Hi, PhBell fans!

Well, was that the Champions League final that you expected? Ha! Thought not. Almost everyone who has stopped me in the street over the last week or so (and there's been loads) thought United were going to walk all over Barcelona.

It would be easy to see why all you casual fans would think that. United are a great side, with a superb manager. Wayne Rooney, Cristiano Ronaldo, Ryan Giggs, Park Ji-Sung – all fantastic players.

But most of us inside the game, all the other top players I chatted to about the final, we all reckoned Barcá would be able to get on top and dominate with the ball – and that's exactly what happened.

You know, I do read the comments that you leave below, and I've noticed that I do get a bit of stick from you guys about being biased towards the English clubs, implying that I don't know a thing about what goes on in the other European leagues.

That's a load of nonsense. Really winds me up to be honest. Let me tell you right now that, without wanting to sound like I'm swelling off, I probably know more about European football than all you guys put together.

Obviously, the fact that I picked Barcá over United to win the final just proves it. And not only that, I could name all the Barcá starting line-up just from their photos. Apart from that young lad in midfield that no-one had ever heard of before.

Just because I've never played in another European league doesn't mean I don't know what goes on there. For example, it's amazing how much you can learn from football games on the PC and Xbox 360.

Hope that clears things up. Anyway.

I invited a load of the lads round to watch the game with me at home, on the big screen with cinema surround-sound. We usually have a right laugh when we all get together, but this time everyone seemed a bit more serious.

Normally when we all get together to watch a big match at someone's house, we'd get a bit lairy, have a few beers and that. Start jumping around on each other, pulling each other's trousers down, horsing around like lads do when they get together without women to distract.

This time, though, it was dead quiet, everyone was really concentrating on the game (although there were a few comments about how amazing the picture quality was on my HDTV).

From the first whistle, we all agreed that Ferguson got his tactics wrong. Ronaldo down the middle, Rooney on the wing? That was never going to work, was it? United needed the boy Ronaldo up against the creaking bones of Carles Puyol out wide.

I think, basically, the pressure got to old Fergie. Perhaps his age caught up with him and he forgot who played where. I don't know, but he pretty much had a nightmare, didn't he? He basically lost United the Champions League with his tactics.

You know, with how gutted he must feel right now, I wouldn't be surprised if he shocked us all by suddenly deciding he is going to retire, right now. And it might not be a bad thing for United if he did. They could do with a bit of a fresh start, I reckon.

Just look at Barcá's coach, Pep Guardiola. League, Cup and Champions League in his first season? What a legend! I can't believe he's only 38 years old. He's got to be the coolest manager in all of Europe.

Perhaps United could do with someone young and fresh and chilled like him to come in and shake the club up. Fergie can take a job upstairs, entertaining the corporate guests at Old Trafford on match days or something.

Whatever happens with old man Fergie, it will be interesting to see how United bounce back next season. They might be looking at bringing in a few new faces in the transfer market, just to shake things up.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed the final as much as I did – and I hope it proves my European knowledge to all the doubters out there!

Although I'm officially on my summer holidays now (GET IN!), I'll be back to blog next week on the crazy roundabout that is the transfer market.

Until then, PB.

I can't believe the season is finally over! Absolutely fantastic. Loving it, obviously. Six weeks off in the sunshine. Brilliant. This is why I love being a top professional footballer.

I don't want to seem like I'm gloating or trying to rub your faces in it, but I can't tell you what a fantastic feeling it is when the season finally comes to an end.

Us guys at the top end of the sport work incredibly hard, day-in, day-out, for 10 and a half months of the year. It is a long, hard slog, it really is. Physically it takes it out of you, obviously, but mentally too.

There is a lot of pressure on us. The media, the fans, the manager, the chairman. Everyone wants something from us. Everyone demands that we succeed. Everyone expects us to live up to their expectations.

For ten and a half months of every year, we are worked like dogs - so you'll have to excuse me if I seem a bit excited at the prospect of a few weeks off. The relief when the final whistle goes in that final game of the season, it's immense.

I think I can honestly say that I know how that old English dude must have felt this week when he reached the top of Mount Everest. It's that sort of feeling. Giddy, nervous, excited and happy.

