David Ngog

Growing up I always had a favourite footballer. When I got my Panini sticker album in the spring of 1989, the beaming smile of John Barnes shone out of one of my first packets and Liverpool and Barnes were adopted as my team and player of choice. Barnes' brilliance seems to be forgotten thing with his portly belly, inability to be a lucid pundit and even greater inability to manage a football team now being what he is known for. But, in the late 80s when Liverpool were the greatest team in Britain, Barnes was the greatest player in Britain. Everything Liverpool did went through Barnes in the same way everything Manchester United did went for Ronaldo a couple of seasons back.

After injury, weight-gain and retirement Robbie Fowler became my new favourite. His five goal haul against Fulham early in his career grabbed my attention and imagination. This was followed by an incredible four and half minute hat-trick against Arsenal; I was listening to the game on my personal stereo on a family car journey to Devon and my dad refused to believe my repeated claims that Robbie had scored again. Sadly, Robbie went much the same way as Barnes with injury and weight-gain hampering his ability to thrill the crowds. I still follow his progress: he made his debut for Australian A-League side Perth Glory on Friday, but he failed to find the net in a 3-3 draw and I fear the magic of Fowler is something that rarely flickers any longer.

Last season was the first season I didn't have a favourite player playing in England. I had to rely on early Saturday morning internet sessions following Fowler's progress and that is no way to your life. So, this season I have chosen a new favourite player: David Ngog. He fits the bill perfectly: his first name begins with D - in fact he shares my first name; he plays for Liverpool, and he's a striker, so the glory days are sure to come. On Sunday 23rd of May I wrote 'Davids: An Ode to England Internationals Called David in the Last Twenty Years'. There were many greats: Beckham, Seaman, Platt, James and er... Batty. The poem ended with a line questioning whether he (David James) could, "be the second David to grasp the Jules Rimet in his paws". The World Cup ended horribly and sourly for England and the giant-haired stopper got his fingers nowhere near the World Cup, but whilst it was a disaster for this David, it was actually a triumph for Davids in general as rather than one David joining Trezeguet in the list of Davids to have won the World Cup, two did: David Villa and David Silva. If this is not proof that it is the year for Davids to walk onto football pitches with their heads held high, then what is? David Villa outshone his striking partner Fernando Torres by a considerable margin and it is my belief that Ngog will do exactly that for Liverpool this season. Would anyone like a wager that Ngog will outscore the once-mighty El Nino? Beware, Ngog is already 3-0 up having scored three in two games against Europa opponents Rabotnicki.

This wonderful news for footballing Davids will gladden the hearts of the other eleven Davids plying their trade in the Premiership: Dunn and Hoilett (Blackburn Rovers), Elm and Stockdale (Fulham), Kitson (Stoke), Healy and Meyler (Sunderland), Bentley (Spurs), Edwards and Jones (Wolves) and Silva (Man City), but more than that it gladdens my heart as I too will return to regular footballing action this year. My team CCK (Church of Christ King) have only rarely called on my services of late for the main reason that I'm not really as good as most of the other players, but this year a second team has been launched and I anticipate far more action. In fact I would go as far as to say that I anticipate scoring more goals than Fernando Torres myself this season. You might think that sounds like a foolish boast from someone who has never scored more than six goals in a season and you would probably be right, but my fierce fervour for success of Davids taking the field of play knows nothing of the bounds of realism. Let's bring back the days when a team of Davids would have Beckham and Ginola supplying wonderful balls onto the head of Hirst; when a moustachioed Seaman would keep the goal safe from players with inferior names; when the Everton trio of Watson, Unsworth and Weir would crush opponents' hearts between their bare teeth. David Ngog, Davids everywhere, your time has come.