Ole Gunnar Solskjaer seemed the perfect choice for Aston Villa as their new manager.

Young, bright, determined, keen to build something and — crucially — with no known association with Birmingham City, he was clearly streets ahead of the other candidates for the job.

After meeting him last week, the Villa owner Randy Lerner must have thought his problems were over: this is a man as impressive in conversation as he was on a football pitch. Sharp, clever, decisive, he also - as he demonstrated leading Molde to their first ever Norwegian championship in his first season in charge - knows how to

Without doubt, the calmest man in the maelstrom stew of nerves and emotions on the touchline of the Allianz Arena tomorrow night will be Roberto Di Matteo. That slight smile that gives him the appearance of a Bond villain will play across his lips as he walks out with his Chelsea team; enigmatic, inscrutable, unperturbed. Someone really should give him a white cat to stroke as he sits in the dug out.

It is quite a trick he pulls off given the pressure he must be under. This is Chelsea, the biggest vanity project in football, the vehicle that is supposed to deliver status and meaning to the

In Sweden they must barely be able to contain the laughter. In France, you imagine the footage of John Terry stumbling around the Anfield pitch like a drunk on a wedding dancefloor is playing on a continuous loop on Laurent Blanc's laptop.

Even Andrei Shevchenko and his Ukraine team-mates must have taken one look at the England squad and thought: well, there's a relief; at least with this lot around we won't be finishing bottom of the group in our own tournament.

Rarely can there have been a thinner, frailer, less impressive England squad than the one Roy Hodgson announced this lunchtime.

With the kind of timing publishers must dread, this month sees the release of Colin Shindler's latest memoir.

The author sold an awful lot of copies of his earlier tale, "Manchester United Ruined My Life", which was released well over a decade ago. It was a book which suggested that, in its rapacious, commercially-driven quest for monopoly, the Old Trafford operation was driving much of the joy out of football.

As a City supporter, Shindler might be expected to think that. But his tome was nicely argued, fluent and funny and found plenty who agreed with its critique of the rapacious red menace

An odd consensus emerged on Monday night after Blackburn were relegated to the Championship. On phone-ins and chat rooms, in newspaper columns and social media one opinion was raised above the others: it was all the fans' fault. Not getting behind the team at a crucial time of the season, bickering about incidentals when the important things required their full attention, having ideas above their station: these were some of the charges on the sheet. As they expressed their anger about the club's ownership and management, the Ewood faithful were widely accused of faithlessness. And thus got

Three days into the job and Roy Hodgson must already wonder what it is he has let himself in for.

There he was much admired at the Hawthorns, doing a sterling job turning West Bromwich into Premier League regulars, quietly and assiduously repairing the damage to his reputation that was inflicted by six months on Merseyside. Then he takes the England job and immediately discovers quite what a dangerous parapet it is over which he has just stuck his head. Flak which might decapitate a lesser man has been fired relentlessly in his direction.

The Sun in particular seems to have had it against him

You don't have to see life through Niall Quinn's sky-blue-tinted disco specs to appreciate this truth about last night's Premier League showdown: the better team won. And, as a result, the best team in the country is heading for the title.

Forget Roberto Mancini's comical insistence that Manchester United are still the favourites. After the performance the men in red gave at the Etihad stadium, the idea they are favourites for anything beyond a dash to the knackers' yard is fanciful. It is not hard, watching the conviction and confidence stream through the veins of the City players in the

Bayern celebrate in front of their home fans - but only 17,500 will get tickets for the finalSo much for assumption. So much for fixes. So much for hot balls. From the moment the draw for the quarter and semi-finals of the Champions League was made it appeared certain that Barcelona would play Real Madrid in the final on May 19. So certain was it, there were those of us moved to suggest it suited UEFA's purpose that things turned out that way.

But destiny turns out not to have been at work after all. There is to be no El Clasico in Bavaria. In a brilliant piece of gate-crashing, Chelsea and Bayern Munich are going to be there instead. And who is to deny, after two of the most dramatic