Boasting a trophy cabinet with more metal in it than Beavis and Butthead's combined record collection, you could probably invent a new football tournament at lunch time and this bloke would have won it by the end of the day. Heralding the most successful periods in history of both Real Madrid and Spain, splattering Ligas, Champions Leagues, Euros and World Cups all over the shop, you would be hard pressed to find a better manager in the history of the game. The only possible flaw you could hope to find is the uncanny resemblance to Josef Fritzl.

The hairdryer. The tapping of the watch. The assassin-like ability to slice David Beckham's face open from across the room. And to think he was on the brink of a sacking thanks to an Ian Wright inspired Crystal Palace back in 1990. This was of course when the FA Cup Final actually meant something and wasn't regarded as an old discarded chewing gum wrapper you'd find in a gutter somewhere. The thing that sticks out for Ferguson is the relentless team building over such a long period of time. Never shy to wield the axe on people getting too big for their boots (Stam, van Nistlerooy, Keane), he's possibly the last bastion of real manager power in English football. Barring a few notable exceptions, won his last league title with an almost comedically bad squad of players in 2013. Poor David Moyes.

Won the World Cup in 1982 and captained Italy in 1990 on home soil, Bergomi was predominantly a full back but could realistically play anywhere in defence. Tough mentally and in the tackle, Bergomi was a fearsome opponent even before you consider they nicknamed him 'uncle' (weird) and he sported an almost transcendent monobrow for the majority of his career (terrifying). During the moustache years, he looked more like Super Mario Brothers cosplay than the Nerazzurri's greatest ever right back.

Every time I see a number three, I think of Paolo Maldini. It can be anywhere. A road sign, a price tag...the number π - his perfectly chiseled, blue-eyed face is there. In a country known for consistently producing some of the greatest defenders the world has ever seen, Maldini played 126 times for Italy. I think that's more times than I've left my own house. Not only that, he scored seven goals. Probably a strike rate on a par with Emile Heskey's England career. But he doesn't belong in this write up; Zlatan Ibrahimovic and (original) Ronaldo do, and they say he's the best defender they've ever played against. I reckon they probably know what they're talking about.

I spent my Sunday afternoons growing up being a) hideously hungover and b) watching Football Italia. Given Ronaldo moved to Internazionale for £19m (which by modern standards seems about £4.50) during the late 90s, I remember them being on telly an awful lot. And if Inter were on telly, Javier Zanetti was on telly. And he was everywhere. Right back, central defence, holding midfield, bombing down the wings...he may as well have presented the bastard programme. One of those people that could run for two hours solid and then do a couple of marathons in the evening, even whilst almost 40 years of age. He almost sounds fictional.

A swirling mass of hair (a right pain in the arse to draw, fact fans), more suited to a Napalm Death gig than steering your country to victory in consecutive international tournaments. To be fair, the fact that he's a Napalm Death fan means that he was a shoe-in to this pack. Footballers and music tend to be a bad match. If they're not into MOR dross like Simply Red and Phil Collins, they're getting their heads mashed in by murderous gangsta rap through their shitty Beats headphones. But anyway, Carles Puyol is great. So here he is. It still surprises me that that thumping header in the 2010 World Cup semi final against Germany didn't actually set fire to the net.

SOOO number six that Milan retired his shirt in 1997. I love people like Franco. It's almost like they're trying to stop football happening. People want to see goals and flair and all that incessant nonsense, but...at some point it's someone's job to break the party up and prevent all that. And Baresi did it like it was a new party in itself. YOU CAN ALL GO HOME NOW, SORRY. Call it miserly if you want, but seeing a 0-0 draw with Baresi sweeping up - to me - is the purest form of the game.

Being a leftist libtard vegetarian snowflake, the idea of a matador of any kind is pretty abhorrent to me, but this bloke is as near to that as I'm willing to endorse. In my head, he's behind Vega's mask in Street Fighter II. Ok, that's pretty weird. And quite niche. And his name was Balrog in some versions. The Champions League's highest scorer until them pesky meddlers Messi and Ronaldo came along, and the competition saw him kiss his ring, ahem, no fewer than 71 times. I remember that belter against Nigeria like it was yesterday. No red cards, nearly 300 goals, thank you very much and goodnight.

