Now that the pumped-up, crotch-centric, jingoistic farce that was the Olympics is over we can focus on ordinary decent sporting activity.

It is time officially to despair of the Tipperary hurling team. They are clearly talented (look at John O’Brien’s ball skills) but they lack what Nietzsche referred to as the Will to Power. Kilkenny have now overpowered them twice in consecutive years with a team no more talented but palpably more driven and determined. Maybe it’s a case of leadership. Sheedy won an All-Ireland with much the same team. Is Declan Ryan just too decent a chap to unleash the beast in this group?

Frankel appears to be an equine freak. Having carried all before him as a miler he has now come out and demolished a field of superior middle-distance horses (St. Nicholas Abbey amongst them) over ten furlongs in the Juddmonte International. There is talk of the Prix De L’Arc and moving him up again to a mile and a half. I would love to see him clash with Camelot but fear that the dreary economics that rule the Coolmore operation will prevail.

Soccer is back and while I despise the whole over-blown farrago in general, I do retain a sentimental affection for Everton, managed (on a shoestring) by that decent skin David Moyes. They have got off to a reasonable start and seem to have a settled squad so who knows. We will be satisfied with a top 6 finish.

I was idly watching a rerun of the Sopranos recently – the one where Tony’s gambling is getting out of control – he’s losing on football, blackjack, roulette etc. He’s gets pissed off each time he loses, but the most pissed off he gets is when he doesn’t bet on a game where he had predicted the winners. How true that is for anyone who has gambled seriously. It’s the ones that got away you remember. The same is true of women of course.