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Yesterday word spread that Diniyar Bilyaletdinov was leaving Everton and heading back to mother Russia; Spartak Moscow had apparently agreed a fee though to be around £5m. If Moyes can get his hands on that money to strengthen, we could be in for a busy January.

As soon as the news broke, most Evertonians split into one of three groups. First were the rheumy eyed romantics, their lips quivering at the thought of nice boy Bily playing for another team. Then there were those who thought that Moyes had wasted Bily’s talent by playing him out of position on the left (more on them later). Finally there were those that were rejoicing that we had finally shed a dead weight with the touch of a blacksmith.

For me Bily’s biggest strength is his shot. Actually, his only strength is his shot. He is the perfect YouTube player – a player who lends himself to gobsmacking highlight reels but below par performances.

In 59 appearances he has scored 8 goals, not bad for a player who does nothing else but occasionally shoot. His eight goals for Everton in 59 appearances is slightly less than his 31 goals in 150 games for Lokomotiv Moscow, and roughly the same rate as his scoring for the motherland (6gls 45apps). Crucially though, for both Russia and Lokomotiv Moscow he did more than just score. For Everton this is all he does, shuffling around in his glum little world, and occasionally shooting. I’ll miss Bily for his spectacular goals like this one and this one but not much else.

I’m happy to wave goodbye to Bily, with his affable personality, his eastern bloc haircut, his non existent pace, and that sensational cudgel of a left foot.

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Left back in the changing rooms?

David Moyes has been blamed by some for “ruining” Bily by playing him out of position. The argument goes that Moyes has crow-barred Bily into a position that stunted the Russian’s growth, and that if he had played him in a central attacking position we’d have a world beater on our hands. I don’t think this argument holds up under analysis. Here’s a look into where other managers have played him.

2008 European Championships
Manager: Guus Hiddink

• June 10th 2008. Spain 4-1 Russia. Bily plays on the left wing.
• June 14th 2008. Greece 0-1 Russia. Bily plays left midfield.
• June 18th 2008. Russia 2-0 Sweden. Bily plays left midfield.
• June 21st 2008. Netherlands 4-1 Russia. Hiddink brings on Bily in the 69th minute. He plays in central midfield.

I found it hard to find specific positional stats on many of Bily’s games in Russian qualifying matches or Lokomotiv Moscow games, but here are other individual games I found:

• Guus Hiddink. Russia 3-0 Liechtenstein, September 5, 2009 - Bily plays left back
• Guus Hiddink. Russia 1-1 Azerbaijan, October 14, 2009 – Bily plays left back
• Guus Hiddink. Russia 2-1 Slovenia, November 14, 2009 – Bily plays attacking left midfield.
• Guus Hiddink. Slovenia 1-0 Russia, November 18, 2009 - Bily plays in the hole.
• Dick Advocaat. Russia 2-0 Andorra, September 3, 2010 - Bily plays left back.

• Moyes gushing about his new signing Diniyar Bilyaletdinov (via Sky Sports):

“I spoke to Guus Hiddink a few times about Dini and he recommended him to me,” Moyes told the Liverpool Echo.

“He is a very versatile footballer. He can play wide on the left of midfield, but he has also played on the right quite a bit as well.

“Technically he is very good. He has a nice left foot and he has scored a few goals as well.

“Guus told me that even at a push he could play left-back.“

• The best Russian XI of the 2008 season, Bily makes the Reserve XI as “Attacking midfielder left”.
  
• Euro 2008 scouting report from a Canadian website:

“A playmaking midfielder (Diniyar Bilyaletdinov) plays in the centre of midfield, just ahead of a pair of defensive, ball-wining midfielders”

• Bily described as a “left winger” in a blog post prior to Euro 2008.
• Jonathon Wilson writes this in his Euro 2008 preview for the Guardian:“Lokomotiv’s Diniyar Bilyaletdinov will probably be given the more advanced central midfield role, leaving Dmitri Torbinsky and Igor Semshov as options on the bench.” 
• In the comments section of Wilson’s article, he is challenged by a reader who claims that Hiddink will use:“Sychev (right) and Bilyaletdinov (left) as “wingers” – they can well be substituted by Bystrov (right) and Torbinsky (left).”