Quite possibly the greatest England player to have ever played. Meh. You think I'm wrong. Zidane, Xavi, Socrates. People who agree with me. So what are you gonna do? Regardless, retiring from international duty at 29 was not the one. Not the one by a long stretch. Only played at the 1998 and 2002 World Cups and could easily have made four. Criminally pushed out on the left for the sake of Lampard and Gerrard when he was arguably better than the pair of them. Let's just remind ourselves of the wealth of talent Eriksson had at his disposal and did nothing with. Unless you hate England and thought it was funny. Which I can completely understand. England's definitive number 8, without question.

Back in the old days, things were a lot more lax regarding who you could play for who internationally. Alfredo Di Stéfano was regarded as one of the most complete players to have ever played, and he inexplicably blessed three different countries with his awesomeness; Argentina, Colombia and latterly Spain. Real Madrid have traditionally had it easy all their lives, with swathes and swathes of Galacticos rocking up to the Bernabeu to take absolutely no prisoners whatsoever. You would be hard pushed to find a more fearsome pairing than this bloke and Ferenc Puskás. Turning up to play against that? I'd just shake my head and go home.

There's a compilation on YouTube of Francesco Totti goals where he's chipping goalkeepers. What makes it so amazing is that they're not even off their lines. That's the kind of player we're dealing with here. He's so Rome I reckon if you cut him he bleeds Julius Caesar. I was genuinely shocked when Totti retired, as I just assumed he was some kind of fucked up immortal genius. I reckon he could've done another couple of years. Though I suppose he's now just looking forward to doing what every Italian man sinking into middle age does. Eat and eat and eat and etcetera. I think he's earned it.

Tried to sue the whole of social media due to morally dubious life choices. Sorry, we're not on spades, are we? Being a terrible human being aside, what a player. But yeah. Horrible. Strangely enough, apart from that insane, chest-exposing solo goal against the Arsenals in the 1999 FA Cup semi final, my abiding memory of Giggsy is a glaring miss against the same team at Old Trafford. Maybe my subconscious is doing this because he's such a terrible person. That thing that people always say - 'oooh, imagine if he'd've been English! He'd have solved that left sided problem!' Don't worry. England would still never have won anything.

One of only three players to have won the Champions League, European Championships and World Cup as captain. 167 caps for Spain - he basically started at nineteen and stayed there for sixteen years. A hundred of those were wins. Over eight hundred minutes of international clean sheetery. 25 years at Real Madrid, winning everything there is to win. To all intents and purposes, one of the greatest goalkeepers to have ever played. And yet. Criticised heavily for poor decisions, lack of height(?!) and treated criminally by José Mourinho and Florentino Pérez, who effectively forced him out of the club he clearly loved. Hence the tears. That 5-1 again Holland was pretty bad though, I'll give you that.

Like his strike partner Alfredo Di Stefano, Puskás wasn't happy with representing his native Hungary, so had a few outings for Spain further down the line. While he didn't ever score for the Spanish, he pilfered a mind bending 84 goals in 85 appearances for the Hungarians. The spearhead of the 'Golden Team' that inflicted numerous heavy defeats on the then football world powers (obviously the pulverisation of England twice in 1953 and 1954 being of note), Hungary really *should* have won the 1954 World Cup in the the way that Brazil *should* have won four years prior. Earlier in the group stages they smashed the West German winners 8-3. And South Korea 9-0. It's a funny old game. And sometimes quite sickening.

When I was growing up, the greatest. The landscape has obviously changed now, but the records do not. Imagine being regarded as the best player in the best team that there has ever been. Won three of the four World Cups he played in. Still the highest scorer for Brazil. Started playing for Santos at fifteen. I could barely play Tetris at that age. In almost twenty years at the club he scored 470 goals in 412 matches. I mean. Someone must be making it up, surely? After hanging up his boots, spoke out on erectile dysfunction years before it was cool. What more could you possibly want?!

Andrea Pirlo, Karel Poborsky and Lilian Thuram walk into a bar and the barman says 'what can I get you ladies?' The girls name aside, Thuram was a remarkably good right back and well worth the money. Considering how long ago it was, it is a LOT of money as well. A World Cup winner, he made his mark in the France 98 semi final by scoring two goals against Croatia. And then none ever again. Almost as if he was saying 'I *can* do this, I just choose not to.' Which, to me, makes him all the more amazing.

