Poor Michael Owen. Only two or three years ago he was England's best striker and a racing certainty to surpass Bobby Charlton's 49 goal tally. Now he's not even a racing certainty to be picked ahead of Sir Bobby for the England squad.
Which is probably why his management company has circulated a 34-page brochure of the pint-sized injury crisis to eight Premiership clubs, hoping to convince them that he's worth a spot on their massage table.
The brochure - which unlike Paula Radcliffe, has disappointingly yet to leak online - apparently claims the striker is "good looking", "charismatic" and "fit and healthy", all of which are patently untrue, unless the looks of a 12-year-old pre-pubescent boy floats your boat (and if they do, I don't want to know).
Apparently, my beloved West Ham are among the clubs who found the brochure on the doormat. I hope they give it a good read as (a) I have a sneaking suspicion that Owen might still have a decent couple of seasons left in him; and (b) Dean Ashton needs some company in the sick room.
(Picture lifted from the excellent and (hopefully) entirely unlitigious When Saturday Comes)
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