At first, I was taken aback somewhat. This may have been the most talked about transfer for the past year or so, but it was still something of a surprise to hear that the world's best player was finally leaving our Premier League champions.

For the past few months, radio bulletins have focused on the saga of MPs' expenses and the resultant struggles of our Prime Minister, but this particular morning, such woes at No 10 were being relegated down the newslists. Mr Brown, it seemed, would be able to take a breather... at least for a few hours.

However, my initial shock in hearing that Manchester United had finally bowed down to the constant wooing from the Spanish giants, was soon usurped with a sense of amazement at the huge price tag... '£80m? Did I hear that right? £80m? surely not? £80m? that is ridiculous...'

But even such feelings of awe were draining by the time I made my way into the office. Indeed, the over-riding emotion as I sat at my desk and switched on Sky Sports News was one of relief, huge relief.

It had already started, of course. Within five minutes of turning on the TV, I had heard from at least three different 'experts' giving their verdicts on 'Why is Ronaldo going?', 'Is it good business for United?', 'Who will Fergie buy as his replacement?', 'Will he get all the cash to spend?'... I half expected the next question to be something along the lines of 'What did Ronaldo have for breakfast this morning?' or 'Is it true he now wears white underpants instead of red?'

I am a big fan of Sky Sports and Sky Sports News.

Their coverage has transformed the way we watch sport on TV.

Quite rightly, they were covering the story thoroughly and again, quite rightly, the Yorkshire Post too carried decent column inches on what is quite simply the biggest transfer involving an English club since a certain Mr Beckham first trod the golden path from Manchester to Madrid.

However, as the day progressed even I grew weary of seeing yet another former Manchester United 'great' positioned in front of the Old Trafford ground being asked the same old questions as the bloke before.

We even saw images of the man himself, bronzed and relaxed donning a baseball cap and shopping in Los Angeles. American TV crews tried to tempt him into talking by asking if he had 'brought his buddies along to keep him entertained'.

Ronaldo resisted such tough questioning and went about his business. The footage would be repeated throughout the day and once UEFA president Michel Platini had come out with his criticism of the 'excessive' fee, then there was really little or nothing that anyone else could have said or done to complete the package. Everyone, it seemed, had had their say.

My feelings of relief, however, were still very much evident as I made my way home that evening.

Relief that the worst was over. Relief that we had been spared another summer of 'will he, won't he?' Relief that I would not have to sit there and listen to those 'experts' harping on week after week about Ronaldo possibly going... or staying.

Much in the same way that Gareth Barry's move to Manchester City had saved us from the boredom of yet another 'will he go to Liverpool?' drama, we now know that Ronaldo will be playing in Spain next season for the 2009 class of Galacticos at the Bernabeu.

Yes £80m is a lot, especially when you think the prospective new owners of Premier League Portsmouth are only spending £60m in their purchase of an entire club, but there is little doubt Ronaldo will be worth every Euro to the Spanish giants, who will not only recoup much of the outlay on shirt sales and the like, but will once again be able to boast they have the world's best in their line-up.

From a football perspective, Manchester United, and indeed the Premier League, will be much the poorer for Ronaldo's departure and as for our friends at Sky, they will probably revert back to covering every cough and sneeze from our Geordie chums at Newcastle.

But Ronaldo won't stay out of the headlines for too long. Expect the bandwagon to roll on with pictures of his medical, to shots of him juggling footballs donned all in white, to footage of him in a friendly somewhere in America or Asia being mobbed by crazy supporters.

No, this is not the last we will see of Ronaldo, but at least we know where his future lies.

He is going to be a Real Madrid player, there can be no more argument or 'expert' opinion, and for that we can be truly thankful.


Getting new perspective through a child's eyes

OKAY, I hold my hands up and admit I was wrong.

Twenty20 cricket is actually a very entertaining form of the game and so much more than simple hit and hope, wham, bam, let's try and hit it as far as we can.

Up until a couple of weeks ago I would look forward to the T20 part of the season with about as much anticipation as I would a wet weekend in Wales. To coin a phrase, for me it just wasn't cricket.

I had been brought up on the three-day, and then four-day game of county cricket and had also enjoyed the odd 50-over Nat West or 40-over Sunday League encounter, but Twenty20 seemed a step too far and for years I had turned my back on it.

That was until my five-year-old son Ben asked if I could take him to a cricket match and suddenly a whole new part of the sport I love opened up to me. As that guy in the Fast Show would say... "Twenty20... It's brilliant!!!"

Yorkshire lost to Lancashire in the game we went to but, in truth, the result did not matter. To see so many children enjoying the game at what was a packed Headingley gave me a real thrill.

Okay, so there will always be the minority of idiots who look to spoil matters by getting so drunk they suddenly think it would be really funny if they run across the pitch, but, on the whole, the afternoon was a thoroughly enjoyable experience for all concerned (that is, apart from that poor pigeon, of course, who was killed by a direct hit from Jacques Rudolph).