'Ca$hley', they called him. And with good reason. Try to empathise with a man who is left 'trembling with rage' after being offered a mere £60,000 a week to hoof a ball around an oblong of grass once, maybe twice a week. And run about a bit in the morning for the days you don't do that. Having said that, sometimes it gets cold in England. Poor Ashley. Great player, though. Which is almost disappointing. Arsenal weren't even rubbish then either. It still turned out alright at Chelsea for him. I dunno. I don't think I'd have the nerve to do it. But then I'm not a sociopath. I don't think I am, anyway. I guess that's what a sociopath would think. Most FA Cups won by a single player. Sometimes you just have to hold your hands up and admit someone is right. Sigh.

Bit of an enigma, this lad. Pretty much brilliant in every place but England. To the point of being labelled 'a fucking great player' by an irate Alex Ferguson. As if there's any other kind of Alex Ferguson. He was total rubbish for Manchester United, though. And his time at Chelsea was one of those things where you repeatedly have to ask yourself whether it actually happened or was a dream you once had. For him, it was definitely a nightmare. I'm not sure why he was so bad here. Maybe it was the constant shouts of 'booyakasha!' and 'how's your Julie?!' in the streets? If you don't understand that reference, ask your parents. God, that makes me feel old.

Having three World Cups and zero Euros on your CV is a bit of a weird one. Kind of the opposite of Phil Neville. Who doesn't want to avoid Phil Neville? Nobody, that's who. Certainly not the Romanian front line Euro 2000. I guess that's what dodging random drugs tests does for you. Shouldn't have spent all night chugging back the nandrolone, Rio. Tuts. Allegedly, of course. I reckon athletes should just be allowed to do any performance enhancing whatevers. See who can push it the hardest. Anyway, Ferdinand was a very decent player and I look forward to the next chapter in his life, him getting battered by people who actually earn their living doing exactly that.

Call me cynical and old if you like, but I remember a time when an opponent would kick your face off if you had your own emoji or a strip of sequins in your hair. And honestly, I'd say you got off lightly. The transfer thing is pretty comedic, you'd have to say. They're certainly still laughing in Turin. Is he really that good? I mean, he's alright. But then, I've seen this man do a dab to camera after getting substituted. I don't mind the youth of today and all their stupid fads and what not. In fact, I think they get a bit of a harsh time of it, all told. It's the twats I can't abide. Paul Pogba is a twat. There, I said it.

If Seba Veron was bad for Manchester United, who knows how to describe this lad? Aside from one amazing chipped goal against Leicester City, the only thing I really remember about Ángel Di María's stint in England was when he trudged off to France. You can say that he was played out of position, but so what? He's still on the pitch. Look at them figures. A cumulative total of around £130m?! For that much money I'd expect you to make a decent fist of playing in goal. I don't know if you can class him as being overrated. I don't know anyone that really rated him that much. But he can redefine the dictionary definition of overpriced, and them some.

Naming conventions in Brazil, eh? I don't know why they're playing at. Other than the suffix -inho meaning 'little'. So 'Kakáinho' would translate to 'Little Shit'. I assume that's correct. Either way, they're way off the mark with this one. During the middle of the 2000s, Kaka was arguably the best midfield player on the planet. Ordinarily people don't pay £58m for you to be not very good, but we have just witnessed Ángel Di María, so... Part of the supposed golden quartet along with Adriano, Ronaldo and Ronaldinho, they never really got going in the 2006 World Cup. With a front line like that, I'm not really sure why. Eventually they went out to Roberto Carlos tying his shoelaces in front of Thierry Henry, if I remember rightly.

Can you hear the drums Fernando? There was something in the air that night. The stars were bright, Fernando. Weeeell, sometimes they were bright, sometimes not so. The 2008/09 season for Liverpool was almost a right shiner. That glaring miss for Chelsea at Old Trafford was darker than a Leonard Cohen album wrapped in a bin bag and buried down a coal mine. At his best, old 'Nando was absolutely lethal. At his worst - i.e.: most of his Chelsea career - he was like Bambi on ketamine. Still, I think we all have appreciation for the noise he managed to coax out of Gary Neville when scoring that equalising goal in the Nou Camp that time.

