Mark Hughes. No angel, and good guy to boot.

When I was growing up amongst my heroes was the Manchester United footballer Mark Hughes. Sparky as he was known was the scorer of great goals rather than being a great goalscorer.

By that I mean he scored unfeasibly spectacular goals that were important in important games. He won the European Cup Winners Cup for United with a brilliant driven effort, unbalanced going in the other direction. He settled cup semi finals and important league matches burying chances with an aplomb others could only dream of.

Years later when I worked at the University I had the opportunity to meet Mark. As the senior University representative at the Milk Cup Launch I had to speak on behlaf of th institution and present him with a memento of the occasion. Was I disappointed? Not in the slightest –  Sparky was a quiet spoken man, genuinely humble and when I somewhat gushingly told him I had been a fan for years he said thanks for supporting us. We chatted in a friendly way for a while before he was ushered on to his next engagement. I was even more in awe of him. He was human, humble, decent and civil. A childhood ambition fulfilled.

I have met other people I admire greatly in a sporting context, and in most occasions I have not been underwhelmed or disappointed. The likes of Padraic Joyce, Sean Óg Ó hAilpin and Peter Canavan all have that down-to-earthiness that one would expect from genuine people and especially genuine GAA people. Others I have had the misfortune to come across have been arsey and indeed up their own.

The problem arises I suppose when people ascribe characteristics to people that they don’t know very well. In that case they are in a line for a disappointment and that can be hard to handle. If my perceptions of my heroes have been largely positive, the same can’t be said of some others. . .

I have a natural aversion to class reunions and meetings with people I knew years ago. Perhaps it is because I am not proud of the person I was.  Perhaps the person I am now is unrecognisable from the me of ten, twenty years ago. Perhaps I am uncomfortable with who I was then. But then, I am not too sure what any of us would make of our grown up selves. We would at least hope that we had grown up. Sometimes that isn’t the case, long seated habits and personality traits are hard to lose.

Over recent months and years I have had occasion and indeed the misfortune in some cases to run into people I used to be friendly with as a student or in another world. Perhaps through social media like Facebook or incidental contact. One or two have chosen to email me out of the blue. It can be a strange experience. We have probably all had the awkward moment on Facebook or when opening an email that cause us to stop and take notice.

My philosophy on that is all too simple nowadays. If these people were important to you, you would still be in contact with them. Ergo if they weren’t, you’re not for a perfectly good reason.

So the English football team have failed to emulate the heroes of 1966 once again. These overpaid, overindulged and over sexed Gods of the turf have shown that despite all the money in the world; all the celebrity wagging and wagging with other people’s wags; despite all the newspaper columns, product endorsements; tub thumping and union jack waving. . . that they are unworthy of the faith an over-expectant England public placed upon them. Are we surprised?

And now, in the way that they always do there is the inevitable search for a scapegoat. And, the first target is always the manager – he, or a player that made a balls of something. In 1998 it was Beckham kicking an Argentinian in a display of petulant indiscipline. In 2006 it was Rooney who got himself sent off, but the Portuguese Cristiano Ronaldo came into the firing line for daring to suggest his teammate should be sent off and then compounding things by winking. What do you expect from a porker only a grunt?

In this World Cup, the players playing for England simply weren’t up to the job. Whether the management ballsed up the pre competition preparation; whether John Terry’s mouth managed to destabilise the ship further, we will never know. In a tournament where at least the French had the deceny to self destruct in the most incandescent way possible. . . and where teams like Germany and Spain showed that it’s easier to win football matches by keeping hold of the ball, the English team simply failed on every front.

The facts are what are left when you strip away all the hype, the bullshit and the blame. And the facts are that once they take themselves onto the pitch it is the players that are required to show people what they are made of?

What then of Ghana, exploding onto the stage and exploding off it again and taking the hopes of Africa with them. What of Uruguay, cynical South Americans to some, but a well drilled and competent team that exited last night, weakened by suspension and the incompetence of another linesman. What of Argentina, brilliant forwards and with great attacking play but not a defensive bone or sinew in their body. Like the wonderful Maradona, unpredictable but doomed. . .

