Världens mest osympatiske fotbollspelare?

After I established myself at right-back, our African defender Rigobert Song found himself out of the team and our previously healthy relationship instantly deteriorated.

One morning in training he was told I'd been called into the England squad after performing well at full-back.

There was a look of astonishment on Song's face - a bit like the one we used to give him when he claimed he was only 21.

He might as well have blurted out he thought I wasn't good enough for international football.

He strolled off to his French speaking friends and began talking to them. I could see him pointing towards me while everyone was grinning. It was clear what he was saying and the rage inside me simmered.

Later, Song walked on to the training pitch with a smile on his face. He was limping off it with a grimace an hour later. The first chance I got, I did him. Never have I hunted down a 50-50 tackle with greater appetite.

"You're not f***ing laughing now are you, you soft [moderated word]?" I said as he hobbled away.

Did I care he had a knock? No way. I don't remember him or anyone else in the squad for that matter trying to take the p*ss out of my ability again."

When my leg was broken in an horrific tackle by Lucas Neill in September 2003, my mates were ready to hunt him down if I gave the go-ahead.

A few weeks later I received a phone call. "You won't believe this, Jay. We're in the Trafford Centre and Lucas Neill is walking straight towards us. What do you reckon?"

Did I really want Neill to take a crack? "There's only one problem," added the voice. "Little Davey Thommo is with him."

That was that. I could hardly let one of my best mates, David Thompson, now a Blackburn player, become a witness to an assault. Besides he'd have recognised the attackers. The impromptu mission was aborted and I sent a text to Thommo telling him Neill should give him a hug of thanks.