Don't get me wrong, I don't expect you guys to remotely understand. That feeling of overwhelming joy and the sense that you have really achieved something special, I think there are probably very few people on the planet who experience it.

Top professional sportsmen, mountain climbers, pop stars after they've finished making a new album, people who row across the Atlantic – these are the people who'll appreciate what I'm talking about.

These are not feelings you get when you've done something small like finished cutting the grass or made a nice chicken pie. This is an adrenalin rush like you've never felt before. It really makes you feel like you are alive. Makes you feel that life is worth living, you know?

I can guarantee that every single footballer in the Premier League is feeling exactly the same way I am right now. Just getting through that long, hard season, we should all be really proud of ourselves, every single one of us.

Making it through all those games, all those training sessions, all those mindless interviews, endless autograph sessions, kickabouts in schools and community centres.

We should be all be given a medal, I reckon. We're all winners in my book. Every single player in the Premier League can raise a glass or two of champagne to celebrate what they've achieved over the last ten and a half months. We are all superstars.

Obviously, I don't include the Newcastle, Middlesbrough or West Brom players in all this. They've not really done anything to be proud of, have they? I mean, getting relegated – that must be gutting.

The feeling of shame. I can't even begin to imagine. The humiliation must be crippling. Probably slightly less so for the lads at Middlesbrough and West Brom, but definitely for the Newcastle boys, because they're supposed to be good players.

I mean, it's tough to get your head around how bad they must be feeling. Getting relegated from the Premier League, there can be no worse feeling in football. Probably in life in general.

As a footballer in this country, you are either in the Premier League, or you don't exist. The Championship is nothing. Barely even deserves a mention. The skill level, the lack of media interest, the half-empty, crumbling stadiums. Very, very depressing.

And of course, there'll be pay cuts. All contracts signed these days have clauses put in by the clubs stating that your salary will be reduced by 25% or so should you get relegated.

I'm on £25k-a-week, right, so if we got relegated, I'd see my contract cut to, what, £17k-a-week? Doesn't seem fair, does it? But that's the reality of modern-day football, I'm afraid.

Thankfully, I've never been relegated in my footballing career. Hopefully never will, either. I just don't know how I'd cope. I think if it ever did happen to me, I'd probably just retire on the spot, there and then. Unless I still had a decent contract and a few years left on it.

But I tell you what, I'd hate to be a Newcastle, Middlesbrough or West Brom player right now. How are you supposed to enjoy your summer holidays with the shame of that hanging over your head.

Actually, I've got to stop talking about this. It's making me feel depressed, it really is.

Obviously, the Manchester United players, they still have a match to go – and a pretty big one too! I'll be back later in the week to blog on the Champions League final.

Hope you enjoy it. Until then, PB.

Alright? How are you guys doing?

One of the great things about doing this blog for ESPN Soccernet is that there is always something going on in the world of football for me to write about.

Even when there is nothing actually going on, I'm never going to be stuck for a subject because I know you guys love to hear what Pharrell Bell has been up to - and I'm my own favourite subject! I'll never get bored of talking about the PhBell!

But seriously, there is no doubt what the major talking point of this last week has been: Manchester United winning yet another Premier League title following their nil-nil draw against Arsenal at Old Trafford at the weekend.

United are a club that divide opinion: you either love them, or you hate them. There is no middle ground with United. Half the world supports them, half the world can't stand them, and those who do neither obviously don't know anything about football.

Obviously, one thing's for sure: there is no grey area where United are concerned.

Me, I haven't really got a particularly strong opinion on United to tell you the truth. The PhBell doesn't love them or hate them, really. I'm sitting on the fence on this one.

But, in my humble opinion, and I know it means a lot to you guys, United have been the best club in Europe for the last decade.

Seven Premier League titles, three domestic cups and two (potentially three) Champions League titles since 1999. No other club can match that. And that's a FACT.

Say what you want about Alex Ferguson (go on, that's what the message boards below are there for...) but what he has done at the club has been just incredible. His teams just have this hunger and determination to win, I don't know where it comes from.

