There's a nasty case of Hlebitis infecting our game

Arsene Wenger's got a bad bout right now but so, too, do Sir Alex Ferguson and Big Phil Scolari.

Alexander Hleb's desperation for a move to Barcelona now involves him publicly proclaiming Wenger doesn't know how to play him and that Arsenal team-mate Cesc Fabregas is "selfish".

Next thing you know, he will be saying they won't let him go to the toilet even when he puts his hand up.

Insiders think Hleb is under pressure from his new wife to move on. His contract runs out in 2009 and it may not be so surprising if Mrs Hleb wants him to get a big payday courtesy of a long-term contract with Barcelona, which he may not get at Arsenal.

Funnily enough, if he'd come right out and said it as it is, I might have some sympathy with him. Wouldn't you?

But no sympathy is due to Cristiano Ronaldo, nor Real Madrid president Ramon Calderon.

United should be "happy and proud" to let Ronaldo move to a great club like Real, he proclaimed, before stating smugly: "We can't be blamed if nearly every player wants to come to Real Madrid." Yuk!

As I have already suggested, Ferguson's Hlebitis can be cured by the simple expedient of sticking Ronaldo in the stands for a couple of months. But will the Glazers let him? Not with United's debts they won't, would be my best guess.

Finally to Scolari. Most depressing newspaper picture of the week for me was Big Phil on his first day at the Chelsea office looking in on a medical test on "striker" Claudio Pizarro, though I am sure it's an offence against the Trade Descriptions Act to so describe him.

Now there is a Carlos Kickaball who should be on his bike; and there's no shortage of others at Stamford Bridge, led by Dider Drogba.

But another interesting aspect of Hlebitis is that players who really should leave their clubs, rarely badger a manager to go.

They tend to suffer from Bogarde's Syndrome, the symptoms of which are splinters in the bottom from warming too many benches and uncontrollable bouts of laughter on the way to the bank.

It's time to get real about modern footballers. Let's face it, most of the foreigners are here in the Premier League for the money.

Nothing wrong with that if they put the effort in but the days of players who stay with one club, man and boy, with the odd exception of John Terry, are over.

And there is no point in being sentimental about them. When they kiss the shirt, think of it as nothing more than a desperate bid for an Oscar.

Great expectations may lead to unhappy ending for Laura

Well done Laura Robson for giving the Brits something to cheer about at Wimbledon. But I fear for her, being burdened by so many great expectations so young.

Some winners of the girls' singles go on to great things, of course, like Martina Hingis and Amelie Mauresmo, but most don't. The worry is Laura will be crowned before she is queen. If I were her parents, I'd pack her off to a tennis school in Spain or Florida and let her quietly

develop her full potential away from the full glare of publicity.

The real triumph was Rafael Nadal's, all the more so because of his niggling knee injury. That final was simply the best and I've never seen anything like it in 30 years of going to Wimbledon.

Nadal and Roger Federer are both great champions but the women's singles stinks. The Williams girls were only there because all those top-rated young Slavs are so flaky. The women at Wimbledon get equal pay. When are they going to offer equal value?

Back to little Laura. However well she does, it will be a lonely life at the top unless more outstanding players emerge from the Lawn Tennis Association training programmes. And they won't unless more kids get involved. Looking at what happens in France and Spain, the LTA reckon they need half a million kids playing regular competitive tennis. And at the last count, there are just 14,000.

Jimmy, call it a day

Poor old Jimmy Floyd Hasselbaink, who in his pomp wouldn't have touched Cardiff with a bargepole, now finds himself turned away from pre-season training with Cardiff City because they don't want him any more.

The 36-year-old striker should not have forgotten Max Miller's edict: always go while they're asking for more. It's sad Hasselbaink is humiliating himself in this way because he must have made many millions in a long career. Where's it all gone, Jimmy?

* If Frank Lampard does end up at Inter, he might at least prove that British players can flourish in Italy. David Platt and a couple of others got by but only John Charles was an unqualified success and remained a Juventus legend to the end of his life. It wouldn't be a bad end to Lampard's career to emulate that achievement.

Passport to mayhem

Twenty20 was supposed to be about the fans, so what were the authorities doing calling off Yorkshire's match against Durham minutes before it was due to start on Monday? Was any thought given to the paying punters at Chester-le-Street? I doubt it.

All this fuss turned out to be about a boy, Azeem Rafiq, who captained England at both Under-15 and Under-16 level but has to be treated as an overseas player in county cricket.

He has a National Insurance Number and permanent right to remain here but the absence of a British passport affects him and, of course, Monday's crowd.

What a farce. And a clear warning to football of the malign bureaucratic consequences of putting quotas on foreign players as FIFA and UEFA propose.