Hopefully the information above has exposed all this “Bily was out of position chatter” as total anti-Moyes guff. From what I can see Bily was perfectly comfortable in both a central and a left sided position. He played all of Russia’s Euro 2008 campaign – bar one second half substitute appearance – on the left, and countless other games too. Bily just wasn’t the right fit for the aggressively fast Premier League, I think Moyes spared him by playing him wide and that if he had played Bily centrally more often, the Russian would have drowned.

And finally, I found this (perhaps fitting) little tidbit on the Football Ramble message boards: Diniyar Bilyaletdinov is an anagram of Boner invalidity daily. I think those three words sum his Everton career up well.

Eighty-three years ago today, Dixie Dean scored his famous sixtieth goal. Across the Atlantic baseball’s Babe Ruth also hit sixty. These two stars met twice, once in person and once in the record books.

Before their talent rushed them into a sporting phone booth they were simply George Herman Ruth, Jr. and William Ralph Dean. They stepped out as supermen – “Babe” and “Dixie” and hit us with a swarm of achievements: 714 home runs (Babe), 37 true hat-tricks (Dixie), a headed goal from the half way line (Dixie), a ball in Detroit hit with such feral ferocity that it left the stadium (Babe), both men even clambered into crowds to deal with hecklers.

Together they have the makings of a musical super group and it’s amazing to think they met, two Desperate Dans who instead of guzzling cow pies feverishly gnawed away at sporting records.

September 30, 1927, New York Yankees 4-2 Washington Senators

Babe’s 60th home run.

In 1927 Babe, the Sultan of Swat, thwacked sixty home runs to beat his own record. Ruth, leader of a bloodthirsty line-up of Yankees hitters dubbed the “Murderer’s Row”, hit his 60th on September 30, in the Yankees’ penultimate game. Ruth was triumphant, roaring, “Sixty, count ‘em, sixty! Let’s see some son-of-a-bitch match that!”

As it turns out, it took less than a year.

May 5th 1928, Everton 3-3 Arsenal.

Dixie’s 60th goal.

In 1928 Dean was at the business end of his greatest season. In his final game he was a hat-trick away from breaking George Camsell’s record of 59. Harry Cooke, Everton’s mystical nicotine addled trainer, helped Dixie recover from a muscle injury before the showdown with Arsenal. Out of the plumes of cigarette smoke came a reinvigorated Dean who scored twice before half time and “just butted the ball in” to reach heights that haven’t since been scaled in football.

Babe meets Dixie

In 1934 Babe came to England and met Dixie on a visit to White Hart Lane, seldom have two chronic record beaters been so close. As Dixie shook the Bambino’s hand they began to chew the sporting cud. A 1977 interview with journalist John Roberts allows us to be flies on the dressing room wall. .

“Gee, you’ll get some cash today,” Ruth told Dixie.

When Dixie told Ruth that he got paid just £8 a week, Ruth looked back with wide eyed and slack jawed disbelief.

“Jesus Christ,” spluttered the Bambino. “I’d demand two thirds of this gate!”

Ruth ,who earned almost 20% of Yankee payroll compared to Dean’s 3 percent later declared:

“What a racket! What’s the chances of me buying into one of those football clubs?”

Two greats, who in the space of a year broke records by reaching sixty…

Despite excelling in a weakened side, finally playing in the position that is best for him, the criticism of little Leon has continued. In the eyes of his detractors, he is a bell hop, merely fit to carry the bags of our stars, and then there are whispers that he isn’t even up to that job.

Others say he’s physically unable to compete in the Premier League, persisting with the view that he is toothless and weak, that he floats around midfield following the opposition like an over-attentive waiter.

Surely this vocal minority will wake up soon. Wake up to the fact that when he plays in his best position, centrally, with freedom to roam wide, he is excellent. Wake up to the fact that far from being a defensive liability, he made almost three times as many successful tackles as Phil Neville did on Saturday against Blackburn. And finally, wake up to the fact that you can’t judge this little book by its cover. Leon may be small, but surely we’re beyond the myopic view that positions depend on physique. That the tall ones play centre half, the little ones play on the wing, and the fat ones in goal?

The players and staff at Everton took about 60 seconds of his debut to understand his value. He’s the kingpin of the American team, the closest thing his country have to a big soccer star, yet he has no ego. That was, perhaps, the biggest thing that struck you about him. You noticed it when he walked into the dressing room and you noticed it after about a minute of his first game for us, away to Arsenal. He was playing on our right. The ball got knocked down the line, Gael Clichy set off on the run and he turned and tracked Clichy, step for step, for 70 yards. At that point the lads said: “You’ll do for us, any day.” He showed exactly the team-oriented spirit we want at Everton, not to mention fantastic speed to stay with Clichy. He came off with cramp after 70 minutes because he’d worked so hard, and afterwards every player patted him on the back.

