'd play Defoe up front tonight anyway, but if we want the aerial presence it surely has to be Crouchy. He can knock it about, holds play up just as well as Heskey, and scores enough goals to represent more than a mere foil for Rooney. He perhaps lacks Heskey's shoulder barge, but that's about it. Historically, the problem with Crouch has been that the players fall into the same trap as everyone else, assume he's got no ball skills and start playing target practice with him. There are few more depressing sights than watching England lump it forward aimlessly, but it doesn't need to be like that, and Capello is a good enough coach to drill this small piece of sense into them. They seem to manage to keep the ball on the deck with Heskey up front, and use his bulk judiciously - the same should be possible with Crouch.

The manager seems intent on building his attack around Rooney in the second striker role. This makes sense - he's our best player, and has responded well so far. But one striker is not worth sacrificing another for, especially when there are other option which bring the same advantages without the same compromise. And Crouchy always does provide some good entertainment, too.

6 into 1 won't go

The men's draw at the US Open is beautifully set up this year. For the first time in ages, the natural hierarchy seems unclear, with Nadal's prolonged absence qualifying both the rankings and the achievements of Roger Federer and Andy Murray. But it's impossible to say how much.

Right the way down to Del Potro at No. 6, the rankings don't tell the full story. If the Argentine can overhaul his fitness, he should emerge as the main challenger to Murray and Nadal in the longterm. Roddick is in his best run of form since winning the US aged 19, and his resurgence marks a genuine development of his game. Djokovic is stagnating but not regressing, while Nadal at No. 3 looks like a misprint. Murray is probably the most consistent player on the Tour, but has developed an unfortunate knack of bringing out the very best in opponents at crucial points in Slams - for Verdasco in Melbourne, read Gonzalez at Roland Garros and Roddick at Wimbledon. Coasting through the early rounds of majors will start to look ominous if he continues this pattern. A first Grand Slam win may open the floodgates - he seems to have the determination to overhaul a waning Federer, but probably not the aggression to better a fully fit Nadal. So each would be king, but it's hard to see who should be.

Federer's case is the most interesting. It seems bizarre in the context of his achievements and previous invincibility that he could now be No. 1 without really deserving it, as he's quite keen on reminding everyone. The gracious, easy figure of old has faded away both on and off the court, replaced by a man who not only believes his own headlines, but seems quite keen on writing them. Nominally world No. 1, "RF" has won ugly this year against a depleted field, but you won't catch him acknowledging it. Instead he repeatedly places lucky escapes and strangled victories in the context of what he calls his "crazy" achievements. It would be no great surprise to see him enter Center Court next week on a horse-drawn cart in the shape of a '16'. This need to frame his own legacy is a habit that has developed as his grip on power has loosened. Anyone who saw him sunken after the Australian Open final knows that Nadal has got inside his head, and that the two subsequent major wins were by default. It is of course true that you can only beat who's put in front of you, but it's equally true that you can acknowledge a crucially weakened field in the moment of victory.

Who will be on top one year from now? Any from Del Potro, Murray, Nadal and Federer seems equally plausible, with Djokovic needing fresh impetus and Roddick probably having reached his personal xenith. It's exciting, it starts next week, and it is to be hoped that Nadal returns to form, so that whoever is world No. 1 can wear his crown with undisputed pride.

Barc-ing mad

Apparently Barcelona have just signed Zlatan Ibrahimovic for £40m plus Samuel Eto'o. Plus Samuel Eto'o? Until now I've nobly resisted the urge to huff and puff about this summer's transfer activity, but this one is priceless.

Zlatan Ibrahimovic is 27 years old and has long shown great promise, but only recently delivered on the biggest stages. He has a suspect temperament, a bulletproof ego and a rare talent for irritating his teammates. Samuel Eto'o is 28 years old, and also a bit of a divisive character. As well as a three-time African player of the year with 2 Champions Leagues, 3 La Ligas and countless personal accolades to his name.

Ibrahimovic was the major disappointment in Inter's Champions League last-16 defeat to United last season, with Vidic and Ferdinand easily containing him over the two legs. Eto'o sliced open the United defence to kickstart a sublime victory for Barcelona in the final, and deliver the trophy to Catalonia. It completed a memorable season in which he was second top scorer in Spain, behind his strike partner Leo Messi.

Paying £40m to break that up is just bonkers. For all the crackpot posturing of Real Madrid, at least you could see the rationale - it was just the scale that seemed mad. This one's a complete anomaly.

