Active participation in sport is obviously a finite activity.

It appears inevitable that once we have the figure 50 years in our sights, a natural inability to actively play any sport, kicks in.

Take me for example. For as long as I can remember I have loved sports... most kinds, but especially football (soccer and rugby) and, somewhat quixotically... cricket. I played both footie and rugger at school and - not very well. My somewhat inadequate talents at both games were then inflicted on my university teams, and upon completion of my tertiary education, on various other amateur sides.

And... I loved every inept minute. No matter that I was an arthritic and pretty immobile centre back or rugby second-row forward, I made it a point to thoroughly enjoy myself every time I stepped onto the field.

I also knew when to say: That's it, time's up. Where rugby was concerned, that came when I was in my early 30s. It is one thing to turn up on a Monday morning at lectures, when one is in one's teens and 20s, with a black eye and a limp; it is quite another to stagger into an office meeting in one's 40s, in the same condition. I did totter on for a bit longer on the cricket field, but eventually anno domini and arthritis put a stop to that too.

The other day I was reflecting on my sporting youth with a good friend of a similar vintage. He has also long retired from his favoured sporting activity, which was tennis: "I'm too bloody slow these days, don't enjoy it anymore." Then I remembered my teenage years when I used to see a venerable gentleman playing a decent standard of tennis at Marsa. He must have been well into his 70s, my friend is a few years shy of 60. So... did they make them from a different mould back in those days? Obviously the answer is yes.

The superannuated Roger Federer was called Robbie Scerri; a delightful chap who had apparently been something of a local champion in his youth, but could still cut it with the best in his twilight years. Where are the Robbie Scerris of today? Sitting at home, peering at their mobile phones, most likely. Still at least their thumb keeps getting a decent workout.

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A postscript on the Titan tragedy: Personally I cannot understand why the hell anyone would risk his or her life submerging into the deep ocean in a claustrophobic kettle, that looks like a short cut to certain death.

I followed the whole horrendous episode on TV and in the press and I kept asking myself the same question: Why? Whatever the manufacturer of the submersible had to say on the subject, it looked like what it turned out to be... and that was - quite simply - premature burial at sea.

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Hands up everyone who thinks that Vladimir Putin is the 21st century's answer to Adolf Hitler? Yes, me too. How any democratically-elected politician could even pass the time of day with this monster, from here on... is completely beyond me. The man should be shunned and vilified by every human being on the planet. What decent person invades another friendly country and then lies through his teeth about his reasons for the initial outrage? To say and repeat the disgusting lie that Ukraine was a fascist dictatorship, ruled by Nazis, was not only a fiction, but much worse than that; it was a revolting falsehood.