This week has finally seen an end to what can only be described as the Terryspreadsitaboutabit affair and at first glance it appears to have come to a pretty predictable end.

John Terry has stood firm all week in his vow of silence over the affair and has clung desperately to the England captaincy, despite considerable pressure from the popular press for him to resign. Mr Capello put him out of his misery today though, by demoting him to a regular drone.

The woman at the centre of it all (no orgy implication intended,) Vanessa Perroncel was courted all week by all the well respected facets of the media, with new best friend and fame addict Max Cli££ord and looked set to spill the beans in return for a boat full of cash.

“They say that every dog has his day and today is woof day. That might sound crazy but I want to go and bark!”

I’ve always been excited by the prospect of players moving clubs and none more so than on transfer deadline day, although judging by how many times I’m disappointed by the lack of activity or a big name player moving, I’m not sure why.

For example, the closing of the January transfer was once again a massive disappointment this year and in future I believe it should be called the loan window, as January was dominated by players moving temporarily in order to gain first team football.

This is a shame, as for the entirety of the month I have been scouring gossip columns online excitedly reading up on possible transfers featuring world class players, but in the end I have to settle with Asmir Begovic’s transfer from Portsmouth to Stoke for £3.25 million.

There have been many attempts over the years by the powers that be to add further drama to the beautiful game.

The idea of a golden goal was toyed with for a while, allowing the keeper to pick-up a back-pass was outlawed and there have been rumours of including an added time multi-ball scenario at the end of each half for those tedious away games against Bolton.

None of these though have ever added to my enjoyment of a match, but Monday nights African Cup of Nations quarter-final between Zambia ad Nigeria may have hit upon a golden idea.

For a number of years now Arsene Wenger has had two jobs. One as the gaffer of Arsenal FC and one as the fella in charge of the clubs crèche, nurturing exciting prospects for the future.

The player of most significance to emerge from under Wenger’s wing has to be Cesc Fabregas, who has developed from a diminutive but skilful midfielder, into a world class player and club captain.

To pigeon hole Wenger as just a nurturer of talent though is narrow minded, as he is equally comfortable fostering ageing defenders in the twilight of their careers.

Tell me the name of any player of note and I’ll have an image of them in my mind which I associate with an era in which they played.

Perhaps I associate that image to when the player hit his peak form and was perhaps sporting a horror haircut at the time or perhaps due to my age I only recognise them as an old codger shouting from the sidelines.

So when that image of the player in your mind is not what greets you on screen, it can be a right stumper.

Shifting uncomfortably in one of those waiting room chairs that are seemingly designed to be as uncomfortable as possible, Mark Hughes was a nervous man.

Except for the presence of a silent receptionist, the Manchester City manager was alone in the palatial reception awaiting the call to enter the fat cats office and explain his teams run of seven straight draws.

Glancing up at a clock periodically, nervously twiddling his thumbs and impatiently crossing his legs, uncrossing them and then crossing them back the other way, Hughes was being made to wait what for what felt like an eternity.

Over the years many clubs and countries have felt aggrieved by some of the decisions of the little man with the whistle.

The failure to spot Maradona’s hand-of-god in 1986 against England and the decision not to dismiss German keeper Harald Schumacher after he knocked Patrick Battiston unconscious in the 1982 World Cup are surely ranked amongst the worst and most costly refereeing mistakes in recent history.

Thierry Henry’s handball that sealed France’s play-off win against Republic of Ireland to reach next summers World Cup, has recently joined this list.

Smiling through gritted teeth and forcing an unconvincingly contented smile, reminiscent of Tony Blair’s during the Iraq war; Jamie Carragher looks to be a man who’s had his heart and soul ripped out by Liverpool’s horrendous start to this season.

Before Tuesdays clash with Depression in the big boys European League he attempted to put a gloss on the turd of the season that he has found himself buried in.

In a vain attempt to add a shine to a dark and gloomy couple of months the defender fibs that winning the Europa League would “put a different gloss” on a so far disappointing season, despite the fact that it would actually be a great smear on their season and be the signifier of their lack of success in the big boys competitions.

More than any other, this week has thrown up some strange and upsetting stories from the world of football.

Firstly there was the tragedy of German goalkeeper Robert Enke committing suicide under the strain of depression, then there has been Liverpool’s confusing struggle for a victory even against lowly opposition and once again the Old Firm duo of Rangers and Celtic being refused entry into a proposed British Premier League.

While these stories have all contained elements of interest, tragedy and intrigue, there have been two other stories that have occupied my mind to a greater extent this week. They are Carlo Cudicini’s motorcycle accident, which has left him with two broken wrists and an injured pelvis and Aston Villa defender Like Young’s decision to retire from international football.

Is Mike Ashley trying to alienate whatever support he has left in Newcastle? Is he systematically trying to destroy the spirit of the Geordie faithful? Is he devoid of any common sense?

This rant follows the announcement that Newcastle will for the immediate future be calling their beloved home the sportsdirect.com @ St James’ Park Stadium. What a snappy and charismatic name.

By now I thought that Ashley would have begun to understand the passion of the Newcastle fans and their absolute immersion in everything surrounding the club, but once again he proves his ability repeatedly anger them. Today’s announcement proves he hasn’t got a clue.

Last week former Wigan striker Marlon King was sentenced to 18 months behind bars for assault and causing actual bodily harm, after he punched and groped 20 year old student Emily Carr square in the face.

“I’m a multimillionaire, love… you’re not even in my league” he exclaimed after his sexual advances on the girl were rejected and shortly before he delivered his vicious and unprovoked attack.

Surprisingly for a man who has 13 previous convictions, including one for violence against women, King showed a remarkable intelligence and foresight by exclaiming “you’re not even in my league,” as he knew female civilians are not allowed to play in the inter-prisons football league.

Every weekend football will consistently highlight the inconsistency of the game, whether it is Liverpool’s return to form against Ferguson United or Real Madrid being thumped 4-0 by village team Alcorcorn in the Spanish King’s Cup.

Like a good thriller or horror film the weekend’s football action can leave you unsure of which way the action is going to turn right up until the final curtain falls.

Away from the field of play though the bizarre twists and turns of everyday life can be just as fascinating and this week football has seemingly stepped out of its comfortable isolated bubble that it normally inhabits and has joined the struggle and annoyance of everyday of life.

Concise, to the point and imaginatively titled this piece does exactly what it says on the tin.

Inspired by a chance sighting with Jimmy Greaves’ doppelganger in a Birmingham café, this is a celebration of players who bear a similarity to a famous face.

I’m sure at this point you have high hopes that the player featured has a reputation that stretches across the globe and on the pitch he is/was feared and respected in equal measures.