It's shows how small differences in perception can result in such huge financial swings at the upper end of the transfer market. Eto'o may have only a year left on his contract, but at full tilt Man City would have paid £40m for him alone. Someone in the Barca camp has clearly become fixated with Ibrahimovic and pursued him 'at any cost'.

This 'at any cost' mentality has been the distinctive feature of the big hitters in the transfer market this summer. It's as if Fred the Shred has started giving summer schools in football investment - the fact of the purchase is becoming more important than the sense of it. Certainly, City seem intent on making marquee signings rather than building a team. So far they've succeeded only in mopping up the problem children of the Premiership, paying last summer's prices for players who have had disappointing seasons. And they've been snubbed by the real big guns - the more cash City throw at players to entice them to come, the cheaper they look. No such problems at Real, who are at least targeting the very finest - although £30m for a 27 year-old Alonso is a dubious call.

Thankfully, the big English clubs have been notable this summer for their scorn of the 'at any cost' approach. Ferguson and Benitez both explicitly refused to get caught up in an overheated market, Wenger is Wenger and Chelsea are proving themselves reassuringly unattractive to everyone except John Terry. It might be less fun now, but at least they've not saddled themselves with Franck Ribery for £70m.

Warne's commentary reveals what Australia missed

Listening to Shane Warne's television commentary is a rare treat. Offering the layman an insight into a cricket genius , it backs up the widely-held belief that he's the best captain Australia never had. As he did on the pitch, in the box he operates on a completely different plane to his colleagues - holding several scenarios and field placings in his head simultaneously, playing two or three balls ahead. You can see why he's so good at poker.

As a rule, former captains make the best commentators. Looking at the current Sky team - Atherton, Hussain, Gower, Botham, Holding, Willis (with Vaughan blatantly waiting in the wings) - they've all done a good stint at the helm, but only Nasser comes close to Warne with his insights. And he was probably the best skipper of that crop. Hussain's analysis is excellent - he untangles the game, with a more forensic, mechanical approach than Warne. The Australian is a lot more fun - hyperactive and scheming, with an amazing, infectious enthusiasm. Hussain had a reputation as a humourless, authoritarian captain (which was why Vaughan made such a welcome change), and although he's mellowed you can still see it. The man's intense. For all Warne's famous indiscretions - the Sky team noticeably wince whenever he strays off cricket - knowing when to have a laugh is as important as knowing when to put the squeeze on. He can definitely do both.

Listening to Warne first-hand is also interesting in light of Ponting's much-debated captaincy. Looking on, Warne is constantly second-guessing and exposing Ricky Ponting's plodding, reactive captaincy, his irritation at his former skipper thinly veiled. They're said to have feuded over Ponting's decision-making in the past, and it must have been intensely frustrating for Warne to have had the guile but not the authority to hammer through an advantage. That's what Warne is all about - constantly scenting an opening, an advantage of any form - the spinner building pressure with dot balls, the skipper's field placing deliberately inviting a repeat of a well-executed boundary. His mind is almost telepathically attuned to weakness. Apparently Warne had a natural instinct for which players could be effectively sledged and which were impregnable. But he used it judiciously, not for it's own sake, and constantly kept his eyes on the prize. If there is such a thing as 'the spirit of cricket', I reckon that's it.

Basically, Shane Warne's highly intelligent in a very specific way, and I find that utterly fascinating. His commentary opens up areas of the game most people would never even think about. Given what his generation of Australians achieved in any case, it's probably best he never did get a run as captain.

Nggggggghhhhhhh....

Ridiculous. A little caution is needed to see England through an unexpectedly dicey period after a glorious morning. So why is Matt Prior flirting needlessly with one of Mitchell Johnson's three good balls of the day? And then looking astonished when it skittles him?

Prior, like Ravi Bopara and to a lesser extent Kevin Pietersen, is fantastic to watch when he's on song, but they simply have to be more adaptable. The refusal to acknowledge a change in situation by knuckling down for a few overs amounts to a technical failing. Bopara came flying out of the blocks with some typically fluid drives after lunch, but it was all so cavalier - watching it you knew he wouldn't last long. I don't want to come over all Boycott here, but he's batting at No. 3 in the Ashes - it's a lynch-pin position, take it seriously.

The point of Test cricket is that it ebbs and flows, and good players negotiate these changes by moving up and down the gears, not just ploughing on regardless. Pietersen's talk of "just playing my natural game" is meaningless - if your natural game has only one dimension, however attractive or entertaining, then it's too limited. Paul Collingwood should have a word, although perhaps not today.

