Wenger can see through Alex plot

Those interested in real mind games should know that this Wednesday marks the 40th anniversary of the night Cassius Clay first won the heavyweight title, stopping Sonny Liston in Miami.

The next day he became Muhammad Ali, and the social ramifications that attended the boxer's name change meant the world would never be quite the same.

But it's what preceded that fight, against a man so fearsome that many feared Clay might be maimed or even killed, that

Not content with wearing T-shirts with slogans about the 'ugly brown bear', Clay toured the States in a red bus filled with friends and camp followers. One night, he parked outside Liston's suburban house at 3am, driving the champ into a frenzy by waking him, his wife and the neighbours with his doggerel taunts.

Meanwhile, in the hour immediately before the fight, Clay pulled off what was, even by his

standards, a mind games masterstroke. Somehow, he feigned the symptoms of an incipient nervous breakdown (rolling eyeballs, very fast pulse, etc) well enough to fool the doctor, thus suckering Liston, once the news filtered to his dressing room, into even greater complacency.

Even now, some believe Liston quit on his stool, citing a damaged shoulder, having been paid to throw the fight. But given what the future revealed about Ali's genius for both mind games and boxing, it's more likely that he first out-psyched and then outfought the champion.

Nine years later in Zaire, that's precisely what he did to another apparently invincible, murderous brute. Once again, the doubters were working out the quickest route to the hospital.

And once again Ali's gift for playing on an opponent's insecurities helped him shake up the world, by knocking out George Foreman.

The thing about Ali - and I can't stress this point strongly enough - was that he was much, much smarter than those whose minds he wanted to play with.

Whereas Ferguson is to Wenger what Benny from Crossroads was to AJ Ayer.

There ends the lesson on the distinction between being a master of mind games and a spoilt, rancorous man.

The next time Ferguson comes out with his infantile drivel, let's hope that even the naives at Radio 5 Live treat it with the same droll contempt as Arsene Wenger himself.

Tim's not playing same old record

AT FIRST glance, Tim Henman's two most recent results confirm the usual suspicions. On Friday, he coolly brushed aside Roger Federer in straight sets. On Saturday, he tamely lost the semi-final of the tournament in Rotterdam 3-6, 3-6 to Lleyton Hewitt.

How typically quixotic, you'd be forgiven for thinking, of the bleeder to beat the world's top-ranked player one day and choke to a lower-ranked opponent the next. In fact, it wasn't that way at all. The most telling predictor of any tennis match is the head-to-head record. Tim went into this tournament with a 5-1 winning record against Federer, who doesn't like his aggressive servevolleying, and a 0-6 losing record against Hewitt, who apparently does.

Equally relevant was Hewitt's recovery from a dismal

2003. Since all sports demand a hate figure, this is excellent news. Better still, there are now five men - Hewitt, Federer, Andy Roddick, Juan Carlos Ferrero and Marat Safin - in serious contention to end the year as No1. All are in their early 20s, each has a completely different style from the others, and any pairing between them has a titanic quality that makes it unmissable.

Never in its history has men's tennis been stronger or more thrilling, or more depressing so far as Tim's chances of winning Wimbledon.

Joe wins, but he isn't too worldly

JOE CALZAGHE, we are often assured, is among the world's outstanding pound-for-pound fighters. If so, you can't help wonder how he has reached the age of 31 without ever fighting for a world title, preferring to cling to the meaningless super middleweight belt of the WBO, the sanctioning body of such grubby irrelevance that its 'W' is widely considered superfluous.

The chances are that, however strong his reputation within the game, you've barely heard of him and have never seen him fight. I'm not sure I had until Saturday, and after watching him huff and puff to beat Armenian Mger Mkrtchian - a fighter even more afraid of Calzaghe's right hand than of consonants - I doubt I will again.

Not unless, that is, that when he moves up to light heavyweight, Calzaghe fights for a world title sanctioned by the WBC, the WBA or, at a pinch, the IBF. As for the WBO, you can gauge the value of that belt from the fact that Mr Mkrtchian, its No1 contender, was rated No40 in the independent rankings.

Pleat's like Signor Caroli, in charge of clowns

ACCORDING to Sunday tabloid gossip, which you can take with a tube of Saxa or leave, Fabio Capello is the latest Italian coach to show real interest in the post of Tottenham Hotspur manager.

If Capello watched the latest hilarity at the Lane yesterday, he will surely wish to withdraw any application in favour of a fellow countryman. The fact that Francesco Caroli is 82-years-old and has no track record in football management isn't a problem.

Spurs acting caretaker David Pleat is of a similar age and, like Caroli, has never won a trophy. The vital thing is not just that Caroli is a legendary clown (a white face circus clown, to be exact), but that he has huge experience organising other clowns in the arts of falling over for no apparent reason, exhibiting baffling ignorance of other people's whereabouts, and, above all, making total fools of themselves for the pleasure of a paying public. The Spurs defence, in other words.

The good news is that yesterday's 4-4 draw with Leicester City, for all that Leicester would take on the Women's Institute Centenarians fourth XI as underdogs, suggested progress: Tottenham overcame the twin handicaps of a 3-1 half-time lead and a man advantage for most of the second half, and still somehow clung on for a point.

The bad news is that things will get harder when opponents decide to begin games with a maximum of 10 men.

On reflection, then - and this is not a sentiment I ever imagined writing - the board might as well confirm Pleaty as the longterm manager now.

Frankly, there are more than enough clowns at Spurs already. Sending in another, even one of Signor Caroli's stature, would be over-egging the custard pies.