Messi costs more than 250 million euro

Catalan sports paper El Mundo Deportivo claims that a transfer of Barcelona right wing attacker and Argentinian international Lionel Messi (21) against the will of the club would cost more than 250 million euro.

If Messi would find an agreement with another club and Barcelona wouldn't be willing to negotiate on a transfer, the player has to pay the buyout fee of 150 million euro plus 16 per cent value added tax.

Messi of course wouldn't pay this himself but his new club would give him the money to pay that sum of 174 million euro. On that 'new club-Messi' transaction, the player should pay income tax (46%), which should mean that the cost of a transfer would in the end be 254 million euro°.

Dani Alves: the best player in the world (well, after Leo Messi)

Madrid didn't want him, Liverpool didn't want him enough, and Chelsea wouldn't pay for him. After all, they reasoned, he's only a full-back. Forget dark and brooding or squeaky-clean: he doesn't do adverts, has a cheeky grin rather than a winning smile, a wife not a WAG, and couldn't pout if his life depended on it. He came to Europe for a million euros when that wasn't a million pounds, isn't the outstanding man for his club, doesn't play regularly for his country, and didn't get a single vote at the Fifa World player awards. Not even from the representative from Guam, who was too busy pencilling in the words Frank and Lampard. Hell, even Cameroon captain Rigobert Song preferred to spoil his ballot paper than vote for him.

But don't let that fool you. Because Dani Alves is still the world's best player. Well, maybe not the best. That's Leo Messi. And that's also the point. Because while in Brazil they giggled at the unlikeliest of metrosexuals, commenting more on the six tubs of facial cream Alves had confiscated at the airport than the six touches he had on the pitch last time he travelled thousands of miles for a handful of international minutes, while he got ignored by Fifa's judges and France Football's correspondents, while he'd never launch a Cristiano-esque crusade – Gazzetta today, L'Equipe tomorrow, Kicker the day after - and while, above all, the eulogies fall on the unbelievably brilliant Messi, Alves has built a case to be considered the world's second best player.

From right-back.

And right-wing. And just about everywhere else. Roman Abramovich decided €30m was too much for a defender but Alves is not just a defender. He's a one-man band wearing cymbals on his knees, a drum on his back, Johnny Cash's harmonica strapped to his gob and Barça sweatbands on his wrists like a 10-year-old suffering a Peter Withe fixation. He offers killer passes and crunching tackles: a screeching lunatic kid, perfect technician, tactical genius and - let's face it - sneaky little cheat, all wrapped into one hyperactive ball. A footballing Sonic the Hedgehog.

You've got to love him. Or least you would have to if you weren't so busy loving Leo. Take this weekend. It was the first game of the season's second half and Barcelona had broken more records than Toxteth O'Grady: more points than any other team ever, the biggest lead ever, and the best debutant coach in Pep Guardiola. They'd completed over 2,000 more passes than anyone else, had more corners, more shots, and conceded the fewest goals, scoring a staggering 59 as well as hitting 17 posts – more posts than Espanyol have goals, enough to have given then a 100% record.

Something, though, was missing. And not just defeat for Madrid, who scraped another win off Raúl's ear. Barcelona sought revenge on Numancia, the only side to beat them. They also sought reassurance after the sinister shadow that saw off Ramón Calderón cast a cloud over Catalunya. Florentino Pérez, said Marca, would soon make a comeback – with Messi under his arm. All it would take is a little persuasion and his buy-out clause: €150m (plus 46% tax). That Marca talked it up was no surprise; the consternation it caused in Catalunya was. They actually took it seriously. The charmingly titled crappingyourselfometer appeared to be firing up again. Suddenly, they were spitting denials, shooting evils at that geezer looking at their bird, and begging like terrified lovers. It couldn't have been more desperate if they'd stalked Messi round Sainsbury's or spent the small hours tearfully breathing down the phone, silently picking the petals off a daisy.

So, when Messi scored the opener for a struggling Barça with a clever flick four minutes into the second half, they breathed a sigh of relief. When he kissed the Barcelona badge, they went all gooey. When he scored another, provided an assist and was denied a hat-trick by the bar, leading them in a brilliant 45 minutes that finished 4-1 and eclipsed a ropey first in which, but for the ref, they would have been trailing, they were doing cartwheels. And when he insisted he'd "never leave", they were dancing through a summer meadow.

"We Love You Messi", simpered Sport's cover, its editor declaring "Messi's kiss not just any kiss", and "this won't be like Figo because Messi is nether a money grabber nor a gypsy". Mundo Deportivo emblazoned "Messi Barcelona" across its front page. And Joan Laporta was losing the plot. "They're trying to destabilise us," he ranted, "and Madrid have an unfair advantage because they have the support of institutions we all pay for – especially the Catalans." "Messi," he added, "proves he's happy with brilliant performances every game."

He was half right. Messi was brilliant again. But amid the dreamy eulogies, another decisive performance from Alves went relatively unnoticed. The Brazilian is the only consistent starter who wasn't there last season when they finished 18 points behind Madrid. Now they are 12 ahead. That's not to say he's responsible – Guardiola's been immensely impressive, Eto'o's scored 19 in 19, Henry is winning not whining, Xavi controls games, and Iniesta's touch and vision is wonderful – but his contribution has been colossal. He's buried the mistaken belief that Barça need defenders who defend – a belief that saw off Belletti and took the balance and element of surprise with it - and has brought dynamism, bite and desire, helping inject life into a moribund mob.

In September, Alves insisted he wouldn't be the Sevilla Alves. Under Guardiola's guidance, he's been better - and he was pretty good before. It's no coincidence he's played more minutes than anyone else or that Barcelona's right wing has delivered three times as many goals as the left, with the full-back providing 10 assists. Not just any assists either, key assists: assists that opened the scoring against Valladolid, saw off Betis 3-2, equalised against Getafe and Osasuna, and broke Saturday's deadlock. But it wasn't just that Alves produced a brilliant flick and headed pass for Messi. It was that Barça turned to him in need, that in the opening four minutes of the half, they'd already speared five balls his way.

For all their collective brilliance, Barcelona have been accused of Messi-dependency. But who wouldn't depend on him? And, besides, Messi's not alone. He might be just a right-back, he might not be glamorous and he might not even be the best player in the team, but right now Daniel Alves might just be the second best player in the world.

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