Arrogant cock or complete genius, you decide. A little from column A, a little from column B, as far as I'm concerned. Could feasibly have appeared in any suit except clubs, what with playing for a myriad of different teams over the years. He's a captain and a nutcase. I actually didn't realised quite HOW much of a nutcase until I truly researched it. Punching, stamping, headbutting, the works. He probably could've been a character in Mortal Kombat. But we'll go with diamonds just because of the multiple transfer fees. That overhead kick against England in 2013 should be in a museum.

Not bad for a left back, eh? One of Harry Redknapp's better decisions. He was probably thinking of Niko Kranjčar when he moved him into midfield. I was kind of surprised that Real Madrid were willing to pay quite that much money for old Welshy. I'd seen him at Tottenham but didn't quite realise how good he was. Obviously fast. Jesus. 22mph they clocked it at. I reckon my top speed it about six. You get what you pay for. Scored in every group game of Euro 2016, even when England fluked a last minute win. Shame Wales don't seem to have any concept of arses or elbows when he doesn't play. Ah well.

In an industry chock to the gills of preening, prancing bellends, Gianluigi sticks out like a sore thumb. He's almost the antidote to the abject twattery of modern football. Basically a great bloke; humble, gracious in defeat and plays football with kids down the park. Also one of the greatest ever; 167 caps for Italy. Conceded a mere two goals for the entire duration of the 2006 World Cup. Eight Serie A titles, not including the two that were rescinded after the scandal. Obviously he stuck with Juventus through that. Went out of his way to congratulate Martin O'Neill when Ireland beat Italy in Euro 2016. Class all over.

Original Ronaldo. or Ronaldo Classic, if you like. Full-fat Ronaldo, even. Do we talk about the transsexual prostitutes or not? Probably not. You know, if I'd've won the World Cup at 17, I'd've been more than happy to pack it in after that. Three years later, he had the world at his feet. At his peak, unplayable. Even when not, really still quite good. It was like all the attacking players in a team rolled into one and all being amazing at the same time. If it wasn't for a bit of a spaz out in France, he could feasibly have won three World Cups in a row. Mental. Though that weird front-loaded hair patch in the 2002 final is unforgivable. If it weren't for his incredible self-exploding knees he would've been even better.

GoaT? Or No? Yes, he's a bit of a tosser. We all know that. With the taking off his top and then that jumpy-up celebration arms thing that he does. But you can't argue with the rest, can you?! Scored more Champions League goals by himself than the whole of Atlético Madrid. World footballer of the year four times. 79 goals in 149 caps. I mean...if we start this we'll be here all day. Just remember that - for all the arrogant bluster and alleged tax-dodging - Sepp Blatter doesn't like him. Which makes him alright in my books. The crying at the end of Euro 2004 was pretty funny, as well.

In 1996 I tried to sign Cafu from Palmeiras on Championship Manager 2. I was manager of Yeovil Town. He wouldn't come. I've never forgiven him. Back in the real world, Cafu is arguably the greatest right back slash wing back slash right winger slash forward to have played for Brazil, and therefore probably the world ever. The most capped Brazilian player of all time, he played in four World Cups, winning two of them, one as captain. I'm knackered just typing that. If it wasn't for his innate brilliance, Scotland probably would've qualified for the second round of the World Cup in 1998. Poor Tom Boyd.

Yes, I know. He's a number 3 and a centre back. That shouldn't be happening, but here we are. We can level all of this at Roberto Carlos, being number 6 and a left back. I don't know who was in charge. Anyway, Lúcio. Apart from the assist he provided Michael Owen with in the 2002 World Cup quarter final, I can't remember seeing Lúcio make a mistake. Is twatting people regarded as a mistake? Maybe it is these days. But not just that. One of them central defenders that was comfortable with carrying the ball forwards as well. I think his nickname of 'the Horse' relates to that. I can't think of what else it could mean.

You can see why Vince does such an amazing job of clearing with his head. I mean, that's a noggin and a half. Bizarrely shaped like a lightbulb as well. You look at him and you think 'there's an ideas guy'. When he's not hanging out at some A&E department in central Manchester, you can find him being an inspirational leader for both club and country and - in a rare sight these days - intelligent and articulate in interviews. Half the time his defensive partner is such a terrible waste of air and blood (Otamendi, Mangala, Demichelis) that he's almost doing two jobs at once.