And there is no sign of Fergie retiring just yet. He's just going to go on and on and on and on, and then on some more. It's unbelievable.

It just makes you wonder why he hasn't retired already. He's won everything there is to win, earned more money than you (and probably even me) will see in a lifetime, and yet he still wants another season.

He must be soft in the head, if you ask me. I want to enjoy every minute of my retirement. I want to kick back and enjoy all the money I've worked so hard for. I do not want to have to drive into the same old football club morning after morning after morning until the day I die.

How depressing, eh?

One person who will be desperate to see the back of old Fergie will be Rafa Benitez. Judging by his recent comments when he refused to praise the United boss for the title triumph, it looks like poor Rafa can't stand the United boss.

He says he is prepared to congratulate the club for winning the Premier League, but not the manager. Now, you'll read a lot of pundits slagging Rafa off, claiming that he is showing a lack of respect and dignity and grace and all these other fancy words.

But PhBell agrees with the Liverpool manager on this one. I think that for Rafa to start praising Ferguson now, after all their bitching at each other throughout the season, that would show a sign of weakness in the Liverpool manager.

Benitez needs to send Fergie a signal to say: "You might have won the battle, pal, but the war is yet to be won."

He isn't going to send that signal by joining the rest of the footballing world worshipping on their knees at Ferguson's feet, is he? No.

Benitez has to stand firm, turn down the handshake and continue to stare his enemy in the eye, toe-to-toe. It is the only way he will get his side mentally prepared for another title challenge next season.

Pharrell Bell would do exactly the same in that situation. I think it shows a certain strength of character to be able to pass up the chance to offer congratulations to a superior opponent.

In fact, on many occasions as a player I have refused the handshake of an opposition player who has run rings around me for 90 minutes. Shaking hands with someone like that in front of 30,000 people - no chance. It's a loser's mentality if you ask me.

All that said, I want to take this opportunity to say well done to United. They are worthy winners of the Premier League this season, no doubt. They are a credit to English football.

Until next time, readers.

Word up, PhBell fans!

Seems like my last blog on the Chelsea v Barcelona Champions League match ruffled a few feathers. That's good, I reckon. It's important that you fans get to hear the opinions of a top star, so you can really put your own views into focus.

I guess it's sort of like the dawn of the Universe. I mean, all you guys have a theory about it, right? But until Stephen Hawkins starts to write a blog on the subject, you're all really just stabbing wildly in the dark.

Thinking about it, you know, that's really the main purpose of what I do here for Soccernet. I help you guys, the fans, come to a decent opinion on the most important football matters of the week so that you repeat them to your mates in the pub and come across as really clued-up.

I actually take a bit of pride in being one of the few top Premier League stars happy to talk to fans about what really goes on and let you guys know what we're really thinking.

So many of the lads are scared, I guess, of speaking out, speaking their minds to the press and the fans. I don't really know why that is. I don't know what they think they have to lose.

Even my own agent has had a word with me a couple of times about this blog, telling me I should tone it down a bit, not reveal quite so much about what goes on and what my views are on things that happen.

You know what I told him? I told him to go shove it. As far as I can see, there is nothing in my £25k-a-week contract that says I can't tell all those PhBell fans out there exactly what is going on in the crazy world of the Premier League.

And I tell you what, even if Didier Drogba gets the book thrown at him by UEFA for his outburst after the Champions League last week, I still won't stop keeping it real in this blog.

There's just no way that a footballer should be punished for letting the world know his opinions. What, are we supposed to just not say a word, to anyone, about anything? Surely that's against our human rights?

It's not like we're living in Iraq or Afghanistan or Dubai here: this is England, this is the Premier League. Isn't there a thing called freedom of speech, or something, written into the constitution of this country?

There has been talk about Drogba getting a six-month ban, Shouldn't the Prime Minister have something to say about this? Tony Blair should be stepping in and supporting Drogba and me, the only two footballers about at the moment who are dedicated to Keeping It Real?

You know, sometimes, something happens in professional football that means it becomes more than just a game. Sometimes, football can represent life itself; it becomes a symbol for everything mankind struggles and fights against.

