Some interesting mileage on the Robbie Fowler debate.

I was casting my eye over a copy of the currant bun in the Horseshoe Cafe this morning when I got chatting to Ealing's version of Garth Crooks - you know, one of those highly intelligent, richly vocabulated footy musers who will respond to any question but sitting back, looking skywards, maybe shovelling a few more baked beans into the cake hole, before coming out with the sort of meandering and considered response that you'd expect of a parliamentary MP.

In the case of Fowler, "the most naturally gifted striker of a generation", the jury seems to be out.

Amid initial scoffing at the thought of one of the original Spice Boys returning to the Premier League and leaving either Roque Santa Cruz or Benni McCarthy with a splintered bottom, the facts actually seem to stack up in favour of the Toxteth-born hitman, who remains good friends with Liverpool supporters and Graeme Le Saux.

Okay, only four goals in the Championship for Cardiff last year, but it was an injury-ravaged season for the former England frontman. Prior to that, his record during a second stint at Liverpool was better than a goal in every two starts, as it was at Leeds and Liverpool again before that.

Indeed, it was only at Manchester City that he fell below that ratio, and you can probably blame that on having a strike partner of David James in matches against Middlesbrough.

And let's remember, it was only two years ago that many were calling for Fowler to be taken to Germany for the World Cup. Little did we know that Sven had a secret weapon of quite devastating untapped potential up his sleeve. And untapped (in an England shirt, at least), he remains.

But most of all, Fowler still has time on his side. At 33, he has seven years on Teddy Sheringham, and over three on someone like Brian McBride, who has only just said "have a nice day" to top-level football.

Paul Ince's first big move in Premier League transfer trickery could be a managerial masterstroke. Experience is the new youth; old is the new, err, new.

Fabio, old son, all of our problems are solved.

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