A little short for a Stormtrooper, aren't you? Fabio Cannavaro isn't even my height. And I am not tall. Just goes to show that none of any of that matters. If you're quick and can anticipate what's going to happen, you claw back the inches. In height, I mean. Obviously. His contribution to the World Cup in 2006 saw him not only win the thing itself but also the Silver Ball (behind the imperious Zidane); later on in 2006 he added the FIFA World Player of the Year AND the Ballon d'Or to all of that. He became only the third defender in history behind Franxz Beckenbauer and Mathias Sammer to win the latter award. Decent company, I would say.

Who inventor the skip? Being called the greatest defender you've played against by Pelé isn't bad, is it? Became captain of his country at the age of 22. By 25, he had lead them to their only World Cup success. For a country that's traditionally as shit at playing football as England, that's quite an achievement. In all honesty, they should've got to the semi-finals in 1970 having had a 2-0 lead with twenty minutes to go. Effectively, that day set the blueprint for England for future generations. Why would he ever steal a bracelet, though?! I love the story. Jeff Astle getting shitfaced on the plane. It's what we do. Get pissed and nick stuff. Hello Mexico!

I remember watching Dynamo Kiev back in the day with Shevchenko and Sergei Rebrov in tandem, battering all comers. Whereas Rebrov moved to North London to get completely mismanaged, marginalised and frozen out, Shevchenko went to Italy to become a Milanese legend, winning Serie A, the Champions League, the Italian and UEFA Super Cups and subsequently guide his country to the quarter finals of the World Cup in 2006. The Chelsea years are probably best forgotten, what with him being past his best at that point, but he will undoubtedly be remembered as the greatest Ukranian to ever play the game.

The perfectly weighted through ball to Thierry Henry at Euro 2004 still haunts me. You could easily have switched Frank Lampard in here. That old chestnut. AREN'T THEY GREAT BUT CAN THEY PLAY TOGETHER? I don't know of another country that would underachieve so dramatically faced with such a 'burden'. Two of the greatest players of their generation and it ends up making your team more rubbish. Almost peerless at club level, Gerrard would walk into the Liverpool even now. To be fair, so would Ian Rush and Kenny Dalglish. Roy Keane usually had people like Paul Scholes and Andy Cole around him. Stevie G frequently had garbage like Bruno Cheyrou and Neil Mellor; stood static, gawping open-mouthed at the floodlights and incessantly blinking. Making what he (sometimes almost single handedly) achieved all the more impressive.

260 goals and nobody's even close. This will be like an Ian Botham wickets thing. It'll run and run. I don't think you'll get Shearer smoking marijuana anytime soon, mind. He probably thinks it's a beach resort in Costa Rica. Twice the record transfer fee in England, Shearer was a dead-eyed assassin and no mistake. Ask Neil Lennon's face. The thing I like most about Shearer is that he wanted to play for the team he supported. He won nothing, but he lived the dream. No pissing about with the manager, no Instagram posts (obviously), no stupid haircuts. Well, he barely had hair anyway, to be honest. The total poster boy for the European Championships in 1996 - that glorious summer of wall-to-wall Des Lynam.

I remember watching the pre-Chelsea Drogba in 2004, playing for Marsielle in Europe. I recall him being a bit of a beast. I only vaguely knew of him before he came to London but thought he'd do alright. I was kind of wrong. I just assumed he was an expensive flop, but then something happened. I can't really remember how or when, but it definitely happened. Before long he was basically in charge of everything. Like someone turned on the lights overnight. From that point he was just bossing everything; backing in, wrestling defenders, absolute smackdown. How much of a fairytale can you write? The last kick of a ball for your club and you win the Champions League in Munich against Bayern Munich. you couldn't have written it better.

Any modern goalkeeper you think of. ANY goalkeeper you think of. Lev Yashin. He invented them. I'm not pissing about. Before Yashin, goalkeepers stayed on their lines, flapping about, waiting for shit to happen. Yashin changed all that. Punching, throwing, rushing out; for the time it was brutal, aggressive and he was commanding his own back line in a way the world had never seen before. Basically shouting at them to sort their lives out. Passé now. But in the 1950s, revolutionary. The Black Panther. Don't fuck with him.

