He's short, wears stubble, he's in a pile of trouble 

The originators of the UK's football-terrace chants are an inventive lot, although their body of work often leans more toward the menace of Fulham's "You're goin' home in a London ambulance!' or the socio-economic snobbery of Chelsea fans singing to their Liverpool guests - to the tune of "You are My Sunshine" - ""You are a Scouser, a thieving Scouser, you're only happy on Giro day, your mum's out stealing, your dad's drug-dealing, please don't take my hub-caps away!" than to any great wit. But they're not short of the latter: for mine, the high point of wit was reached by Glasgow Celtic fans when Andy Goram, the 1990s goalkeeper for arch-rival Rangers, was diagnosed with schizophrenia: on his next visit to Parkhead, Goram was greeted with "Two Andy Gorams, there's only two Andy Gorams." And I suppose the England fans' special treat saved for games against Germany - "Two World Wars and one World Cup, doo-dah, doo-dah," to the tune of "Camptown Races," must have sounded funny on its first airing, as would have Manchester City's fans chanting in the 1990s against Manchester United, to the tune of "If You're Happy and You Know It," "If a Neville plays for England so can I." More commonly the fans fit their sentiments into a form of verbal haiku of the kind exemplified by the Arsenal fans' approving chant for their former French star Emmanuel Petit: "He's blonde, he's quick, his name's a porno flick, Emmanuel, Emmanuel," or Liverpool fans' paean to their former striker, the 6-foot-7 Peter Crouch: "He's big, he's Red, his feet stick out the bed, Peter Crouch." This form of verbal acclamation can easily be adapted to the negative, as in the chant that greets Wayne Rooney wherever he goes: "He's short, no neck, he looks like f*****g Shrek!" And speaking of Rooney, it appears that it was precisely this kind of thing that saw him left out of Manchester United's fixture with Everton - his former club - at the weekend. As UK papers breathlessly reported that Rooney and his wife Coleen were locked in tense talks to save their marriage, following the revelations that the 24-year-old Rooney had transactions with call girls while his wife was in hospital delivering their son Kai, Manchester United evidently received intelligence that the Everton terraces were planning to greet their former darling with a specially commissioned chant, to the tune of Bob Marley's "No Woman, No Cry," a slight change to "No Woman, No Kai." But that was deemed too cruel to Rooney in his current predicament, the poor thing. 

Will we ever beat the All Blacks again? 

That was the plaintive question ringing around ANZ Stadium on Saturday night after the Wallabies did everything but beat the New Zealanders. It has now been 10 Tests and 25 months since the Wallabies beat their arch-rivals: during that period there have been some lamentable Australian efforts, but that simply could not be said about Saturday night, when the Australians outplayed the All Blacks for most of the game, only to lose a heart-breaker by one point after leading 22-9 at one point. In fairness to the All Blacks, they had looked to be lacking their trademark intensity for much of the night, but they definitely clicked into gear when it mattered, and what was frustrating for Australian fans was that the Wallabies couldn't go with them. Quite simply, the Australians lost the Test because they did not take their opportunities to increase the scoreboard pressure on New Zealand by kicking the goals they could have done. Matt Giteau in particular missed four of seven conversion and penalty goal attempts, scorning ten points - which you simply cannot do against the All Blacks. That is what the Australians can control: in light of that statistic, they have nothing to complain about whatsoever in terms of the close loss. But again, what they can complain about is the refereeing. Once again, the All Blacks showed that they have referees out-psyched: and in particular, they have Richie McCaw, who pushes the rules envelope so far it becomes a tent. Most players in world rugby ply their trade during a Test and hope that any mistakes and transgressions they make will be treated leniently by the referee: McCaw alone seems to say "This is what I'm going to do, and I dare you to call it against me." And generally, they don't. Coming in from the side, detaching too early from a scrum, the well-publicised accumulation of last warnings - no, really, this is your last last warning - you name it, there is ample evidence that McCaw has the referees bluffed. It is never outright cheating, just taking legality to its extremes, and he is a protected species, looking referees in the eyes and daring them to take him on. The Wallabies don't criticise it, in fact they call it "game smarts" and want to emulate it. But the danger for McCaw - and the All Blacks - is that the referees, tired of being treated like Chicago shop-owners in the 1930s, decide to take a stand: and that they do this during next year's World Cup. 

