There’s nothing I like more than a bit of a footy match myself. I often go down to Hillsborough Park of a Sunday and try to get involved in as many games as possible in the position that only a big black Labrador or Serbo-Croat centre half can play – that of the big stopper.

It is at these particular moments that the youth of Hillsborough come out with the sort of words I only hear when my Dad’s not allowed to watch the teletext footy page in peace, or Paul Danson is refereeing a Wednesday v L**ds game.

Talking about the lovely Dejan, we’ve all heard the story that he was purchased only as a pal for Darko K. Indeed his lacklustre performances at left back supported this. But since he’s played in his natural position at centre half he became a favourite of mine over the last season.

My information goes further, it’s the sort of thing you find out by keeping your nose firmly to the ground on Wadley Common – and meeting such celebrities as Steve Nicol’s pack of a donkey and several orbiting canines.

So the story goes, Wednesday were due to sign the Beast of Barcelona himself – the great Nadal. Everything had been set up, including an interpreter and the purchase of a job lot of Spanish/English phrase books from the co-op travel agents in Hillsborough. Alas the deal fell through, largely because of the insistence that the Wednesday in addition to high wages pick up Nadal’s weekly hair dressing bill. The jewelled on turned his attention east and Dej became an Owl.

This is where the story takes off. Following a three hour board meeting and in a bid to save a few bob, the club purchased a set of Serbo-Croat/Spanish dictionaries. Dej, the trotting one, could therefore first translate his native tongue into Spanish and then from Spanish to English.

The result can be heard by anyone sitting in the front rows of the stand. Dej has picked up a selection of random phrases that many of us have used to try and order beer on French Eurocamp holidays. Challenging an offside decision with a linesman in last week’s game he shouted “My corduroys are mildew”. After the L**ds game he approached George Graham demanding “where can I purchase a fan belt for two for the evening”.
Alas who am I to judge? I can only bark. But bark I will do in my rovering reporter’s role to find the truth behind the big stories I pick up during my wanderings around Sheffield 6.