Well, I mean, there is only so much interest to be had from watching synchronised nose-picking, or the ladies topless underwater marbles contest, or haggis-hurling, or whatever else the Grand Panjandrums of the Olympic movement dream up for us every four years. None of them provide quite that feeling one gets from watching Messrs. Rooney, Ferdinand, Terry et al living down to their well-earned reputations as 'fick, foul-moufed' oafs. Their behaviour gives you that extra warm glow of self-righteous superiority derived from the knowledge that, despite their zillions, they are still the yobs you always suspected they were. On the other hand, the likes of Mo Farah, who arrived on these shores at the age of eight having swapped the hell-hole of Somalia for the hell-hole of 'sarf Lon'on', and who by dint of sheer determination and guts grew up to win gold at both the 5k and 10k races, leaves one feeling pathetic and inadequate. Frankly, the fewer reminders I receive of that sad truth the better! So today begins the next season of 'footie' in which we can sneer once again at the millionaire grunt-snufflers. And the poor old presenters on 'TOOOOORK-SPOOOORT' will once again have something to talk about because, frankly, their efforts to try and sound interested in the Olympics and the cricket were embarrassing as well as boring.