Manchester United versus Chelsea in the Champions League final then. First things first: huge apologies to the good people of Moscow. When the Russian powers that be gave the OK for Luzhniki Stadium to host the game, they no doubt had a glorious festival of football in mind: the cosmopolitan teams of, say, Barcelona and AC Milan fighting it out on the pitch, cheered on by their beautiful, cultured and well-coiffured fans. Instead they’re stuck with a load of Manc scallies and West London chavs being sick all over Red Square and shinning up the Kremlin’s drainpipes to steal lead from the roof (that’s based on the dubious assumption that the Kremlin has a lead roof - or even drainpipes for that matter - which I must confess is not something I’ve looked into that closely.)

Like a lot of football fans, I ended up watching Saturday night’s Match Of The Day through my fingers, on account of Martin Taylor’s horrific tackle on Eduardo. Fortunately, it looks like the Arsenal number 9 is going to make a full recovery, but his injury got us thinking about some of the other painful moments in football history that we just couldn’t bring ourselves to watch. Here are five of the best or, rather, worst…

Having ‘the Volcano’ Lesley Vainikolo make his debut for England, despite already having represented New Zealand at Rugby League, raises a number of arguments about national identity and what it truly means to represent your country. But when it comes to Rugby, there is only one difference between the League and Union… two fewer idiots. The finest oval ball-shaped game comes to a climax this Sunday when the New England Patriots take on the New York Giants in Glendale, Arizona for the Super Bowl.

The English have got a new song. You’ll hear it mostly on the terraces, but there was a big outing for it last week at the Hatton/Mayweather fight on Saturday night. The words to it, like all great tunes are easy to remember. Altogether now: ‘Booooooooooo’.

England could be out of the European Championships by Saturday evening. Whatever.

It was during the 2006 World Cup that I had my epiphany…

I love a big score, me. I love the sort of result that used to have to be spelled out, in those pre-Jeff Stelling days, in letters on the Grandstand teleprinter, just in case you thought it was a mistake. United 7 (SEVEN) Rovers 0. I love a right hammering. I love a cricket score. I love a romp. A rout. A goalfest. Merciless crowds chanting “we want 10!” Teams turning on their party pieces. Their opponents “lucky to get nil” and a hapless goalkeeper “wishing the ground would open up and swallow him”. The sort of result that has Norris McWhirter rewriting the record books.

Following a car crash of a start to the season, Martin Jol’s time as manager of Tottenham was already numbered, and finally a defeat to Getafe in the UEFA Cup signalled the end of his reign at the Lane. Now the club is managerless and looking like a child who has lost his mum at the supermarket.