And then there were four 

So we have two mouth-watering AFL finals to look forward to next weekend, with one considered a foregone conclusion and one the grand final we should have had. Collingwood v Geelong will be an absolute cracker, but the other seems to football fans to be a game that St Kilda should win. Given the Bulldogs' recent form, that's a fair call, but also, that's not an enjoyable situation for a team to be in now that we are down to sudden death. I watched the Bulldogs closely on Saturday night, from just behind their bench, and while they did enough to see off a brave Swans outfit, they have a lot of questions hanging over them. Down eight goals to three in the second quarter, the Dogs looked to be sliding out of the finals without a whimper, and while they pulled back from the brink of destruction, they have a lot of work to do to match the Saints. The Dogs simply have too many players who are not producing their best. Bob Murphy showed on Saturday night what a superstar he is, making something good happen for his team virtually every time he went near the ball, but Rodney Eade's men have to get rid of the strange uncertainty that afflicts them early in finals. If they switch off as they did in the second quarter on Saturday night, St Kilda will run amok. Even the magnificent Ryan Griffen had a lazy kick during this period punished by a turnover that was rebounded immediately for a goal, and I was close enough to watch the baffled head-shake from him as he trotted back to position. Right now, they look too brittle to handle St Kilda, which looks to have more talent. Brian Lake does not look fully fit and the Dogs certainly need Dale Morris back to handle one of Koschitzke or Riewoldt. They also need absolutely everyone working like a Murphy or a Dylan Addison, all the time: there was a lot of downhill skiing on Saturday night. But all of this is absolved by one simple fact: the Dogs are alive going into the penultimate weekend. No-one will tip them, but Rodney Eade will love that friendless aspect of this week. What a heist it would be, but don't write them off. 

Son of Joe debuts in the show 

Two games into the 2010 US college football season and it happened: at home, in a big game against Michigan, Joe Montana's son Nate trotted onto the field early in the first quarter and took over the Notre Dame offence as starting quarterback Dayne Crist was being treated on the sideline for blurred vision. 31 years after his father completed his standout career for the Fighting Irish, another Montana was calling the signals. But young Montana's first college game did not exactly come with a fairytale finish: while he did throw a 37-yard completion, his last throw - the final action in the first half - sailed way out of bounds with receivers open in the end zone. Crist returned after halftime and that was it for the romantics. Notre Dame lost to a resurgent Michigan, proving that the big problem area of the Charlie Weis era - losing at home - would still be a worry for new coach Brian Kelly. As for Michigan, unveiling a new quarterback who can rack up 502 yards and three touchdowns by himself in a hostile environment like Notre Dame can go a long way to placating a restless fan base, as coach Rich Rodriguez has no doubt noted, happy for the first time at 2-0, after successive 3-9 and 5-7 seasons had not endeared him to the Blue army one little bit. 

Ice epiphany had: those guys in spangles rock 

I went ice-skating yesterday, for only the second time in my life. Great fun, demanding on parts of the body you wouldn't think it would be, such as the hips, and mentally draining (for someone who has broken his wrist three times, is now 48 and was concentrating like crazy). But I found myself developing a whole new respect for the figure-skaters. That ice is hard, and close: to throw themselves around - and be thrown - the way that they do must take unbelievable courage and trust in your partner. I don't care what they wear, those boys - and more so the girls - are seriously brave athletes. The other thing that came out of the day was learning, for the first time, that Melbourne has an ice-hockey team - the Melbourne Ice. We watched them training on the main rink, and decided to come to watch a game at the Icehouse as soon as we can. It should be easier to get a ticket than the last time I tried, in Edmonton: seeing that Oilers were playing their arch-rivals, the Calgary Flames, we tried to buy tickets, to which the ticket seller burst out laughing. That game had been sold out for 18 months. So we made do with the University of Alberta Golden Bears playing Brandon University: it was great, but I wondered why the home supporters were so pleased to be in front at three-quarter time. Then I noticed the players shaking hands.