A pioneer and visionary that won the Ballon d'Or three times, Cruyff was one of those rare beasts that was successful as both a player and a manager. In 1974, helped deliver the first title to Barcelona in 14 years and arguably changed the ethos of the club, setting it on the path to the all encompassing juggernaut you see today. An exponent of one of the most mental tactical theories where anyone could play anywhere and invented his own 'turn'. Unbelievably never won anything at international level, despite clearly being the greatest player on earth at the time. If the Dutch hadn't have faced the home nations in the finals of both the 1974 and the 1978 World Cups, you'd have backed them to win all day long.

GoaT? Or No? Not this again. Right, well. Let's kick this off by saying he can't head for shit (5'7") and that he's a proven tax dodger (€4 million. Not cool). If you can get past those things, this bit pretty much writes itself. Won 5 Ballon d'Ors. Four of them in a row. Argentina's leading goal scorer. Eight La Ligas. Four Champions Leagues. Basically every individual award you could possibly imagine. For years and years, Argentina were desperate for the 'new Maradona' and were always left disappointed. Ariel Ortega? Javier Saviola? Juan Román Riquelme? No, no, NO. Little did they realise that when it *did* happen he would be even better than the original. Like watching something from another planet.

I only really started appreciating Gary Neville when I realised Danny Mills was the viable alternative. Inherently unlikable Danny Mills with his slappity head and his four hour turning circle. The type of bloke who says 'I'm not here to make friends' about doing a piece of piss job that made him a multi-millionaire. Anyway, Dave Beckham's Best Mate™ here had his fair share of trouble  - notably smashing the ball into a disabled kid's face at Goodison Park and running the whole length of the pitch to indulge in a bit of Man Utd badge kissing right in the faces of a load of Liverpool fans. I'm not going to lie. I probably wouldn't have done that. More for fear of being decapitated outside the ground afterwards than anything else.

One of only four players to have ever scored in more than one World Cup final (in 1974 and 1982), Paul Breitner still remains a much maligned, enigmatic character. An unashamed socialist and Che Guevara fan, Breitner used to take Chairman Mao's Little Red Book into training with him. The fact that he purposely shaved off his trademark beard to pedal after shave before the 1982 World Cup (for vast amounts of money) really makes you wonder if he wasn't just trying to be difficult all along. Obviously I commend this approach. Claimed his 'greatest desire' was for America to lose the Vietnam war. Absolute gold.

The defensive midfield colossus of the jawbreakingly good French team that won everything at the turn of the century, Vieira gobbled up red cards like they were macarons in an artisan Paris patisserie. Being sent off eight times in his Premier League career is matched only by Richard Dunne (professional foul central, given he was slower than a glacier with Down's Syndrome) and Duncan Ferguson (will punch on sight). His shirt smothered in Vaseline and Vicks® VapoRub™, he was primed to wage with war with anyone who wanted it, and the majority that didn't. Despite that, he weighed in with his fair share of goals and has spoken more coherent English sentences in his life than Ray Parlour.

I suppose when you've had as much impact on football as Der Kaiser, you're going to have to invent new ways to amuse yourself. So, being one of only two men to have won the World Cup as both a player (1974) and a manager (1990; Mario Zagallo being the other) why wouldn't you just desecrate your reputation with a bit of money laundering?  Like Blatter and Platini, the obvious guilt almost confirmed by complete and utter lack of co-operation with any of the enquiries. But whatever has been proven or not proven about any of that, there's no denying how good he was as a player. I mean, who else can say that they've effectively invented a new playing position?! Not many.

The psychopath's psychopath. Makes Stuart Pearce look like a litter of baby rabbits snoozing inside a cloud. I imagine making eye contact with him is like losing two pints of blood in a 3 seconds. Obviously you can't condone purposely trying to break someone's leg and / or end their career, but you can forgive aiming a swipe at Alan Shearer. He laughed at it himself while it was happening, so I think it goes down as funny rather than violent. And not signing Robbie Savage purely on the basis that he's an absolute dickhead is something we can all agree on. Shame about Japan. But he's probably enough of a headcase to think that all of that was still a good idea.

