I’m officially now a titch... which means small really IS beautiful!

MARTIN O’Neill is a pocket rocket. So too is Wes Hoolahan. These two rockets are looking for lift-off from the same launch pad but, sadly, from the outside, it looks like the two rockets are not hitting the same target.

Why this is so, nobody knows, but it always raises the question: what’s going on with Martin and Wes? It seems like it’s almost a perverse reaction to criticism of O’Neill’s inability to see that when Hoolahan comes on the field the Irish team changes. They become invigorated. More adventurous. He galvanises them.

O’Neill is regarded as one of the great tactical managers, but sometimes it happens that he makes a wrong choice. A lot of commentators suggested that against Georgia it was a tactical wrong move to leave Wes sitting on the bench.

His excuse was that Wes was having trouble with an injury. He would have been better off taking a straight trade-off between not playing Wes in Georgia, and keeping him for the last half hour against Serbia. With Wes, we probably would have beaten Georgia.

I actually joined the pocket rocket club myself this past month. I was in hospital and two lovely nurses measured me for height. ‘You are 5ft 6in,’ I was told. ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ I replied, ‘I’m 5ft 11in and a half!’

I never, for a moment, considered that I would become a short arse as I got older. I wonder whether my bum and my height are in consort. Did they shag off together or did they decrease one at a time?

Mind you, as a short ass, I would be in very good company. You only have to look at Tom Cruise to see that his non-tallness has given him the drive to become a major Hollywood star.

It’s not just that he’s a good actor, he also has the drive necessary to become a mogul.

The only thing that betrays Tom and his insecurity as a smaller guy is that it is mandatory that he has a scene in every movie he makes where he has to run. He likes it because it elongates his body.

The real Achilles heel on Tom’s feet, as far as I’m concerned, is that he is a big subscriber to Scientology which is a strange and dangerous cult.

Speaking of strange and dangerous behaviour, Mel Gibson criticised the Jews but it didn’t stop him from making the movie, The Passion Of The Christ.

Mel is nominally a Catholic but his philosophy was a bit skewed in an anti-Semitic direction. He apologised for his behaviour but he doesn’t look like he’ll be in line for any investors in his up-coming movies. Luckily for Mel he has made enough money to be able to finance his own movies.

Back home in Ireland, we have had the benefit of two short ass presidents. The first of these was Seán T O’Kelly, who was invariably sneered at when he walked on the pitch at Lansdowne Road.

HOWEVER, on a trip to America he wasn’t looked on so favourably, and was dubbed a leprechaun. He also had to take a bit of stick at international rugby games when he walked on the pitch before a game. He had to put up with the taunt of: ‘Cut the grass, we can’t see the President.’

The second impressive short arse president is the sitting tenant of Áras an Uachtaráin, Michael D Higgins. In the beginning, Michael swore that he wouldn’t serve more than one term, but if ever a man was suited to a role, Michael D is that man and I won’t hear a bad word said against him.

Now, being regarded as a titch myself, I am delighted to anticipate talking eyeball to eyeball with two staunch exponents of Irish culture, Paddy Moloney of the Chieftains and the ubiquitous Marty Morrissey, both founding members of the brigade of small but beautiful personalities in our land.