THE news that Cristiano Ronaldo had bought his agent a Greek island can now be followed by my exclusive revelation that a Scottish player has purchased his representative a bus stop in Darvel. The Caledonian agent is thus certain to enjoy a place of seclusion, even solitude, untouched by the hubbub of the modern world, certainly untroubled by the noise of an approaching bus.

The Ronaldo gesture comes at a felicitous time. The richest, most hyped, most brash fitba’ league kicks off today. The Barclays Premier League is routinely known as the biggest and the best yet, of course, it only occasionally features the best team in Europe (three Champions League winners this millennium, Chelsea, Manchester United and Liverpool) and does not have the best players in the world as Mr Ronaldo and Mr Messi play in Spain.

The EPL remains something of a conundrum for the fitba’ fan. Many, like me, are growing increasingly resistant to its charms. Its fixture list can contain so much of the humdrum that it could be mistaken for a Saturday column. I am so addicted to live football that I have been known to smoke it but even I can turn down the Leicester v Stoke game that epitomises much of the EPL. It is understandable that the cable commentators jump on this sort of match as if it was a divine recreation of Real Madrid 1960 v Brazil 1970. It is their job. But the rest of us can take a more detached view.

England’s top league is like the top leagues in most respects, in that only a few teams can win it. It underachieves in Europe, certainly of late, but most interestingly it is reflected by a mediocre national team. The other big leagues of France, Italy, Spain and Germany have been represented on the national stage by World Cup winners. England have not produced a World Cup-winning team since 1066 or 1966, whenever it was. (Don’t you wish English commentators would remind us regularly when it happened?)

One reason for this is often advanced. There are too many foreigners in the EPL, it is claimed, thus impacting on the opportunities afforded to English players. This gives the impression that the solitary Englishman in the EPL is big Barry from Slough who is only getting a game with Bournemouth because it is his ball. The truth is, of course, that there are plenty of Englishmen who are attracting the sort of fees that prompt one to pray that EPL chairmen play poker and there is a game coming to a house near you. Connor Wickham has moved from Sunderland to Crystal Palace for £9m, including add-ons. This only makes economic sense if one of the add-ons is a Trident missile.

The truth about England’s non-achievement in national football may be more simple.

It could just be this: English footballers are not that good and have not been so for quite some time. It is forgotten that the English team did not qualify for the 1974 or 1978 World Cups at a time when there were few foreigners in the domestic league. It is forgotten, too, that the best performance since 1966 was a World Cup semi-final. One World Cup semi-final.

This is a record of failure that makes the Scottish Labour Party look like a sleek, sophisticated vote-winning machine. Yet the English player is routinely praised. One lot were called the Golden Generation. The irony is it never won any silverware. They were all top, top players until they put on the white jersey with three lions and then they were shown to have distinct limitations. The odes of praise composed for such as Steven Gerrard, Frank Lampard and Wayne Rooney would have embarrassed a love-struck teenage poet but it remains difficult even today to question the precise standing of these players.

Any scepticism to their ultimate brilliance is dismissed as the product of an old-fashioned mind. No one could suggest that they are bad players but they are indisputably performers who have not triumphed in international tournaments.

The brutal reality, too, is it does not matter for many. The players pocket the top wages, the clubs revel in the billions of pounds offered by the broadcasters, and the television companies attract their viewers. The danger, though, for the football fanatic is that we misinterpret what is occurring in front of our eyes. Just because it is called great, does not mean it is great. Just because the player is described as world class, does not mean he is.

The EPL has long ago taken on the mantle of being the most lucrative sporting brand outwith the USA. It is to be commended for that in strategic terms. But underneath the bluster there is the whisper of a quieter truth. This is a sport where money co-relates closely to the chances of achieving success. Yet England under-performs. This, of course, could be changed this season by an English club winning the Champions League and the national side triumphing in France. This would be a marvellous sporting double, however unlikely.

But its eventuality or otherwise means little in one respect: the money will continue to flow in and the level of hype will cause a change in weather systems.

Ah well, now off to buy the sports editor a small island. Or a pie in a puddle, as some describe it.