Don't tell anyone, but I've heard an interesting bit of transfer news.
My second cousin twice removed is currently fixing the washing machine of a bloke who used to know the ex-boyfriend of the
woman who used to walk Elton John's dogs twice a week. She once babysat for the ex-wife of a former Watford director
(bitter paternity battle, he didn't want to go into details) who plays golf once a month with Aidy Boothroyd's
father-in-law's father-in-law, who told him that Boothroyd is on the verge of persuading John Barnes to come out of
retirement to lead the Hornets' Championship challenge next season.
The Watford boss sees Barnes, 44, as the ideal option for his left wing problems, and is confident of luring him back to
Vicarage Road, where he made his name in the eighties. The Jamaican-born rapper and sometime Liverpool and England midfielder
has in turn promised to 'do a Fern Britton' in his attempts to get in shape for Watford's opening game of the season at
Selhurst Park, where away fans will sport tight eighties shorts and promise to 'hold and give and do it at the right time'
in celebration of the return of their hero.
Yes, after a few glorious weeks of watching foreigners with questionable hairstyles jinking across our screens, its back to
the bread and butter of the English game, and by that of course I mean money. Will that twinkle-toed Portuguese finally
complete his million billion pound move to Madrid? Is one Gareth Barry really worth as much as the BBC pays Jonathan Ross?
Will Braintree Town defender Ian Cousins choose to move back his beloved Heybridge Swifts or seek a new challenge at AFC
Hornchurch? Questions questions.
At least these rumours have truth in them (all except Barnes, sorry); but the silly season stories refuse to go away.
It appears that at this time of year airports up and down the country are full of men in trench coats and sunglasses,
keeping an eye out for that œ7m French midfielder Harry Redknapp's got his eye on, or stationed outside Liverpool's training
ground with high powered binoculars and a firm belief that they just saw Davids Villa and Silva flamenco dancing through the
gates. And all of course can't wait to get to the nearest internet forum to preach to all and sundry about their `exclusive.'
Have these people got nothing better to do? I don't know about you, but I'm quite happy to have a break from thinking about
football at this is the time of year. I smile more, I develop new interests. All in the knowledge that in a few weeks I'll
be miserable again.
So leave the transfer stories to the people who actually know what's happening and save us from this guff please, we've got
enough to worry about when the season starts. I can't think of a better way to end this than to relay to a story told to me
by a colleague about a phone conversation he had around 10 years ago...
Colleague: "Hello?"
Crackpot: "I've just seen that George Weah getting off a train at Lime Street Station. He must be going to sign for the Reds."
Colleague: "George Weah?"
Crackpot: "Yeah, you know, the AC Milan fella."
Colleague: "Yeah I know him. Well, are you sure it was him? What did he look like?"
Crackpot: "Well, he was sort of Italian looking."
Colleague: "Was he black?"
Crackpot: "No."
Columnist: Mark Jones, 2008-07-17.
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Rumour has it... 