And so despite all of what we’ve seen over the last few weeks, Mr Capello will manage England for another while. . . nothing changes though, does it really? It wasn’t his fault but try telling that to the English.

Who would be a mosquito, sucking up to Cheryl Cole?

It’s funny how the most inconsequential and vacuous people can unintentionally draw attention to the most serious conditions. This week the tabloid front pages  and the internet gossip pages have been all agog at the news that lightweight celebrity Cheryl Cole of Girls Aloud and television’s X Factor fame collapsed at a photo shoot. A British nation obsessed with elevating the most mundane of talents to the highest levels swooned with faux concern. Or maybe they genuinely were worried about her. Whatever.

And then they swooned again when they learned that rather than a nasty bug from an unwashed lettuce leaf, it was the killer disease malaria that led to the gastroentereitis that toppled Cheryl. Gasp, shock and horror. How could this happen to someone so shiny and so loved? Surely Cheryl Cole couldn’t get sick like everyone else?

According to the World Health Organisation, every year, worldwide there are about 250 million malaria cases and nearly one million deaths. People living in the poorest countries are the most vulnerable.

Malaria is especially a serious problem in Africa, where one in every five childhood deaths is due to the effects of the disease. An African child has on average between 1.6 and 5.4 episodes of malaria fever each year. And every 30 seconds a child dies from malaria.

Personally I think Cheryl Cole comes across as a nice enough girl on the TV, she is probably the most attractive of Girls Aloud although the Derry wan, Nadine Coyle is clearly the best singer.

Whether or not she gets malaria is not of any real interest to me. However, it would be if now that she has had the disease she could lend her considerable celebrity weight to any measures that might help lead to its eradication.

Now that really would show that she has the X Factor.

The World Cup is starting to get interesting now after all the shadow boxing is over. In addition to presenting South Africa with a gilt-edged opportunity to market itself to would be tourists and investors, it is also a fascinating exercise in slick marketing. Unless of course you are the orange clad girls that tried to do a bit of Guerilla marketing for Bavaria Beer and got chucked out and arrested for trying to promote an unofficial product. What a dastardly crime.

One of the biggest and most competitive contests of  World Cup is the battle of the kit manufacturers. . . so who’s winning so far. Adidas get loads of mentions and coverage for the controversial Jabulani balls  which are about as predictable as the players Zaire wall during the ’74 World Cup. But hey, all news is good news and having come up with the ‘roundest ball ever’ or so we’re led to believe, adidas are straking ahead there.

After having cornered the market pretty much in kitting out the African teams with some unique designs including the All African third strip, Puma has two teams left; Nike also has two whilst FIFA’s favourite brand with the three stripes has three teams left.

Other manufacturers who were there but hardly got noticed were Umbro with their retro England effort and funnily enough Capello’s men played like a team from the fifties; the Chileans played in a nice red shirt made by Brooks whilst the North Koreans had something off the beaten track as you would expect!

And so in the quarter final clashes we have clashes of very different footballing cultures.

Argentina v Germany is and all adidas clash; Brazil v Holland all Nike; Paraguay v Spain – another all adidas clash and Ghana v Uruguay an all Puma clash. Would it be cynical to suggest that FIFA are keen to give each brand their day in the Sun, but still ensuring that adidas get the lion’s share of exposure with two quarter final ties.

The winners of the World Cup in terms of football will be the country that combines luck, skill, flair and defensive organisation. The other big winner will be whichever of these brands is still standing when the Final hits Soccer City.

And what of the advertising around the tournament. . . well once again appearing in a Nike ad pre world cup seems to be the kiss of death for anyone wanting to deliver on the pitch as opposed to the bottom line. Rooney, Ronaldo and co are away home with their tales between their legs. Ronaldinho didn’t even make it to South Africa.

Next time. . . we’ll take a look at the winners and losers in the world of punditry. Giles, Dunphy and Brady still provide the best value, pound for pound!