No sport is driving me up the walls

counter in my local DIY megastore last Saturday, with a tin of Passionate Paprika in one hand and Tantalizing Terracotta in the other, that did it.

Or it could have been finding myself watching the quarter-finals of the Kazakhstan National Indoor Elk-Tossing Championships on Eurosport, after I came home with my tin of Passalizing Papacotta, that pushed me over the edge.

Or maybe, after the Elk-Tossing was done and dusted, it was that moment when I was trying to trim my Virginia Creeper away from my next door neighbours' hall door, after it had forced them to exit their home by their bathroom window for the previous three weeks, when they pointed out that the implement with which I was attempting to prune the jungle was a garlic crusher and not a set of hedge clippers.

Or perhaps it was just the general realisation that the only non-sporty things to do at weekends are DIY-store visiting, watching unwatchable telly and Virginia Creeper-taming that clinched it. Whatever the truth, I've had a change of heart. A big one.

A couple of weeks ago, you won't remember, I made an impassioned, emotional and, if I say so myself, a touching, big-hearted admission that, at a time of national crisis, sport doesn't matter all that much. Well, I've changed my mind. Entirely.

If it's alright by you I'd like to withdraw that rash rush to judgment about sport being a small thing in the overall scheme of things, a concession that was partly prompted by a mental picture of Minister for Agriculture Joe Walsh pointing his forefinger at me, while mouthing, gravely, "Your Country Needs You (and Hockey Postponements)".

No problem Joe, I thought, I'm happy to do my bit. Cancel, postpone and reschedule to your heart's content and you won't hear a murmur of dissent from me. If the 2000-2001 season doesn't finish till 2006, so be it. I had NO problem whatsoever with sporty fixtures being called off until the crisis was over - but I was thinking 10 days, max.

Now? Ah lads, enough. Any more Passalizing Papacotta, Elk-Tossing and Virginia Creeping filled Saturdays and we could be talking will-to-live-meltdown here. Saturday was put in the calendar for the sole purpose of the pursuit of sporting matters, zilch else.

Not many people know this but Saturn used to work in the paint-mixing department of a Roman DIY store at weekends before Greek club Olympiakos offered him a contract. It was a tricky auld dilemma for him but in the end he opted for the football because, he declared, "Paintmixingday is for sport, not for paint-mixing" and with that Paintmixingday became known as Saturn's Day.

And then Saturday. In short, then, it's ordained by the Gods that we do sport on Saturdays, and if we're not fit enough watching will suffice. Crisis or no crisis.

DON'T get me wrong, some of my best friends are distant relations of farmers and in no sense at all am I being complacent about this crisis, unlike Tony "sure, what harm - the rural community doesn't vote New Labour any way" Blair. But it's been 20 days, four hours and 12 seconds since my last live outdoor sporty event and while I rarely have any truck with treason I now say brashly: Please let the games recommence, soonish.

Apart from anything, sport seems to be the only significant sector of society that's responded in such a complete everything-off manner, all the rest are just putting soggy mats (I suspect soaked in water in most cases) at their front doors. Any chance of allowing sport to place a soggy mat at its turnstiles?

True, for some sports it's been bonanza time in terms of publicity (confession: these past few weeks I've heard of Irish sporting organisations I never actually knew existed).

Example: have you, hand on heart, ever heard the words "ladies' hockey" pass Jeremy Paxman's lips before? Me neither - until Wednesday when he wiggled his eyebrows upon hearing some cross-county games had been postponed in England.

He then uttered the words, the first time the sport has made it on to telly in 20 years, outside the five-in-the-morning slot during the Olympics. So, it hasn't been all bad news.

Speaking of hockey - you might feign disinterest in the sport, but spare a thought for Ballymoney's women's team. They still have eight matches (possibly 13) to play between today and yesterday, unless the end-of-season deadline is changed, which I suspect it will be. If we can get going soon they'll only have 13 games to play in an afternoon and will be very grateful for it.

And, if your average sporting amateur player is to get a holiday this summer, most leagues will resemble one of those Japanese telly endurance game shows when play is resumed. I've heard of one under-12 football team that may have to play 16 home games on March 31st. We can only hope they have good engines.

Anyway, the Passalizing Papacotta looks gorgeous in the kitchen (think glow-in-the-dark greeny puce, as popularised by RTE's Beyond the Hall Door), the neighbours can now come and go as they please through their front door and there's nothing I don't know about Elk-Tossing.

Now, any chance of a game of two halves in the wind and the rain to revive our flagging sporty spirits?