In the crazed transfer trolley dash, the next glossy off-the-shelf solution is all the rage | Jonathan Wilson

The footballing world, barely pausing for breath after the domestic season's climax, has already plunged headlong into the annual maelstrom of the transfer window. At this nascent stage, it exists in a realm far removed from the gritty realities of the pitch. It is, in essence, pure fan fiction. This is the period where supporters, freed from the constraints of form, injury, or indeed, the actual negotiating power of their club, can indulge in elaborate 'what-if' scenarios. What if Dr Frankenstein had turned up at Pemberley? What if Akela was not just a wolf but a werewolf? What if famous and attractive Tennis Player X were having a fling with famous and attractive Tennis Player Y? And, perhaps most pertinently for the red half of North London, what if Arsenal actually signed a centre-forward of genuine world-class pedigree this summer?