The  above is first hand testimony from David Moyes on why Landon Donovan succeeded at Everton in January 2010, and it also gives us a glimpse into why he won’t be coming back for a repeat performance in the New Year. Whilst most Evertonians were leaping around with joy after our victory at Eastlands, I imagine Landon Donovan was wincing a little. Our lung bursting opening 20 minutes, and the passion that oozed from every pore throughout the game was something that our American pen-pal would have loved to be part of; but it may have also reinforced his belief that his tired body couldn’t keep up with the pace of a midwinter Premier League campaign.

There have been a lot of nasty things said about Landon Donovan since he decided to “forego” his loan move to Everton. Some have said that he lacks the hunger to play in the Premier League, others have called him a bottler; suggesting that he prefers the relative ease of MLS to the Premier League. We should cut this talk short immediately. The reaction to Landon’s “No” is very very similar to the reaction to our annoying run of draws – many simply look at the end product – be it no goals against Wigan or Landon’s rejection – but don’t look at the reason’s behind it.

Landon’s ravenous hunger for football is obvious, just take a look at the ridiculous amount of football he has played without a decent break. He didn’t come because he knew that in his current state he would let us down, he’s watched Seamus Coleman, a man who presses the FFWD button the moment his starts running at defenders and realized that he needs a break. We also need to remember that Landon is juggling the hopes of THREE teams: Team USA, LA Galaxy, and Everton.

From looking at how he plays on the pitch, and what he says off it, this is a man obsessed with “doing the right thing.” As much as it hurts, taking time off is clearly the right thing for Landon Donovan, and that makes it the right thing for us too.

Whilst all eyes are on Landon Donovan (and it’s very important to remember that he has left things open for a return in the future) lets also remember that we can look to the return of another Evertonian, a man who is slight of build but big of heart, who gets needlessly attacked pretty much every game he plays in an Everton shirt but who embodies the Everton spirit just as much as Mr Donovan, one Leon Osman.

The excruciating thing is that they both did exactly the same strange neck dance. Their actions before were different, the games themselves were utterly different, but the spasmodic neck move was the same. In both cases it was a dance borne from emotion shaved to the bone, they both looked like fish, slapping about on the deck, writhing for oxygen.

For a split second Michael Thomas and Victor Anichebe share the same space, and then go their separate ways.

Watching Michael Thomas’ goal is always amazing. Real football has the ability to make Roy of the Rovers a dirge. Thomas won Arsenal the league in the dying embers of the last game of the season. Against their title rivals. At Anfield. After his unbelievable last ditch goal, Thomas rolls off in ecstasy,  a man in a barrel about to jump into a Niagara Falls of emotion. Thomas flits between circus cartwheels, and the mad uncontrollable palsy of freebased happiness. Towards the end of his Anfield petite mort he propels himself into the air seemingly using his neck alone, a mad move completely anesthetised by his joy.

The evil twin of the Michael Thomas’ wonder goal is Vic Anichebe’s injury. The backdrop itself couldn’t be more different. It is St James’ Park in February, half time is looming. Slow “to me, to you” exchanges by midfield Sunday drivers are punctured by Vic Anichebe tracking back, winning the ball, and dribbling forward. Kevin Nolan leaps feet first on Vic’s right shin, and the youngster writhes in pain, reprising Thomas’ neck spasm from twenty years earlier, this time not through joy, but pain. Vic pulls his entire body up with his neck like a huge twisted girder. Physio Mick Rathbone says the sheer size of Anichebe’s legs is what stopped the tackle from destroying his career, later the Nigerian describes it as the most painful experience of his life. Kevin Nolan is dismissed and apologises at half time.

The game is smeared with violence, we clash like police and thieves. Ameobi rams Tim Howard and the ball into the net, Rodwell is bullied and buffeted, and Anichebe is crippled. Our Spanish laureate Arteta is injured too, although not from blunt tackling, just from an awkward fall.

Michael Thomas took the ball on a crazed bumpy joy ride all the way to the back of the net, Anichebe’s career has been in purgatory ever since Kevin Nolan’s studs hit his shin. For a second though, they are removed from their context in the same neck propelled somersault, agony and ecstasy brought together.

