Don’t bother watching those gazillion-dollar TV prequels to The Lord of the Rings or Game of Thrones. Who needs gratuitous nudity, multiple dragons and surprise beheadings when the real Nordic legend is bang in front of us, his mighty frame squeezed into the light blue of Manchester City and devouring the grass of the Etihad? (Though not literally, yet.) He is an outlandish–looking creature from the far north, clearly designed by some dotty scientist, faster, bigger, stronger and more ruthless than anyone else in football and effortlessly leaping higher too.

Quick to smile, often at awkward moments, he moves effortlessly with that curious stiff-armed gait as he outruns everyone else on the pitch. He is more or less the perfect creation apart from a tiny bug in some computer’s language programme that means his English is slightly awkward, a bit otherworldly, unlike most Norwegians who speak English better than you or me. And his manners can be too good: the other day he was filmed neatly rolling up his training top and handing it to the kit man, rather than just chucking it on the ground as all the other City players did.

Erling Haaland is like nobody else in football, and now he has stitched up the English Premier League: a deadly weapon safely delivered to the richest club with the best players and the most gifted coach in the world. Is there any limit to what he can do?

It’s a pity we won’t see him in Qatar but he’ll have had a month’s rest when the season resumes, so he could be even more terrifying than he is now. Who would bet against 40 goals this season, especially when many opposing defenders will be exhausted after World Cup duty? Are 50 goals out of the question?

Meanwhile, in an underground lab somewhere north of Tromso, deep in the Arctic Circle, a wild-haired scientist is clutching his head as he contemplates the bent bars and ripped restraints in his underground lab, and thinking: ‘My god, what have I done?’

The great rugby writer and broadcaster Eddie Butler was only 65 when he died suddenly last week on a charity trek in Peru. It was one of the privileges of my life to have worked with Eddie on the Observer. He was a true giant in every sense, funny, wise, tireless and devoid of any arrogance. He loved his journalism and always wanted to entertain as well as tell the truth. A brilliant commentator, with a beautiful voice, he made a difficult job sound easy. He loved his cricket and could belt the ball into the next county. He could throw it there too, with an arm like a Roman catapult. He will be much missed: why do the good guys have to be taken so young?

The Saudis are continuing to splash the cash on their LIV golf tour. The sport will need to protect itself: Cameron Smith won the last LIV event, but I doubt many people know or care where it was or who he beat (Chicago and Dustin Johnson). He did manage to pick up £3.5 million, which is nice work for three days. The Saudis clearly mean business: just look at Newcastle United’s new change strip: white shirt with green trim, green shorts. Compare it to Saudi Arabia’s soccer strip: white shirt with green trim, green shorts. And that’s unlikely to be because they can’t afford a new kit designer.

So golf has to be careful if it isn’t to be ripped apart. The US PGA and the DP World Tours are vital: they need to work together, as do the majors and the ranking system. If they stay aligned, LIV will wither. But golf too needs to adapt a bit. Maybe 72-hole tournaments should be like five sets in tennis – for the really big events, the majors, the world golf championship and the like – while 54 holes with a cut at 36 might make more sense for regular tour events, which often fail to pull in many spectators.