Citius, Altius, Fortius

Every once in a while, millions—mostly men but increasingly women as well—lock horns over the question of which is the best sport in the world. Nothing else—not politics, not religion, not sex, not culture—causes such paranoia or fiery tempers. Little wonder since sports allows everyone to participate vicariously, happily bandying a favourite hero, a villain, an opinion and complete contempt for those who don’t abide by their own fanatic logic.

My sister has never stepped onto a tennis court but there is not a single match she doesn’t follow. An aunt—a professor of finance who has never held a bat in her life—is the ultimate cricket fan we can depend on for the score or to find out who’s playing who. We all know it’s suicidal to disturb her on a match day. Weddings, deaths, births and anniversaries all have to make way for her match dates. And my driver’s 22-year-old son, who’s never kicked a football in his life, is a fan of Manchester United and Wayne Rooney.