James Lawton: Security of Emirates empire depends on restoring twin pillars of Dein and Wenger

Putting aside all the time-expired emotion, and some rather laughable jingoism, Arsenal fans are faced with a very simple question of priorities.

Do they want to see their club slip any further away from the heart of the battle for the great trophies, while their Old Etonian chairman decides quite what sort of chap should be allowed to make the investment that would put them on a truly competitive footing with Chelsea, Manchester United and Liverpool - or do they want the quickest possible reinstatement of what was, by some distance, the best and most coherent working relationship in big-time football?

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David Dein, you have to suspect, was no more Peter Hill-Wood's ideal type of Arsenal director than the former vice-chairman's American ally Stan Kroenke but, with all due respect to the old marble halls and all that, it didn't matter a damn.

Dein, a once scuffling man of trade, or business if you like, who has made an immense amount of money out of the game, was Arsène Wenger's perfect sort of football chap. Not just because he was a passionate admirer of the Arsenal's manager's talent, but because Dein understood the workings of the modern game better than anyone else around.

Certainly more than Roman Abramovich, who seems ever more detached from the realities Dein embraced when he tempted Wenger away from Japan with the promise that he would help him to build a great football empire.

Dein made spectacularly good on his undertaking, moving and shaking so adroitly when Wenger identified another playing diamond in need only of a little polishing, and surely it is a no-brainer that he will return to his role when, and not if, Stan Kroenke takes over.

Kroenke, of course, wants Arsenal not because he has nursed dreams. He has analysed business potential and sees a sure-fire extension to his burgeoning sports empire. Wenger has genius - and Dein the practical instinct for how modern football works. In fact, Dein is less about modernity than common sense. If you have a top man, who has delivered trophies and superior quality for a decade, your imperative is to keep him sweetly content.

Go back as far as 50 years and the pattern is repeated time after time ... Busby, Shankly, Stein, Revie, Clough were winners because the directors, however hard it went against the instincts of local bigwigs, accepted that they had the knowledge and drive to get the job done.

As Arsenal's chairman talks airily of not needing a particular breed of chap, Manchester United and Liverpool are once again challenging for Europe's greatest prize. Their American owners, despite passionate opposition from the fans in the case of United, have shown a cool understanding of what is required. Sir Alex Ferguson has received the backing you might expect for a man of his achievement.

Rafael Benitez is promised support of a similar dimension.

With the departure of his friend Dein, Wenger has been obliged to play a clever, holding game but it is inconceivable their relationship will not be resumed in the near future.

Meanwhile, the Chelsea story continues to be a classic example of how to endanger the most dramatic levels of success.

For some reason - who knows, it may be no more mysterious than a desire to protect his hugely valuable contract - Mourinho is giving every indication that he wants to stay at Stamford Bridge despite a series of humiliations. But how long can Mourinho keep the show rolling on without submitting to a surge or two of pride? How can he work with any kind of equanimity while having his judgement publicly rejected in such fundamental matters as basic signing ambitions.

What Wenger and Dein achieved at Arsenal was more than an effective business partnership. It was a model of work distribution in football. Dein not only protected Wenger's back, he enabled his brilliance. He got the signings done and the new contracts signed, apart from Ashley Cole's, which was scarcely a hanging offence.

He was football's new man and if his type, in their slick efficiency and bottom-line hardness, does occasionally make you pine for the days of another sort of football director, you cannot expect a Wenger or a Ferguson to share the yearning. What they want is not droll characters who know more about the pick of the Burgundy vintage than the potential of Auxerre's left-back, but men who will work their contacts and make the right deals happen and, above all, respect a superior professional judgement.

This couldn't always be guaranteed by such old school directors as John Cobbold of Ipswich, an inspiration of the Hill-Wood family at Arsenal.

When Ipswich played Lazio in the Uefa Cup, some of the club directors were taken on a tour of the Vatican. A somewhat bossy guide was cross when chairman Cobbold, who claimed he was feeling the heat, said that, frankly, he rather needed a drink more than a visit to the Sistine Chapel. "Signor Cobbold," said the guide, "the Sistine Chapel has been an artistic wonder for 500 years." The chairman replied: "In that case, there's every chance it will be here tomorrow - now let's go to the nearest bar."

Happy days, no doubt, but gone, utterly, from the football calendar of the serial winners. Last week Arsenal made a rather feeble attempt to preserve an old and discredited culture. The reality is that they have no chance. Soon enough, they will be heading back to the future - with Arsène Wenger and David Dein reunited and leading the charge.

One lightning flash of Lara's genius enough to test any bowler's spirit

My colleague Angus Fraser's fine and generous tribute yesterday to the peerless retiree Brian Lara was all the more impressive if you had ever seen him toiling under the spell of the West Indian's genius.

Then you knew it was written with a mixture of noble sweat and blood.

One cameo bursting back to life was particularly vivid. It was of Fraser bowling with impeccable control and magnificent heart on a steamy morning in Lara's hometown, Port of Spain.

Fraser had made inroads into the early batting, sufficient certainly to give him some hope when he bowled his first ball to Lara. It was a fine delivery, not quite a jaffa but of excellent length and line.

What happened next would have diminished even a combination of Dennis Lillee and Michael Holding.

The ball flashed through extra cover with the sound of a rifle shot. Lara adjusted his helmet, tapped the pitch several times, and resumed his guard. Meanwhile, Fraser elected to deliver another ball. The decision was heroic.

Much less uplifting was the manner of Duncan Fletcher's departure as England coach. Instead of acknowledging that years of fine work in the re-establishing of his team as a force in Test cricket had entered a critical decline, that he had made a series of killing mistakes in judgement while presiding over a disastrous, indeed shameful tour of Australia and a pitiful effort in the World Cup, he whined that he was a victim of unfair criticism.

Still, this did seem to sum up the state of mind of himself and his team ever since the Ashes were so briefly recovered in a sea of hubris two years ago.

Some of the reaction to Fletcher's demise has been at best half-baked. We can only hope the new man Peter Moores reaffirms, by way of an opening statement, that true professionals accept they are only as good as their last performance. And that their self-assessment has to be scrupulously honest.

Mourinho's liberty with the truth

After several years of practice, Jose Mourinho finally made it to the absolute peak of overstatement, alongside Bill Shankly and Ian Woosnam, when he declared: "If somebody punishes me for telling the truth, it is the end of democracy." That surely rivalled Shankly's announcement that, "Football isn't life or death - it's more important than that", and Woosnam's claim that Europe's Ryder Cup victory was, "the greatest week in history". However, Shankly, even his fondest admirers allowed, could occasionally give a convincing impression that he was completely off his head. On the other hand, before Woosnam stepped forward to put events at Bethlehem, Waterloo, Trafalgar and Wembley, 1966, into perspective, he did give the appearance of having spent the previous few hours immersed in a vat of Guinness or champagne, or both.

So what's Jose's excuse? It cannot be another example of tiresome self-importance. Or can it?