Mr Smith's Trip to Various Sporting Outlets

One day, whilst searching for some suitable footballing footwear, I chanced upon a sports outlet known as 'Sportsworld'. Upon entering this monument to vitality and good health I found myself flanked by two rather skinny young men positioned - I presumed - as some kind of deterrent to the would be thief. They offered no greeting but I still loudly wished them "Good day!" as I strolled by.

The store itself was a mess that I had not experienced since 'Nam. It was the Debenhams winter sale of 1986 and the chaos caused by a few hundred housewives out for a bargain was harrowing. Still, not to worry. The store index informed me that I would have to undertake a journey to the first floor in order to quench my footballing thirst. Being a keen fan of the beautiful game as I am, it was a journey I was all too happy to make.

Having reached my destination, my magpie-like skill for picking out high quality, not to mention high class, footballing equipment once again revealed itself. The adidas Copa Mundial was perched high upon the shelf. It is a boot for the thinking footballer, not for the slack jawed convicts of this world (Joesph Barton).

I turned around, looking for some kind of assistant who could aid me in my quest for these boots. I spied a tracksuited man and beckoned him over with a clear, high volume call of "Hello! Could you aid me, good sir?". In order to convince him to help me own these boots, I realised that first I would have to build a bond so strong that he would do anything he possibly could, even give up his life, in the name of getting the precious Copa Mundials. "My good man", I said, "You look like a fellow who is comfortably in the loop. I need you to do me a favour and if you can perform this task then it is one that you may call in whenever you like. I require the adidas Copa Mundial boot, size eleven. Is it possible that you can find it?" In return, he shuffled his feet, looked down and mumbled something about "going round the back". Despite the fact that nobody had said that to me since my days in the Navy, I felt sure a strong bond had been secured between myself and the anonymous assistant.

The two minutes for which he was gone were two of the longest of my life. I watched my fellow customers trying on all manner of shiny plastic boots, some with fins and go-faster stripes which, frankly, I doubted increased the velocity of the wearer. Out of the corner of my eye I saw my new found ally approaching me, empty handed. "Sorry, we don't have any" he muttered at a volume scarcely audible to a bat, let alone a man of my age. I queried whether he had done everything within his power to locate our quarry, to which he replied that he had and a delivery was being made on Friday that may contain the Mundials. I asked him to monitor the situation, certain that a bond had been built to the extent that he would be calling every supplier he could to secure my prize.

Friday came, and my anonymous ally had failed me. He was not even at the store when I arrived and I feared that he may have been compromised. I ditched him and soon came to pass the sports outlet JJB Sports. Having the detailed knowledge of British retail and football that I have earned by reading the Financial Times and FourFourTwo, often at the same time, I knew that the owner of JJB Sports was Dave Whelan, who also had a football stadium named after him. Having lived my life by the maxim that anyone named Dave was worthy of my trust, allied to his being a football stadium, I felt certain a man of Whelan's razor sharp intelligence and football understanding would ensure his stores were fully stocked with Copa Mundials at all times. I entered the shop.

Again, I greeted the shop workers heartily and soon summoned over an aid after finding the Mundial glistening on the shelf. I impressed upon her just how important it was that I find these boots and hoped she would join me in my quest. "I'll just go and check", she replied, which was not the boots-or-death response I had been hoping for. However, my optimism in Dave Whelan, that icon of football, left me certain that I would have the boots in my possession within the next ten minutes. Alas, I was again left disappointed. Again, there were no size elevens and again there was a delivery on Friday. She advised me to buy them from the JJB website but after receiving a Malaysian bride from a website after I specifically requested Thai only I can never trust www. again. That sort of thing just isn't right.

I passed on my details to the assistant, asking her to survey the every movement of the Copa Mundial stock and to keep a record, updating me every four hours. I received a strange look and she said something unintelligible. I presumed she was talking in code so I left encouraged.