And at times like these, top professional footballers become more than just highly-toned, super-talented artists: sometimes, an important issue in our game can change a humble footballer like me into a true leader of men.

This campaign of mine to Keep it Real, I reckon it's my chance to make the world a better place. I feel like Nelson Mandela, Martin Luther King or Erin Brockovich, like I was chosen by some higher force to support the little man in his struggle against the "Powers That Be".

I expect I'll get a lot of stick from the lads at training, but I reckon someone has to stand up and have the strength to say what they think about the big issues. I'll take whatever punishment or abuse comes my way, because I know I am on the right side.

Mandela was put in prison for 27 years, Martin Luther King was assassinated; I'm prepared to risk a three-match ban and a small fine, if that's what it takes for me to keep speaking my mind.

So, fans, you can rest assured that, whether you agree with my opinions or not, I'll continue to use this Soccernet blog to Keep it Real, to keep you informed of what's really going on in the world of the Premier League.

Until next time, remember: I'm always on your side,

PB

Hi lads, how's it going for you all? There's plenty to talk about after a massive week of action, so I thought I'd do a second blog this week. I know you guys love to hear from me, so I have to keep my adoring public happy!

I've got to tell you, I was as excited by the Champions League semi-finals this week as anyone. In that respect, I guess I am just like you guys. The big matches on TV turn me from a top Premier League star into just your average football fan.

I suppose the only difference is that you get to go down the pub and watch the game with your mates and a few pints. There's no way Pharrell Bell could do that. I'd get mobbed, cause some sort of riot. No-one would be able to concentrate on the game.

So while you lucky lads were squeezed around a table in your local boozer, pushing and shoving as you try to get a decent look at the tiny portable TV in the corner, Pharrell Bell was stuck at home on his own, watching the game on his 64inch plasma with surround-sound.

The picture quality was incredible, the sound from the 16 speakers absolutely crystal-clear, my leather recliner was warm and comfortable and there was no horrible stench coming from a nearby toilet - but I know where I'd prefer to have been.

Tuesday's match was definitely a bit of an anti-climax, thanks to Man United's early blitz, but Wednesday's game blew me away. I have some experience of playing in Europe (I was on the bench for two UEFA Cup qualifying matches when I was at Middlesbrough) so I know exactly how buzzing the Chelsea boys must have been feeling.

To go out like that must have been truly gutting. Four nailed-on penalty shouts turned down and then done by an injury-time screamer. And I tell you what, I've got every sympathy for Didier Drogba's rant at that bald Norwegian referee, because he had an absolute shocker.

Who exactly is Tom Henning Ovrebo anyway? I've never heard of him. He sounds like an American cookie. Should have been dunked in milk a long time ago, if you ask me.

There's nothing worse than a bad referee, and old Norwegian baldy-biscuit deserves all the stick he has been getting from the Chelsea boys and in the British newspapers. He has basically ruined another all-English Champions League final, and it's not on.

It's making me angry, just thinking about it - and I wasn't even playing. I can't stand referees, I honestly can't. There isn't one in the Premier League that I get on with. I'll probably get bollocked by the FA for saying this, but I basically hate them all.

The FA brought in this new "RESPECT" campaign at the start of the season, trying to get us Premier League stars to give the refs a bit of a break after a few of them started moaning that we weren't listening to them or that we were giving them too much grief during a match.

But the referees and FA have got to understand - it's impossible for us to even consider giving any respect to some fat, balding, middle-aged former schoolteacher who only got into refereeing in the first place because he was so crap at football as a kid.

Tell me, how is Pharrell Bell really supposed to respect such a loser? It wouldn't feel right to me, and I don't think it would send out the right message to my young fans.

Rappers who have risen from the ghetto to make platinum-selling albums; hip-hop artists with multi-million-dollar mansions and their own clothing labels; Italian-American film-stars; celebrity chefs: these are the sorts of guys I can show some respect for.

Not some 50-year-old, Volvo-driving former estate agent from Cambridgeshire.

It wouldn't be so bad if these guys had actually played football to a decent standard, but most of them don't really know what the pro game is about.

