ISN’T it funny how often, a seemingly innocuous trigger like the distinctive scent of drying paint will, without warning, jerk you back to a certain time and place.

IN my three weeks travelling throughout Germany for this newspaper during the World Cup almost four years ago, I met a kaleidoscope of interesting characters.

PETE SAMPRAS. Andre Agassi. Andre Agassi. Pete Sampras.

I nurse a clandestine habit that has driven me to the coldest and darkest corners of society.

Tonight the Airtricity League kicks off after a 12-round close-season that left even Roddy ‘Queensbury Rules’ Collins punch-drunk. After all the off-field attrition – though the battle scars are yet to heal – a football match will break out.

God knows our little-stitious rugby stars may need every bit of luck we can rub together, deep behind enemy lines

WHAT do you ask the man who has won everything? Phil Taylor, a middle-aged darts player from the middle of England might not look it — and he doesn’t — but after 13 world titles, he walks with sporting giants.

THE great American novelist John Updike, though not a sportswriter, did at times indulge his nation’s favourite pasttime. And when he did, he hit a home run.

IT’S not quite Lock, Stock but a new crime movie set in Limerick certainly has two Smoking Barrels.

THE same way you know it’s a general election night when Brian Farrell wears a carnation in his lapel, so too the rich sound of the Artane Band heralds a landmark day in Croke Park for many of us.