There are many clichés available to label the end of sports seasons when matters are resolved, when wheat breaks free of the chaff: “The business end”, “the sharp end” and (© Sir Alex Ferguson) “squeaky bum time”.

Winners show themselves to be winners and losers are losers, which they quietly suspected they were all along. The runners-up, the nearly men and women, are most heartbroken of all, having been so near but so far.

It’s always seemed to me the height of rudeness and shallowness to only take an interest in an athlete or a team when the going gets serious. You have to earn the right to be there at the moments of death or glory. What’s more, how much meaning can the death or glory have for you if you haven’t been there from the beginning? After all, you can’t turn up for Mass just in time for the Eucharist.