AS our little country feels the bony fingers of the IMF on our shoulder and the cold winds of financial oblivion against our grubby face, we are often lectured – throughout the media – by so-called ‘self-made men’.

After the trigger word ‘Saipan’ was alluded to, Keane quickly and clinically rattled through the shortcomings of half of Capello’s squad.

THIS is going to be about a hurling man – but let’s start with some baseball.

HUMAN slingshot Rory Delap strides into the room, a new World Cup football loaded in his oxter.

AN Irishman, an Englishman and a master brewer from a Dutch-owned beer company walk into a bar. And as Con Houlihan used to say: now read on.

THANK you students, please sit down. It’s an honour to address the class of 2010. I know you guys are busy cramming ahead of the Leaving Cert’s commencement in a few short days.

PLEASE mind your toes, reader; there’s quite a big name about to be dropped in a second or two.

IF YOU were shaken from your slumber early last Friday morning by the walls rattling and the sound of a distant crash, it was probably just a giant falling to earth in a land far, far away.

The hurley snaps. (It reminds me of tent poles I’ve seen halved by falling fat guys, late at night, after the music has long ended at a festival). But the special spine holds it together safely.

WAYNE GRETZKY, I’m sure, could well swing a hurley if you pressed one into his hand. But I don’t know if ice hockey’s Ringy has any interest in Gaelic Games.