Weeks passed with no reports. I received no response when I phoned the store so I presumed she had also been compromised. I found a small sports shop in Sutton and phoned them up. "Hello there sir. I have been on quite a journey and hope you can sort me out. I wish to purchase the adidas Copa Mundial in a size eleven and am willing to pay any price. Let's do a deal". I was swiftly informed that they didn't sell the Mundial and did not appreciate my response that I would visit their store and "sort them all out". I was left broken. I had lost two newfound allies and even the small, local sports store had abandoned me.

Having lost all hope and all friends, I gave in. The Holy Grail of the adidas Copa Mundial was not to be mine, not for now at least. I purchased a pair of plastic Nike boots, deciding to bide my time and watch from afar. This was not to be the last of this particular quest.

Espana, Winners of 2010 - Already

The Spanish have had a 2010 to forget. What with Rafael Nadal retiring from the Australian Open and neither Real Madrid or Barcelona managing to get to a European Cup Final held at the Bernabeu, only the consolations of the successes of Nadal at the French Open and Wimbledon and the victory of the Spanish national team at the football World Cup remain.

Both Nadal and the Spanish football team dominate their respective arenas. Nadal is a physical phenom who also has mental strength that is almost beyond belief, allied to an excellent serve and backhand not to mention a forehand that must be seen to be believed. The Spanish NT have a style that is adored by the purists and singular players that are considered the best in their respective positions - Xavi, Iniesta, Villa, Puyol and even their captain, Casillas.

Nadal scored the first major successes for Spain in 2010, reclaiming his French Open crown with a dominance that made it seem as if he had mistakenly been entered into the boy's French Open. The spin and bounce that his high forehand produces pushes everyone far behind the baseline, forcing them into defence and allowing him to win easy points. His Wimbledon title, which in his mind he was defending after being forced to miss the 2009 championships with injury, was more difficult. He was taken to five sets twice and had to produce his absolute best tennis to beat Andy Murray in the semi-final. His demolition of Tomas Berdych in the final was not perhaps the greatest exhibition of tennis but it was a masterclass in mental strength and control. After the first six games would go to serve with little drama bar the odd break point, Nadal would raise his game to a level that Berdych could not sustain. The final was won in three sets, Nadal confirming his status as the number one tennis player in the world and possibly one of the greatest ever. Pundits predicted that he would go on to dominate in a similar vein to Federer, even while Federer still remains on a tennis court.

The Spanish NT play with a style that they call 'tiki-taki', which basically means that they keep the ball with quick, short passes, probing and waiting for the right moment to strike, although they are not averse to a counter attack should the opportune moment present itself. This style has been praised by many, especially English journalists who are used to seeing their players aimlessly smash the ball forward as well as playing 'Hollywood' balls from one side of the pitch to the other. As one journalist whose name I do not actually know said, possibly, when asked why the English players failed when they did so well for their clubs "At their clubs they have Fernando Torres and Didier Drogba to pass to". Quite.

Despite losing their first game to Switzerland where Spain were as poor as I have seen them in quite some time, Spain went on to claim the World Cup, conceding just two goals in the process. Despite Fernando Torres being generally awful, from missing open goals to getting injured in the final minute of the World Cup, Spain managed to win the Cup without being at their best. After switching to a 4-3-3 that better fitted the sensibilities of the players, a Spanish victory looked ominous. They might not have been beating teams like Argentina 4-0 but there was a something inevitable in how they were able to control games and always looked more likely to score. Like Nadal, they had the ability to wow the crowd and at many moments they did just that, but when crunch time came they were able to up their game. Their performance raised as their opponent's level did. Although it can be argued that the Netherlands had the better chances in the first ninety minutes of the final, Spain saved those chances, the Dutch did not miss.

In essence, an incredible Spanish sporting summer, crowned by the first ever Spanish World Cup win, can be summed up as follows - sometimes exhilarating, always excellent and never lacking in belief, confidence or motivation. It has been a staggering show of what is required at the top level, doing what nobody else can do some of the time, doing what everyone can do better than them most of the time and believing in your ability to do so all of the time.

enhorabuena, Espana!