The Australians can't believe their luck. Just as in Cardiff, the England middle order have given their wickets away and let them back into a match that should have been secured by lunchtime tomorrow. England will be lucky to top 450 here. From there, you can see the Australians reminding them that it's a tame batting wicket, and that with a bit of concentration you can happily bat the other side out of the game.

Ah Freddie

It was coming. Given the four-year waiting game he's played with his fitness, Andrew Flintoff's retirement should come as little surprise. The force of a 17-stone juggernaut hammering in at 90mph must take its toll on the pitch, let alone the man himself. Perversely, his ability and enthusiasm may have shortened his career - Sourav Ganguly reckons England's dependency on his ability to swing a game meant he was overworked.

Freddie's made light of his fragility before, suggesting his surgeon fit a zip in his ankle for easy access, but today there's an air of relief to his admission that the 'decision was pretty much forced upon me'. For England, it may prove a watershed. At least now everyone - him, selectors, captain and fringe bowlers - has a clearer idea of where they stand, and can build for the future rather than constantly hedging their bets against his body.

And in reality, Freddie's no longer the fulcrum of the side. We don't have a talisman right now, so we kid ourselves he's still the powerhouse of old, but there's scant evidence for it. England have already been forced to adapt to life without him, but it's been a clumsy and stunted transition from the pomp of 2004-5. It might remain incomplete with a half-fit Flintoff trading on the past and constantly promising to return.

During that period, he was the kind of player you couldn't help but like - dopey, brilliant, committed and entertaining - and we wanted to slap his face on banknotes and his body in Madam Tussauds and talk about his spirit being 'what made Britain great' and all sorts of nonsense. On reflection, he achieved the presence of a true great, but not the consistency. He really did make things happen at crucial points, but his figures (averages of 31.69 with the bat and 32.51 with the ball) betray the fact that our memory is coloured by one magical summer. He more than anyone else delivered that series, including that ridiculous over at Edgbaston, and for all that we owe him big. There's no-one in the England team remotely like him, and he'll be missed.

Ronaldo has a long way to fall...

I've a wee hunch that Cristiano Ronaldo may struggle at Real Madrid. The setup at the Bernabeu is different to the protective, indulgent environment he enjoyed at Old Trafford. There, he was the focal point of a team of workhorses who were happy to let him put the gloss on a rounded team effort. In Spain, the hierarchy will be less clear - he will be amongst equals whose games also depend on freedom and possession, and he is unlikely to define the team ethic in the same way. Thierry Henry struggled with a similar adjustment throughout his first season at Barcelona. It is difficult to see Kaka, Sneijder et al kowtowing to Ronaldo, regardless of his price tag.

At United, Ronaldo was able to straddle so many roles - winger, striker, playmaker, target man - because the side's one glaring weakness was the lack of an out-and-out striker. His brilliance turned this into a strength. Being able to fill both roles at once made him impossible to pin down, and gave him space to charge at defenders. In Madrid, however, he'll face competition for the link role from Kaka, while the main striker's position is occupied by the iconic - although diminished - Raul, new boy Karim Benzema, and Ruud van Nistlerooy, whom he never clicked with in Manchester. Indeed, it was only with the Dutchman's departure that Ronaldo began to truly flourish, and the same may be true this summer. Regardless, Ronaldo is likely to play as a more conventional - and restricted - winger than he's grown used to, and this may stifle his ability to dictate games as did at United. Likewise, his tendency to give the ball away cheaply may not be tolerated to the same extent. Ronaldo's natural selfishness was disguised by his overall output in his latter years at Utd. But if the returns start to drop, the old criticism of his peacocking and showboating not amounting to much may return. In short, he may fail at Madrid (by his own high standards) for the very reason that Ferguson decided to let him leave United - because it's not the Cristiano Ronaldo show.

Having said all that, Ronaldo's defining characteristic is his determination, which outstrips even his ego, and he may well kick on again and achieve enduring greatness. Either outcome would make for fascinating viewing for English fans, whom he left with respect but little genuine affection.

Summer exodus?

The summer transfer window looks more like a drain this year, and it runs directly into the Real Madrid changing room. No sooner has Ronaldo finished upstaging Kaka with a welcoming party of 80,000 fans who collectively love him almost as much as he does, than Man Utd's chief target Karim Benzema signs up for £30m, and reveals he snubbed United in the process. Fiorentino Perez' concentration of talent at the Bernabeu is noisily redrawing the European footballing balance of power, and it leaves the Premiership looking a little less sparkly than it's supposed to. Michael Owen to Manchester looks like a smart piece of business for both parties, and Valencia is a solid buy, but but neither has diverted attention from the fact that Sir Alex has £80m in the bank and no-one to spend it on. Which is ultimately a touch embarrassing.