Ben took in enough of the action to ask if he could go again and we have both been watching the World T20 matches on TV with a renewed interest.

A tournament I initially thought was little more than a distraction ahead of the Ashes has become 'must-see' TV in our house and for the first time I actually understand the pull that this shortened version of the game has on people.

It may have started as a crash, bang, wallop, having a laugh kind of encounter, but you try telling the brilliant South Africans that this is only a bit of fun. To be a T20 player, you have to be at the top of your game, a quick-scoring batsman, an accurate bowler and an agile fielder.

Now who wouldn't want to watch an afternoon of action involving players with such impressive qualities?

It was great to see the many thousands of Indian and Pakistani fans packing into Lord's last week and not to mention Trent Bridge and the Oval being full to bursting for many of the World Cup matches.

Yes, the Ashes will still be this summer's cricketing highlight, and no T20 cannot match the Test arena for sheer drama and intrigue, but what T20 does do is introduce a whole new audience who perhaps one day will learn to enjoy the finer aspects of the sport.


Murray to provide a winning tribute?

At some stage later today I will set about putting together the Yorkshire Post's Wimbledon 2009 preview special.

I will probably have a long chat with our respected tennis correspondent Reginald Brace, pictured below, who is preparing himself for what will be the 50th Wimbledon he has covered for the newspaper.

You can bet your last punnet of strawberries that somewhere in the pull-out we will pose the question of whether Nadal can beat Federer, there will need to be a mention of the new roof, the women will, of course, be featured and we will have to find space for the full draw.

But what else?

Ah, yes of course... Can Andy Murray win Wimbledon?

In the five years I have been sports editor, the question has only been altered once – from Henman to Murray – but since Virginia Wade beat Betty Stove in 1977, the burden of being Britain's best hope of winning a Wimbledon singles title has passed from one unlucky player to the next.

The last British man to reach the final was Bunny Austin, who lost 6-1, 6-0, 6-3 to Don Budge in 1938.

Indeed, the last male winner was two years before that when the late, great Fred Perry won the last of his three consecutive titles.

Since then, we have struggled somewhat to reach such dizzy heights and over the past 70 or so years our dreams have rarely promised to become a reality.

If only the rain had not intervened during Tim Henman's semi-final against Goran Ivanisevic in 2001, then maybe things would have been different. Timmy was looking good, the Croat almost a beaten man, and a final with Pat Rafter would surely have held little fear for the thousands sat upon Henman Hill.

Henman, of course, was blown away when they returned from the rain break and while his regular forays to the semi-finals were hearty, they were also heart-breaking and served only to remind us of just how long it has been for a home-grown hero to lift the winner's trophy.

The burden of expectation is now firmly placed upon the shoulders of one man, a Scotsman with an attitude and a healthy will, not just to compete, but to actually win.

No 3 in the world and playing some of the best tennis of his short career, you might think that Murray would want to ease the burden somewhat by hiding away and warming-up abroad, away from the Wimbledon glare.

But no. Instead, he turns up and wins at Queen's, serving better, smashing the ball harder and playing the most astonishingly brilliant tennis so that even the most negative doom-sayers might just start believing.

And what better time to finally end the wait than in the year that would have seen Perry's 100th birthday last month?

Surely, this is going to be the year of the Brit.


Break out the barbie for big kick-off

THE barbecue is ready, the beer is cooling in the fridge and I have even set up the spare TV in the conservatory so I can watch it from the garden sun lounger.

I have been waiting almost two years to the day for this moment and am determined to enjoy it because nothing quite beats watching an England football team play in a major summer championships.

When Stuart Pearce's Under-21s line up to do battle against Finland later today it will be the first time an English national side has taken the field in a tournament since the drama of the 2007 Under-21 European Championships, and I can't wait for the action to start.

Of course, back on June 20, 2007 as Anton Ferdinand smashed his spot kick against the bar to give hosts Holland safe passage through the final after an epic 13-12 penalty shoot-out, we were all still hopeful of seeing the big boys play a summer later in the Euro 2008 championships.

We still had dreams of seeing Steve McClaren's side running out against the cream of the European crop in either Switzerland or Austria. Yes, we were gutted by yet another penalty shoot-out defeat, but at least we had Euro 2008 to look forward to didn't we? Didn't we?

Well, er, no we didn't actually and failure to be involved at all last summer was tough to accept, especially when we saw just how poor the two host nations were.

So after a summer of feeling somewhat left out, here we are again with some international summer tournament football to watch and what a feast of entertainment it promises to be.

Pearce's boys certainly have a lot of quality and they are going to need it if they are going to get past the likes of Spain and Germany who lie in wait after today's opener with the Fins.

And should this end in tears just as it did two years ago, then at least this time we will be able to look forward to next summer and the 2010 World Cup with more realistic ambition of actually being involved this time.