Deal or no deal

Hands up who's ever been transferred, because it's one of the great laments of my career that I never have. Not once, not under any interpretation of the word whatsover, not once have I been transferred.

Tapped-up yes, interfered with certainly and slung out, indeed, but never, ever transferred. The closest I ever got was back in 1979 when playing centre forward for St Wilfrids Under 14s in the Mid-Sussex Sunday league. After an uncharacteristically good first half performance during which I scored two goals, hit the post and generally couldn't do a thing wrong, I became the subject of the attentions of the opposing manager - a burly Scotsman with a complexion like the inside of an antique teapot. As half-time approached I retrieved the ball from said Scotsman for a throw-in. As he handed the ball over I was convinced he gave me a slight wink. Ignoring this blatant attempt at psychological warfare, I carried on. In the half-time interval I nipped to the loo feeling generally good about the world. As I sidled up to the urinal and went about my business, I was joined on my right by the Scottish coach.

"You know," he said in a mean Glaswegian drawl, looking down in my general area. "I think you've got something there." Now, urinating in front of other men has never been my speciality, but so long as no words are exchanged and we all do the polite thing and stare straight ahead and try not to be interesting, I'm normally OK. On this occasion I was immediately gripped with uncertainty. "Eh?" was all I could muster. "You could be going places," he informed me before adding. "You just need steering." As far as I could ascertain my performance in the urinal steerage department up to this point had been flawless but who was I to argue with a burly Scotsman. "Hhhnnffnnrrrr.." was all I could muster as I braced myself for his next lewd comment. "How about we meet for a drrrrinnkk? Just you and me, no one needs to know, ..... strictly on the QT." The words Q & T spun off his Celtic tongue with gleeful conspiracy.

Just my luck I thought, just as I'm having the game of my life I get interfered with by a homicidal gay Scotsman. I legged it out for the second half, and spent the entire 45 minutes avoiding the entire left hand side of the pitch where he was prowling.

Anyway, the game ended and I was off faster than you could say 'urinal impotence'. Never spoke to the fella again and it was days later that I discovered through a mutual friend that the Scotsman wasn't cruising for gay football sex, he was actually trying to sign me for his club. I wonder if that's how Rafa Benitez goes about his business? It's hard to imagine Jose Mourinho leering over the urinal wall in order to persuade Michael Essien as to the honourable nature of his intentions: "Hey, Michael, you are good, you are very good. How about I get you into the club no? It’s verrry good forrr yooou, his verrry good forrrr me." There is, after all, a time and a place.

Transfer deadline excitement is reaching fever pitch. The big news so far…. Javier Mascerano takes his one man show of contempt to Liverpool, Gareth Bale decides he’s better off in the Championship at Southampton than, Shaun Maloney joins Villa from Celtic, and news reaches us that Michael Duberry has finished his cup of tea and is seriously considering Steve Coppell’s offer of a suggestive digestive….. now calm down everyone….

ANYWAY, as the transfer deadline curtain begins to fall we would like to hear your own stories about transfers, whether they concern the club you play for or the club you support, it's all good as far as we're concerned. Have you ever been transferred? Have you ever had to let anyone go? What's the best and worst transfer you've ever seen or heard about, whether it's your local five a side team or ManbloodyUnited. Brng it on and send ‘em in. Otherwise I'll have nothing to read tonight and will end up watching Dispatches or something…