Once again European football’s showpiece occasion turned into a grim test of endurance for fans.

Like Brendan before him, Ange was just another football manager, a man on the longest climb on the greasiest pole. But more fool us, how we had fallen again

Haaland’s goalscoring feats had the English football record keepers reaching for their dustiest scrolls.

Why do days like Sunday in Semple Stadium summon up the ghosts of the past?

Do you have any right to speculate on the influence of private personality on public endeavours when you might not necessarily have the full understanding of the former?

Something funny comes over Irish people when talk turns to hurling, even if they are among the millions never to have swung ash in anger themselves.

Rejoice, damsels in distress of women’s football! Here he comes, your knight in shining white trainers!

I almost wish I cared enough about something that I would glue myself to a snooker table for it.

Once upon a time, the whistle and flag conferred a sense of moral absolutism. Those who held them were always right, even when they were wrong. There was a dignity about it, even when they got a decision blatantly arse ways.

Maybe Greece will be the war to end all wars. But probably not.