It is quite possible, with Mr Anichebe’s rejection of our “final” contract offer, that he may never fulfill his promise in an Everton shirt. A lot of Victor’s young career was lost on the St James’ Park pitch, and I’d be gutted to see this awkward unplayable character go.

One thing we can safely say for this game, without fear of criticism, is that it lived down to expectations: Stoke were going to string four players built like rugby prop-forwards across their back four – tick; they came to defend, in depth, with no attacking ambitions whatsoever, so long as the scores remained even – tick; it would require patience and maybe a touch of luck to break them down – tick; it would not be pretty – tick. Thankfully, the only prediction that we got wrong was that we didn’t have to watch Rory Delap trundle up the touchline, dry the ball on his shirt, and launch one of his mortar shells into the penalty area.

With Pennant and Kenwyne Jones recovered from their “flu-like symptoms” (maybe they had flu) Stoke were more or less at full strength and with Arteta passed fit and Rodwell on the bench, after resuming training earlier in the week, this was about as strong a team as Moyes could field minus the long-term injured Fellaini, Osman and Anichebe. Everton completely dominated possession during the first half, but created only one clear-cut chance, which Yakubu fluffed. Stoke were largely unruffled, kept ten men behind the ball and made sure that when Everton’s two most creative players, Arteta and Pienaar, had possession, they were double marked. Distin especially, but also Jagielka looked solid at the back.

Just as Goodison was beginning to grumble, as only she can, and following a disallowed goal by Tuncay, David Moyes made the tactical change which helped to turn the game; with an hour gone he took off Seamus Coleman for Louis Saha. The introduction of a second forward, and one of real quality, rather than the out-of-his-depth, Jermaine Beckford, had an immediate impact. Instantly the Blues looked sharper and more cohesive. Steven Pienaar attacking down the right wing left Collins for dead, and, although his cross was poor, Yakubu nicked the ball and managed to set up Tim Cahill who’s instant shot hit the post. The burly Nigerian was first to the rebound but still had plenty to do, he beat a defender before smashing the ball, in true Yakubu style, into the roof of the net from an acute angle. In truth a far more difficult chance taken than one he spurned in the first half when he was released by Pienaar but fired tamely straight at Bergovic in the Stoke goal.

Not that it was game over, far from it, Pulis introduced Pennant and Whelan, and Stoke started to make inroads, aided by an Everton backline, who, for the last fifteen minutes defended far too deeply. It would not have been a surprise had Stoke nicked an equalizer in the closing minutes.

Yakubu was superb, his link-up play faultless, his passing, long and short, was accurate and crisp, and he created and took his chance with power and certainty. Further back we would pick out Johnny Heitinga who is now getting back into gear after a slow start to the season. His distribution is superb, his interventions always timely as he prompts and probes. One area of concern is the occasional defensive frailty of Leighton Baines; he allowed Tuncay to bundle his way past him and prod home a disallowed goal, which on another day would have stood, and did not seem to be fully aware of the danger. It’s something we have noted before; in the World Cup warm-up game at Wembley against Mexico, Leighton’s poor defending was clearly in evidence, the national newspapers the next morning gave him an average rating of just 3 out of 10. We recognize that he is hugely talented going forward, but would just ask that he sharpens up inside his own twelve yard box. Next weekend it’s the short journey to Blackpool with the squad further strengthened by another week of hard training for the returning Jack Rodwell and Louis Saha. The last time this writer was at Bloomfield Road was in September 1970 when Everton won 2-0 thanks to goals from Jimmy Husband and the hugely underrated Johnny Morrissey.

EVERTON (4-1-4-1): Howard; Neville ©, Jagielka, Distin, Baines; Heitinga; Coleman (Saha 62), Arteta, Cahill, Pienaar; Yakubu (Bilyaletdinov 86)

Unused subs: Mucha, Hibbert, Beckford, Gueye, Rodwell

STOKE CITY (4-4-1-1): Begovic; Huth, Shawcross ©, Faye, Collins; Walters (Pennant 73), Wilson (Whelan 77), Whitehead, Etherington; Tuncay; Jones

Unused subs: Nash, Higginbotham, Gudjohnsen, Delap, Wilkinson

Referee: Lee Probert

Gate: 35,513  Change from last season -1,240 (3.3%)

Tottenham Hotspur 1 (van der Vart 20) – EVERTON 1 (Baines 17)

Judging by the over-confident predictions coming across the blogosphere and from the twitterati you would have thought that Spurs only had to turn up on Saturday to claim the three points. In the event we had to give them a goal to keep them in the game.  A Tim Howard flap, across the line of the ball, showed once again that our American ‘keeper is not infallible. We suspect Tim has never played cricket, but he may have played baseball. Batting, or hitting, or as on Saturday, attempting to punch, ACROSS the trajectory of a ball, is hugely dangerous…..just ask Kevin Pietersen.