Sure, a crafty kick to the back of the knee has no place in a kickabout in the park on a Sunday morning. But in the pro game, it's a valid and necessary tactic - that's what these guys just don't understand.

There should definitely be more former professionals refereeing the top matches, that would solve the problem straight away. You know, if Roy Keane had become a referee instead of a manager, I bet he'd get respect from the players.
I guess the trouble is, a top player like me just has no interest in becoming a referee after they retire. Why should I? What have I got to gain? There's no money in it, and no glory either.

But something has to be done soon, because I am fast running out of patience (and disciplinary points) for this to continue to much longer.

Until next time, respect.

I want to clear something up, first of all. Some of you seem to have got the wrong impression from last week's blog, about Ryan Giggs winning the Player of the Year award.

I don't actually think that Pharrell Bell is a better player than Ryan Giggs. Nor that I ever will be. Just that I think that I have actually had a better Premier League season this year than he has. No-one in their right mind can disagree with that, can they?

Anyone who says that a guy who has started 12 games and scored one goal has had a better season than someone who has played twice as many games and scored twice as many goals, well they're just wrong.

You know, people say that football is all about opinions and that's what makes it so great, blah-di, blah-di, blah. Well, fair enough. But that particular opinion is just madness. Plain and simple.

Anyway, don't get me wrong, I'm happy for Giggsy. He's a class act. There are not many top Premier League stars as nice as he is, off the pitch. You'll not read much about Giggs's private life in the newspapers; he's a good, clean-living boy.

Not like some of the players up at Middlesbrough. They've had a tough time of it over the last week or so: not only does it look like they might be going down to the Championship, but they had a close run-in with swine flu this week.

Apparently, a couple of the squad's WAGs recently came back from a holiday in Mexico and had to be tested for the killer disease - which would have spread rapidly through the Boro squad, had they been found to be infected.

You see, us top Premier League players spend so much time together at a football club, we basically live in each other's pockets. Nasty little infections and diseases can spread like wildfire.

Think about it: we roll around in the mud together, we shower together, we flick wet towels at each other in the dressing room, we share bedrooms together on away trips.

If one of us catches something unpleasant, we're all at risk. I've seen first-hand how something can spread through a club. It wasn't pleasant, let me tell you, looking around the dressing room to see an entire squad itching and scratching their nether regions.

The girl responsible, her name is mud, even now, five years on. She'll never bag herself another footballer, that's for sure. At least, not one with any sense. Parties in penthouse flats, whirlwind shopping trips to New York, and being chased by photographers outside trendy nightclubs - those days are over for that particular wanabee WAG.

Don't get me wrong; she's still good for a late-night call after a few beers, as I discovered a couple of weeks ago. But I would have to think twice if she ever asked me to "get serious" again.

That's one of the problems about being a top Premier League star, you see. There are just so many people out there who only want to use you for your fame and money. It's such a distraction, and you have to be really careful.

It's difficult sometimes knowing whether someone likes you for who you really are, or whether it's because they have somehow found out that you earn £25k-a-week. I've had my fingers burnt in the past, and it's made me very wary and suspicious of people, especially pretty girls.

I wish I had the confidence to settle down with a nice girl, like Giggsy has done, and put all the wild bikini parties behind me. But I'm not sure I'll ever be able to fully trust a WAG not to run off with my credit card at the first chance she gets.

I've had gorgeous girls telling me they don't care how much I earn (about £1.3m a year) or how famous I am; that they want me for my amazingly toned body and because I'm the brightest, kindest guy they've ever met.

Even writing this blog for ESPN Soccernet has been a bit of a curse, to be honest. Now I'm getting girls telling me that they've read it ever week and they just love how intelligent I am and how good a writer I am and how I could even write a story book if I put my mind to it.

But I still have this nagging doubt that all this might just be stuff they tell me because they want to get their photo in OK! Magazine. I know I should be more trusting, but I've got so much to lose by picking the wrong pretty girl.

Not that I would swap it for anything else, and I know I've said it before, but being a top Premier League star has its problems. To reach the top, you have to have more than just an amazing talent with your feet. You need to be pretty smart up-top as well.