The seagulls, sardines, trawler thing is still a masterpiece. JUST LET ME PAUSE MID-SENTENCE TO DRINK MY WATER. You can find it on YouTube and it still makes as much sense now as it did then. The press, the cameras. What?! Amazing. Incredible footballer but an absolute lunatic. That chipped goal against Sunderland. It still sticks. Anyway, he's pushing Kronenbourg now and that gets thumbs up from me.

England could do with a Gazza right now. Massively gifted but self destructive. You would take the latter to get the former, easily. These days it's just about money and towing the line; well-we-was-just-try-in-to-kick-da-ball-in-da-back-of-da-net-wasn't-we-Gary-init?. What you wouldn't give for just one of them to turn up to training in a crocodile outfit, telling Norway to fuck off. With a hangover. That's just the problem with them. They're petrified of losing. Get someone in that takes risks and it *might* pay off. Gascoigne took risks to the point of liability. But that's just one of the few things that made him great. Get well soon, Gazza.

First up, what an amazing player. Second up, what an absolute animal. On the one hand, a man that can score a header from outside the penalty area, on the other, a man who ahas been banned from playing for biting three different people in three different countries. Imagine if you were at work and you bit someone. That's P45 talk right there. The goal he scored that effectively ended England's World Cup 2014 was done as he was falling over. Crying at Selhurst Park was a bit of a low. I've been to Croydon many times before so I know how he feels, poor bastard.

A phenomenally gifted midfield playmaker, Platini was the embodiment of the French team in the 80s and blitzed the 1984 European Championships in the same way Diego Maradona would demolish the World Cup two years later. He scored nine goals in five matches. France as a team scored 14 in total. But the fun starts later on in life. Investigated for corruption in 2015, he and his best mate Emperor Palpatine, sorry, Sepp Blatter were both on the receiving end of eight year bans from all of the footballs. Apparently you can't just give $2m that doesn't belong to you away to whomever you like. How strange. Of course, he still protests his innocence, but the world clearly knows that he's more bent than Marcus and Darren's entire families combined.

One of the most elegant, sublime players of modern times. Without question. Also: cheating, diving scumbag. But then so many are. I first watched Rivaldo properly during World Cup 98. He looked similar in build to a xenomorprh and he was doing Rabonas all over the place. I thought he was amazing. Then, four years later, he's stood ready to take a corner in the first match against Turkey and he gets the ball kicked to him by a mildly annoyed Hakan Ünsal. It hits his legs and he flails to the floor, clutching his face like he's been horrifically maimed by a sniper's bullet. Ünsal is sent off and Brazil win. As if they need to cheat anyway. Shameful.

Jens Mustermann in Football Manager 2006 when they didn't acquire the rights to the German players, Oliver Kahn was the best player at the 2002 World Cup. In that day and age, pretty big bananas for a goalkeeper. Given nicknames like 'The Titan' and 'The Volcano' points you subtly in the direction of the type of player he was. Basically an impenetrable wall of simian-faced granite. A much publicised 'incident' saw him leave his heavily pregnant wife for a 21 year old barmaid. Perhaps they should've just gone with 'The Prick'.

My personal favourite player ever. Like he's in control of The Matrix and you're just guests here. You're running at standard time and this guy is on 4x speed. Fifteen years later I still don't know how that Hampden Park goal happened. Score free kick, vomit, score penalty, goodnight England. In two minutes. Sometimes it's just too much. Who even headbutts somebody in the chest?! Any rational person would say 'no' or 'I'll get him by other means because he's bigger than me'. To top it all, one of his three World Cup final goals was a Panenka penalty. But true to form it was even more brilliant than that; hit the underside of the crossbar, into the goal, bounce up, hit the underside of the crossbar again, bounce out into play. Insane.

Like Willy Wonka and Craig David, Diego Maradona was born to do it. I was very young in 1986, but I still remember the contrasting goals of the quarter final in Mexico. Technically, I'd say the second one was so good it should've been awarded two goals in itself. Chalk off 'the Hand of God' and Argentina still win. But like with those capable of such unrivalled genius comes unrivalled destruction. Most of it well documented. I still picture Maradona's post-football life as being akin to Tony Montana slumped in a chair in front of mountains of drugs, surrounded by Big Mac wrappers and tear-stained Boca Juniors shirts. I read that he was one line from death, but that's probably apocryphal. Kudos to him for turning it around and managing his country in a World Cup.