Gifts for sporting loved ones

Oh yes, it's that time of year again. While the efficient, well-organised and regimented sad cases out there already have an attic full of plum puddings and completed their Christmas shopping in mid-June you and me will meet at the cash register on Christmas Eve just before they pull down the shutters on the last shop open in town.

There we'll compare shopping notes and wonder if that Red Hot Chilli Peppers album is right for granny or whether our testosterone-fuelled nephew will appreciate the luminous pink, offpink and pinkish, "as-worn-by-Barbie", lipstick set we bought for them.

"Probably not," we'll agree, rueing our failure to plan our shopping expedition a speck more carefully for the first time in our combined lifetimes. So. In a valiant attempt to help us types ape the behaviour of your average, efficient, well-organised and regimented sad case, in a "pre-planner and proud of it" kind of way, here's a list of Christmas shopping ideas for the sporting loved ones in our lives. (No, no, enough gushing thanks, you're creating a scene).

Celtic supporters: A set of official green and white stripey tweezers (that play The Fields of Athenry when you squeeze them) to pinch themselves. Fifteen points clear of Rangers in November? Na. Nice dream, but surely not.

Anna Kournikova: A pimple or two and a sudden incurable craving for big fry-ups every morning, followed by Snickers bars for dessert - resulting, sadly, in a dramatic increase in the poundage around her waistline. Then they might notice her not-of-this-world forehand. Miaow.

David O'Leary: A promise from the EU that the transfer system won't, after all, be abolished, making his proposed £18 million purchase of Rio Ferdinand a tiny bit less bizarre than it already is.

Pat Hickey and Jim McDaid: A weekend for two in Paris so they can rekindle their sporting relationship and come back, arm in arm, the best of pals.

Pat Spillane and County Kildare: A weekend for two in Navan so they can rekindle their Gaelic footballing relationship and come back, arm in arm, the best of pals.

Roddy Collins and Dermot Keely: A weekend for two in Eircom Park (coming to a Dublin suburb near you, soon-ish - but word has it you'd be ill-advised to hold your breath) so they can rekindle their footballing relationship and . . . be nice to each other on the Joe Duffy Show.

Roy Keane: That bestseller Corporate Types Have Feelings Too (And, Like, Actually - We Prefer Shrimp).

Darren Clarke: A promise from the rest of the golfing world to stop commenting on his eating and smoking habits. Burgers and cigars haven't done the lad much harm so far, have they? You might live on lettuce leaves and fresh air, sunshine, but how's yer puttin'? Exactly.

The FAI: A stadium.

The IRFU: A stadium.

The GAA: A shiny new flashing neon "Squatters Beware" sign for the main entrance to Croke Park.

Sven-Goran Eriksson: A gift voucher for his nearest neurology centre because, as we know, the lad would need his head examined after accepting the England manager's job.

Eddie Irvine: Modesty prevents us from making any Christmas present suggestions for the Swerve . . . except, perhaps, modesty?

Robbie Keane: A bit of patience from those keeping an eye on his progress in Italian football. Hardly a wet week in Milan and the words "flop" and "Robbie" are beginning to appear in the same sentence here and there. Give the young fella a chance.

Colin Montgomerie: The Royle Family Christmas video, just to put a smile on his face. What's that Monty? "My arse!" Lovely.

The English rugby union team: A lucrative pay-per-view ("but only if you double our pay-per-play deal first") contract with Sky Sports, to whom, in return, they will give exclusive misty-eyed "since I was a young lad I dreamt of pulling on that white shirt and playing for my country (for a small-ish fee)" post-match interviews.

British rally fans: A liberal sprinkling of common sense. Pardon? Midweek? "Richard Burns has pleaded with Britain's rally fans not to aid his bid for world championship glory by indulging in dirty tricks. Burns made his appeal amid reports that some supporters had promised to throw logs or stones in the way of his solitary rival, Finn Marcus Gronholm, as he roars through the forests of Wales." Fair play Mr Burns. But wait: "People should remember that I have to go to Finland next year." Mmm.

Irish Sport: A break. A few extra quid. A little bit of co-operation and support from employers. An acceptance that if we don't help them along the way we've damn all right to criticise them when they don't come home with a suitcase load of medals.

Any help? No? Absolutely none at all? Oh well. See you at that cash register on Christmas Eve, then. At least I know what granny wants - the new Red Hot Chilli Peppers album. She said the last one was "wicked".