Roger Moore scores: World Cup Saints XI

The thing about having a birthday in May is that it usually passes without football related gifts. The new kit is always at least two months away and the impending season-finale sale has yet to start (save for in the mind of Gary Richardson who once told me Southampton always stage their end of season party on September 1st).

There was a time three years back when among the tasteless, sycophantic and downright abusive cards, there nestled a ticket for the FA Cup Final, but that apart birthdays in the Moore household are on the whole football free.

That is, of course, only true for the three years between the greatest sporting events on earth. For when a World Cup looms, the opportunity to solve the present conundrum is answered all too easily with a red shirt, a flag of St. George and the ubiquitous World Cup Guide.

This year's guide – courtesy of Mrs Moore senior – is the BBC variant and great bathroom reading it is too. According to the BBC's calculations (and I'm hoping this was more scientific than an argument across a Wood Lane wine bar), Frank Lampard is officially the best footballer in the world, while Thierry Henry only scrapes into the top five.

Conjecture and statistics aside, though, I've been left with a strange feeling from my frequent page scanning (well, you don't actually read a World Cup Guide do you?). And that is the sense that Southampton players past and present could actually make up an entire team at the finals.

And here's how:

In goal, in a cap, is America's answer to Peter Bonetti – Kasey Keller. OK, he flaps almost as much as the Tower of London's Ravens, but it would be a harsher man than me who criticised his brief stint on the south coast. In fact, for his match-winning save against the old enemy alone, he makes the starting eleven.

In front of Kasey, I'm afraid the line-up is a little attack-minded. But then, let's be honest, no-one wins a World Cup by throwing Owen Hargreaves on with five minutes remaining – well no-one except a turnip, or is that a Swede?

So forget 4-4-2, this is a 2-4-4 designed to score their way to glory. At right back, if a little light-weight, is our old friend Mikael Nilsson of Sweden (with the mighty Alexander Ostlund on standby). For his pace and flowing locks he has enough to keep out most strikers.

And on the left is the other injury-free Wayne, our old mate Bridgey. There may be much water that passes beneath this Bridge, but there's few attackers quick and ugly enough to get buy arguably the world's third best left-back behind Cole and Carlos.

Midfield dynamos

In midfield, we throw in young Kenwyne Jones, the first from our current crop of world-class players. Kenny's actually an international in two countries – Trinidad and Tobago – and while he's more commonly used up-front for us, he's actually listed and played in midfield by his national coach, Leo Beenhakker.

He takes a central berth alongside former darling of our female fans, Anders Svensson – a man whose creative genius was visible during Steve Wigley's brief managerial stint. From Anders (the thinking man's Freddie Ljungberg) we can expect probing balls into the channels for our two lightning wingers to attack.

On the left, it's Luis Boa Morte, conclusive proof that Glenn Hoddle can no more manage players than I can juggle Indian elephants. Boa Morte, a revelation for Fulham in recent seasons, is the Portuguese winger who proves that speed kills.

He may lack the trickery of Ronaldo (the imposter, not the tubby Madrid front-man), but his blistering pace keeps opposition defenders behind the half-way line. On the right, Kamil Kosowski supplies the one vital ingredient for every team in Germany this summer, an Alice band.

Attack, Attack

Up front, well, here we really are spoilt for choice. First it's the much maligned Augustin Delgado. He plays for Ecuador, although some have him in the Sciatica squad, and let us not forget this is a man who single-handedly beat Arsenal. If you can find him, maybe you can hire Delgado for this A-team.

In the hole, but looking out, is the imperious neo-giant, the one and only Peter Robot. Forget the idea of using Crouch (has there ever been a less appropriately named footballer, other perhaps than Stefan Kuntz?) as a target man unless you're planning on archery.

Peter's no header of a football, something that seems to have escaped every pundit from here to the Allianz Arena. While they insist he's the route one option, he's actually one of the most skilful players in the side. Forget his head, that's just there for insurance.

Our prize header is Gregorz Rasiak who will play the Emile Heskey role. Gregorz is a reasonable striker with his legal limbs but far better when using his bonce to direct the ball goal-ward, or better still to flick on to our star-man, or rather boy.

Yes, leading the line and creating more headlines than a certain Edson Arantes do Nascimento when he took the world-cup by storm also aged 17, is Henry's understudy, Theo the magnificent.

Forget Roberto Carlos, William Gallas, John Terry and Paulo Maldini, there's not a defender on earth who can reach Mach 2. Tackle Walcott? My guess is they won't see him, let alone get a foot on him.

So there you have it, a team of world class footballers you, my fellow Saint, have had the pleasure of watching these past five years. Players who, despite their nation's colours, could walk into Olympiastadion and the history of the biggest sporting spectacle on earth, wearing red and white.

It might not be the trophy you dreamt of our hero lifting, but after 30 years of hurt, this fan is still believing.

To all the Saints, old and new, at the 2006 World Cup, viel Glück!

Roger's line-up - 2-4-4

Keller
Nilsson, Bridge
Kosowski, A. Svensson, Jones, Boa Morte
Rasiak, Walcott, Crouch, Delgado