Though Baines scored with a stunning free kick (memo to Mikel; let Leighton take a few) and his general play was excellent, our man of the match was Phil Jagielka. In defence relentlessly sniffing out trouble and good going forward; on one occasion in the second half he broke down the right wing, turned Modric inside out, before casually finding another blue shirt. He fired narrowly over the Liverpool goal a week ago Sunday and is getting into some very progressive positions; not long before he finds the net we think. Whisper it quietly, no shout it from the treetops; City did us a huge favour, they paid £23 mln for our second best defender!

Talking of defenders is there a better right back in the country than Phil Neville. His performance in the derby was superb – Cole hardly saw the ball – and again at White Hart Lane he pacified the skilful, fast and physically strong Gareth Bale. Time for an England recall?

So now we know: The newspaper inspired rumours, going back for a year or more, that Harry Redknapp wants Steven Pienaar are tripe. As we heard from ‘Arry post match; he has Bale and Lennon as his wide men, can’t even get the hugely talented Nico Kranjcar on the pitch, so “what on earth would I do with an Ashley Young” (or Steven Pienaar). With the clock winding down on Pienaar’s Everton contract, and him legally free to open negotiations with potential suitors from January the hierarchy at Goodison need to piss, or get off the pot. It’s clear where the sticking point on the contract negotiations is: Mikel Arteta, who won a new 5-year contract in the summer, is 28 years-old, in fact just eleven days younger than Pienaar. We suspect that Pienaar, not unreasonably, wants parity with Arteta. Unfortunately for him Mikel has become an iconic figure at Goodison, while great player that he is, Steven has not. We feel that Moyes and Kenwright need to show some pragmatism here and compromise. Pienaar never hides, has a wonderful partnership with Baines and is an automatic choice when fit. Goodison knows a player when she sees one, lets not lose him.

TOTTENHAM HOTSPUR (4-4-1-1): Gomes; Hutton, Kaboul, Gallas, Assou-Ekotto; Lennon (Pavlyuchenko 69), Palacios (Sandro 46), Modric, Bale; van der Vart; Crouch. Unused subs: Cudicini, Bassong, Jenas, Kranjcar, Keane

EVERTON (4-1-4-1): Howard; Neville, Jagielka, Distin, Baines; Heitinga (Hibbert 79); Coleman (Beckford 84), Pienaar, Bilyaletdinov, Cahill; Yakubu (Saha 63). Unused subs: Mucha, Gueye, Duffy, Baxter

Referee: M Jones

Gate: 35,967

Rooney’s always been hard to defend, both for his on pitch skills and his off field antics.

Today, after days of speculation that he would leave, Rooney instead signed with United for five more years. believe it or not this isn’t his most surprising U-Turn. That came in November 2002 at Elland Road, when he did a sudden hand-brake turn around Lucas Radebe. But his days as an Everton player are, sadly, long gone.

The reasons that Rooney wanted to leave cannot be crowbarred into a tiny Tweet, they cannot be reduced from a barrage of grievances into a one-inch punch. He clearly thought Utd were falling backwards, he may have been greedy (I think more greedy for success than money) but I think his main motivation may have been Coleen. As much as Evertonians focused their hatred on Paul Stretford and Rooney’s greed when he left, there were lots of reasons to leave Everton (and the money kept us afloat) – but I think the catalyst for both his move to United and his botched transfer request this week lie with his penchant for prostitutes.

When Granny-gate broke in the press and our Wayne was exposed as a shagger of extra-mature prostitutes it seemed that Coleen pushed for a move out of Goodison. When the same thing happened this summer (prostitutes and press exposes) Wayne again asked for a move. Could it be that Coleen holds all the cards, and it was Mrs Rooney that performed the U-turn last night?