The rest of the big four have either been snubbed, or preoccupied with hanging onto their remaining stars. Chelsea's fruitless pursuit of Pato, Pirlo and Ribery tells its own story - today they are a club with clout, but not one that many boys grow up dreaming of playing for. And the best of the few that did, John Terry, looks like he might hoof off to Man City for a payday even Abramovich would baulk at. Benitez has been reduced to crabbing about Gareth Barry doing much the same, and fending off Spanish overtures for Alonso and Mascherano. Arsene Wenger looked like he might finally concede something to experience this year, but his reluctance to invest in a marquee signing to bolster a talented but apparently restless young squad may yet see his prized assets go the way of Mathieu Flamini.

Whatever one thinks of their dominance, the big four's recent ability to attract the finest foreign players has driven the Premier League's development into the biggest and best league in the world. This one way traffic away from England means that unless new stars emerge to cushion the loss of the old, La Liga will reassert itself as European football's premier stage.

Freddie and Swanny - England's good blokes

It felt depressingly familiar last night, watching Ponting and Katich strangle gritty centuries out of England’s bowling. But on balance, the first two days suggest these two sides are fairly evenly matched for a change. 2009 doesn’t look a vintage year for Australia – effective rather than menacing, with identifiable weaknesses in their bowling. England have provided the flamboyance so far, with two of the finest of “good blokes” calling the tune.

You'll not see a breezier knock from a Test number 10 than Graeme Swann's yesterday morning. He was gobbling up boundaries with proper shots, and making the Aussies look a touch silly. Psychologically it will have told, making the Australian bowlers question themselves early in the series - the tail wagging in your face isn’t pleasant on day 2. Swann’s good humour is infectious – by his own admission, he can’t contain his excitement.

He’s been a real find for England, but he’s bowled terribly so far - which he was again ready to admit. His straight talking makes a refreshing change from the endless twaddle about “taking positives” from completely negative situations that we were subjected to in 2006/7.

Then there was Freddie, the folk hero of English cricket coming over all 2005. Flintoff can still take hold of a game like no other England player – everything became so much more interesting when he took the ball yesterday. In contrast to his batting, he’s a smart thinker with the ball, softening up Phillip Hughes with some savage lifters and then drawing the edge when he shifted his angles and came over the wicket. It came on the back of a cavalier innings in tandem with Matt Prior earlier in the day, and I was falling in love with Freddie all over again.

2005 was magical not just because we won but because it was a hoot. If Swanny and Freddie can continue to in this spirit whilst delivering the goods, then it’s going to be a glorious summer and my dissertation is going right out the window.

Yes yes yes the Ashes are here

BOOM! Finally, a ball is bowled. The sight of Freddie’s big, goofy face bumbling out the national anthem in ermm, Cardiff, set me grinning stupidly to myself this morning. The Ashes is just amazing; that titchy little urn; the totally irrational importance of it all; the endless BBC radio montages of 2005 quietly airbrushing out the whitewash of 2006-7; the fact we might actually win again. I mean, what do we actually do in other summers?

This match is so important psychologically – they might look a touch ‘B’ team compared to what we’re used to, but if the Australians get on top in Cardiff you can see them swaggering off with the series. The Aussies simply don’t get thumped, so there’s no hope of England running away with it. This leaves two possible outcomes: a) two months of humiliation and ceaseless English talk of “taking positives” from crushing defeats end with a familiar procession to Australian victory, or b) it’s tense and thrilling and everything we’ve hoped for. I reckon even most Aussies would take option B.

For that to happen, England really need a new performer to come of age - they currently look at least one match-winner short. Too much rests on Kevin Pietersen and Andrew Flintoff’s shoulders right now – they’re broad, but they won’t be enough. Pietersen, perhaps the most gifted oddball since Jacko (similar footwork and mental fragility, too) is a genius but clearly doesn't do responsibility. Like many of the finer things in life, Freddie is desperately fragile, and even when fit has shown patchy form since 2005. Two five wicket hauls and two fifties in four years is a very ordinary return. His advocates claim that he’s a game-changer, but if that’s the case England will need at least one reliable workhorse in the Hoggard mould. Anderson and Broad are fine bowlers – Jimmy in particular can change a game on his day - but both can disintegrate quickly. Perhaps Graham Onions is the man to play the hard cards, but he’s the definition of unproven and he’ll not be playing in this game. Graeme Swann is growing by the game and winning friends as he goes, but Panesar's selection looks like one of those moments when the England selectors go walkies.

