The missus didn't see much of us this weekend. She is a sport widow and pretty happy about it, I reckon.

The Blue Bell was home for three days and played host first of all to the Man U-West Ham cakewalk. Blimey! I haven't seen such gifts on offer since the Three Wise Men arrived at the stable. Typical of an extraordinary season that Cristiano has to score his 4Oth with his 'central area'.

I swear there must be have been 2 million Man U fans worldwide who'd've just loved to have been that football.

Boro turned over a Pompey team showing all the bite of a hibernating tortoise. Fulham continued to climb phoenix-like from the ashes, and you have to be pleased for Roy Hodgson.

Most of the season, he’s come across as an affable chauffeur, driving the Al Fayed Roller down a division. But his optimism has been rewarded and three points against Pompey is a shoo-in.

The good news for fans of the Championship is that Bolton Wanderers will not be playing there next season. No, we have to put up with what a Scouse friend of mine would call 'an alehouse team' for another year.

There must be a deafening clamour for tickets to Bolton-Stoke already. Crikey, there'll be an alert for air-traffic controllers at Manchester Airport for that one. If it's a sunny day they'll have to issue Raybans to the midfielders on both sides.

I think Pulis and Megson have found something even more direct that Route One... Route Zero?

Leicester fans'll be even less happy about Megson's success, given his little six-week holiday at the club earlier in the season. The team from the Walker's started uncertainly, had quavers mid-season, and plays like a bunch of Wotsits at the end.

It's hard to believe that only 11 years have passed since O'Neill was pogoing down the touchline like a demented kangaroo, and Leicester were nicking the Worthy Cup off the Boro. Ever since then I've sort of liked the club somehow.

It's miserable but they deserve to go, if only 'cos they've employed more managers this year than the average NHS trust.

Now the wife did want to watch one event this year – the Badminton Horse Trials. That's what I thought 'n' all – how do they hold the racquets, eh?

Me, I don't get all the Zara-rah-rah gee-gee palaver. Is there owt duller in the sporting firmament than dressage? So what if you can make your horse trot sideways and backwards and do the pigging hokey-cokey. Actually that would be miles better – Strictly Come Trotting with the ponies doing the pasa doble and the cha-cha-cha.

Any road, not enough pondweed got up not enough toff-nostrils so the whole thing bored me to tears.

But there was always the Crucible. The days of fags and nerve-steadying lagers are gone, yeah, but still. Every so often someone comes along who makes a sport look so simple that you feel compelled to go and play it yourself as soon as possible.

Steve Davis is right to compare Rocket Ronnie with the gods of golf and tennis. O'Sullivan's performance against Hendry – the most successful player in the game and the only one who appears to be slowly turning into a potato – was simply perfect.

Even Willie Thorne couldn’t quibble about it – and he was particularly pernickety cos Leicester were on the brink.

If you judged a sporting entertainer by the number of times you gasped at what he did – and admittedly Michaela Tabb was reffing in the semi so there were a few more gasps than normal – then O’Sullivan would be way out in front of everyone else, bar Federer maybe.

I was down the snooker hall Monday night trying to pot balls with running side and deep screw (feel free to insert your own innuendos) and it's blinking impossible, although I don't know about you but between pints one and three I am always spookily good.

Of course the Rocket's retirement is always a day away, which is possibly what makes the bloke so compelling – that he might suddenly just walk off into the sunset, cueless. Clearly the lad's not as mentally strong as some, but that makes him more watchable.

I like me sportsmen a bit flaky. You can keep your Faldos, your Davis' and Borgs. Give me a Daly, a Ronnie or a McEnroe any day.

Hopefully, the Rocket will return next year. Genius is an over-used word in sport – one of my smoggy mates called Downing a genius on Saturday, just before he passed it gently to the Pompey keeper from five yards – but Ronnie qualifies.

Right-handed, left-handed, he could split the pack playing with his teeth. He might not have the mind to win four more but he's still the best I ever saw.