Who can argue about these two being recognised? Perhaps only Jose Mourinho, presumably in the deepest mard Rome has seen since Tiberius and now considering a spiteful retirement to fast-track his application, or at least a Wikipedia edit which makes him goalkeeper of the 2003/04 team of the season. He died so we may live, and can enjoy more delicious content. Imagine being the poor photographer who had to coax that out of him. Wenger benignly displayed his commemorative medallion and limited edition presentational box, Ferguson pointed to his watch. No mention was made about managers until ethereal promo shots arrived this week of Arsene Wenger and Sir Alex Ferguson looking like they had just been ripped out of Fifa Ultimate Team packs. Have you made more than 200 appearances for the same club? Have you appeared in a team of the season? Have you won the golden boot or glove award for most clean sheets, which if applied for every Premier League season makes Fiji’s goalkeeper coach Bobby Mimms eligible? Have you shaken hands or been on a Zoom with Richard Scudamore? Consider yourself longlisted. You may ascend to Stockley Park Walhalla if retired with a minimum of 250 appearances, but can also sneak in via a number of premium backdoors. The criteria for entry are both exacting and numerous.

Such status depends on public buy-in, which brings us to the Premier League hall of fame, a two-year-old idea as bland and airless now as it was when hatched. The Grammys is the Oscars of music, Crufts is the Oscars of dogs jumping over poles, the World Latte Art Championships is the Oscars of both caffeinated creativity and utter futility.

Now, when Will Smith isn’t punching anyone, the Oscars are a byword for extravagant prestige. The ceremony lasted a total of 15 minutes. At the first Oscars in 1929 guests paid $5 for a ticket, ate a dinner of half-broiled chicken on toast then watched awards given to winners who had been announced three months earlier.

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