The batting unit looks more positive, but also needs a new name to emerge as a recognised threat – the Australian focus on Pietersen tells its own story. Strauss is a solid skipper and a useful cog in an effective engine, but he’s unlikely to define a series. Collingwood always gives his best, but over time that’s not quite been good enough. Flintoff can be wonderful to watch but he’s not adaptable enough, and he doesn’t actually score very many runs (probably related). Which leaves Cook, Bopara or Prior as the three who might emerge as focal parts of the order. Cook has been in sparkling form for Essex whilst the others messed about in the Twenty20, and he looks like he might be ready to really impose himself on Test cricket now. Bopara has shown his class, but I’ve my doubts about him batting at 3. He plays with freedom but if he’s not firing he can appear careless. Prior is already very useful – if he can push on beyond that a bit of clumsy glovework will be quickly forgotten.

So - it’s here, it’s magic: the stage is set for one of England’s lesser lights to join KP and Freddie centre-stage, and then we have a series.

United taught unexpected lessons

Um, where did United go last night? It seems odd that they could come away from this season disappointed, but I reckon the nature of this loss will count for more than the simple fact of it. In his post-match interview, Alex Ferguson seemed not only dissatisfied by the defeat, but troubled by what it had revealed. His players looked beyond disappointment – there was confusion and silence, but no tears - while fans interviewed by the BBC seemed more resigned than distraught. It wasn’t enough of a contest to really lament the outcome.

Amid all the speculation in the build-up, everyone agreed this match would be tight. Fergie predicted “outrageous good fortune” might decide it, but fortune never got a look in. Barcelona didn't just beat United, they silenced them. This was billed as a confrontation of footballing philosophies, but after 10 minutes of typically high-tempo aggression, United’s football lost its rationale. It was aimless, uncertain and very weird. We all thought Barca would deliver a spectacle, but we weren't expecting home truths.

But in reality, United's football this season has been uninspiring. Too many laboured 1-0 wins and snatched winners; too little fluidity. On its day, their defence is almost impenetrable, but its off days tend to be way off, and badly timed. Twice Nemanja Vidic, symbolic of most that was good about United this year, has been exposed by world-class strikers in huge games. For Fernando Torres at Old Trafford in March, read Samuel Eto’o in the Stadio Olympico last night. It seems harsh to suggest he lacks the class to deal with them, but Ferguson will be worried that he was again so easily undone. Which demonstrates the scale of the problem that last night revealed. It was the big names that went missing: Vidic, Rooney, Evra, Giggs, Carrick. How do you go about filling cracks that wide? They remain a very good side, but on this evidence lack the greatness Ferguson craves. He’ll learn and adapt, of course. Still, to come so far and yet be so outclassed poses a problem even he will be vexed by. He has predicted a long future of success for this crop of players, but his confidence in them to deliver on the biggest stages will be badly shaken by last night’s disappearing act.

And then there’s the annual Cristiano Ronaldo pantomime to worry about. Carlos Puyol had barely lifted the trophy before the Portuguese peacock began whispering his way back onto centre stage. He was one of United’s better players last night, but it’s a measure of his self-absorption that he chooses such moments to reignite rumours. If he wants to leave, that’s understandable. But it is possible to engineer such a move without dropping dark hints in the direct aftermath of crushing defeat for the club that made him. Someone needs to remind him it's not always about him. If he does go, he can expect the backlash to be severe – I would love to know what Ferguson and the dressing room really think of him, once the need to keep his precious talent onside has passed. That said, his bullet-proof ego will likely deafen him to criticism. This could be the year that Ferguson decides that offloading £70m-worth of narcissistic brilliance represents sound business. Ronaldo himself has given so many mixed messages in the past few days that it’s impossible to call, but it should make for interesting reading as the clock winds down to August.

Finally, to Barcelona. Can you imagine how much Arsene Wenger was purring, watching that? Granted, his prodigy Henry was overshadowed by Iniesta and Messi on the night, but Barca’s strength is collective. If you can’t admire it, you clearly don’t like football. Artistic and spirited, they play to principles that feel like advanced mathematics – exquisite but so hard to capture. At 38, the ludicrously blessed Guardiola might as well retire now. An outrageously handsome, tactically brilliant and fiercely patriotic Catalan delivers his home club its first treble in his debut season. It doesn’t come any better than that.