One of the earliest and most hard-earned lessons I learned in the playground as a young football neophyte was that there was no team called Manchester.

So, this lovely image of Bob Marley adorning Bohemians’ new away strip: Does it mean that, next season, when it’s nil-nil late on and the opposition score, we will be entitled to refer to the goal as “breaking the dreadlock”?

To be unkind about it, O’Neill declaring himself a winner in the immediate aftermath of a home defeat to Wales felt a bit like Ozymandias still proclaiming his greatness from amid a pile of rubble in the middle of an empty desert, says Liam Mackey.

A colleague recently posted a fantastic photo of his newborn son, eyes fiercely blazing, face all scrunched up, the very picture of a tiny Mr Angry. Another colleague was quick to respond that it surely wasn’t good parenting to have exposed one so tender to the brutal highlights of Ireland 1, Denmark 5, writes Liam Mackey.

In his autobiography, A Life in Questions, the broadcaster Jeremy Paxman relates a memorable exchange between John Major and Boris Yeltsin, as described by the former British prime minister.

Swapping the hoops and green shirts of Páirc Uí Chaoimh from earlier in the day for uniform black tie in City Hall later that night, it was quite the parade of football luminaries who took to the stage to pay further tribute to Liam Miller at the gala dinner in his honour last Tuesday.

Luckily for Manchester City, the bloated Champions League format means that opening group games can hardly be regarded as critically important, never mind ‘must win’, but even if the competition couldn’t ever hope to hit the ground running the way the World Cup did in Russia, this week’s action did see some of football’s global superstars exhibiting varying degrees of luminosity — from dull to blinding — in their attempts to twist again like they did last summer.