Danny Ruler looks at the Millwall chairman
Distinguishing Features A balding Greek Cypriot with a cheeky smile. Has a cockney accent with Greek twang that his detractors always claim is faked to try to make him “one of the fans”.
As Saltergate falls into disrepair, Chesterfield risk going under. Jonathan Westwood reports
Older than the Football League itself and currently leading the Third Division, Chesterfield are the latest club to find themselves staring extinction in the face. Home to the club since 1884, Saltergate is one of the oldest football venues in the world and it shows its age. Only the main stand has seating and the away end remains open to the elements.
Marcus Christenson examines the past achievements of the next England manager
Sven-Goran Eriksson’s appointment was met with a barrage of xenophobia in England. In Sweden and elsewhere in Europe, however, the discussion centred on why on earth a top European coach would go anywhere near the mangy Three Lions. It is difficult to imagine Fabio Capello, Hector Cuper, Alberto Zaccheroni or any other successful European coach leaving their clubs to join up with Adam Crozier and co. So why was Eriksson prepared to swap Rome for London?
The Premier League may be a one-horse race, while UEFA's top club competition provides the thrills for other clubs and their fans. Though chasing either may be too big a gamble
Against all the odds, the Premiership looks as though it may turn out to be interesting, enjoyable even, this season. Not the title “race”, of course, unless Sir Alex’s gambolling hares stop for an uncharacteristic snooze by the river in the middle. But the advent of the Champions League, paradoxically, has made the lure of a place in Europe so enticing that it threatens the well-being of some of the clubs fluttering around its flame.
Only in the caricatured land of football is the King's Road thought of as trendy, argues Harry Pearson. Are you reading Mrs Karembeu?
Planet Football is a peculiar place, an alternative Earth where nothing ever changes and the hopelessly inaccurate can become the truth simply by repetition. This is a world where all Frenchmen are urbane, the whole of Brazil is a beach, no one relishes a trip to Turf Moor in January and everything north of Hadrian’s Wall is in Scotland. (How lucky Alf Ramsey was, by the way, that the Charlton boys chose to turn their backs on their native land and opt instead for England; and why don’t Newcastle United play in their own country, I wonder.)