Many people are speculating that it was Wayne, intimidated by the throng of thugs outside his house last night who were demanding loyalty with menaces, that decided to sign for Utd after all. Couldn’t it just as easily be Coleen Rooney, scared for her safety and her baby son’s too, that forced this issue through? Certainly agent Paul Stretford, portrayed as a money grabbing fiend, wouldn’t have advised Wayne to turn his back on a huge payday at Man City. Maybe Mrs Rooney, in a position of power after her husband’s dalliances with prostitutes – was the one who changed her mind.

Here is something I wrote about the press, and their rancid class-obsessed attitude to Mr Rooney a few months back, it still rings very true:

It’s by no means a new phenomenon. Moving from having nothing to having everything generates jealousy and hatred. And it’s by no means a bad thing. After all a chip on the shoulder and a burning competitive edge are the fuel that keeps the Rooney engine purring. But it’s still wrong.

Ollie Kay was right to shine a light in the faces of the internet trolls posting nasty rumours in dark corners, but lots of the things written about another footballer, Wayne Rooney, are plastered over newspapers and no one questions them.

After the Black Death, when society was tossed upside-down, privileged paymasters bemoaned the fact that upstart men of lower class were wearing squirrel skin coats. Even Dick Whittington, living the American Dream when it was firmly an English one, had to be given a mythical cat so that the upper classes could somehow explain the commoner’s rise to riches.

Fast forward a few hundred years and you have Wayne Rooney, England’s great white freckled hope, and prime fodder for press inches. Sadly, to a slice of society, his looks, his accent, and even his class, matter more than his abilities. The worn old adage that form is temporary and class is permanent holds true in another sense for Rooney. No matter how well he does on the pitch, he’s always reminded of where he came from.

Wayne came into our world feet first, but his indelible talent has always had to compete with snide comments.  Press attention began early for him, on his first proper holiday abroad his family were pictured staggering out of the sea, portrayed as a trio of Scouse Swamp Things under the headline “See The Rooney Walk!”
 
Thankfully lots of football fans don’t think that way. I still remember when he turned Lucas Radebe with such aplomb that it was like watching Fred Astaire. We hadn’t won at Elland Road for half a century. His goal against Arsenal looped over Seaman and shattered their unbeaten record like a vandal’s brick – and he scored again at their place.

The sturm and drang of early Rooney is fading, he still has the fire in his belly, but his discipline is growing. Since swapping blue for red he’s gone on to greatness at Old Trafford and with England – opposing teams fear him, but others outside the eye of the storm snigger.

Some in the press tell us that Rooney’s son Kai has inherited his father’s looks, and then they tell us that it is a shame. These critiques have to stop; there’s something wrong with a society that attacks its greatest child prodigy. How many people storm to the peak of their profession at 16 – and are still taunted mercilessly? When Wayne and Coleen moved to their new house, the headline that greeted the news was withering: “Coleen and Wayne move into Chav Towers“.

Rooney’s isn’t well educated in the typical sense, he spent his salad days pummelling the pavement with footballs, like a boxer’s fists to a punch bag. All that time in the street playing has produced erudite, educated feet. He honed his craft there; the streets of Croxteth were his dojo, just as Dixie Dean’s was his local church roof, where he perfected his legendary heading.

People make the ill-advised mental shortcut of drawing a parallel between Wayne from the north west, and Paul from the North East – somehow funneling all the frustrations about Gazza’s ultimately disappointing career into Rooney. Abroad he is “a mix of bison and a viper,” here he is a chav, a cultural clodhopper, and the missing link between Waynetta Slob and Shrek.

English Football is lashed to the mast of “class” like no other country in Europe. Forget about the fact that the Premier League has attracted a sea of middle class fans, we take players from only one strata – and then we taunt them for what they are. “Rooney” is somehow a byword for being vulgar and yobbish – when in reality that’s just what we are.

Moron of the Year?

West Ham Chairman David Sullivan came out yesterday and gave his opinion on Yakubu’s market price. Sullivan said:

“Everything has a price. You want to get Yakubu for £1-2 million and they are quoting £8 million and that is far too much.

“They have to be more realistic. If they said £1-2m we might go back. We bid more at the start of the summer because we had more flexibility but, at this moment in time, having spent some of our money on other players we want him for £1-2m.”

With gutter rag The S*n claiming that West Ham want £20million from Liverpool for Carlton Cole, are we to assume that Sullivan thinks that Yakubu is only a tenth of a player that Carlton Cole is? Yakubu has scored 19 goals in 49 league games for us, as for Carlton Cole he has scored eight more than the Yak, 27 goals – in a whopping 78 games. David Sullivan, early entrant for Moron of the Year?