IT'S only fair to congratulate those Wasps fellows for their latest trophy, but I've never really seen the point of rugby as a sport.

It's too rough and there are far too many macho jolly japes at amateur level mooning, silly songs or drinking contests.

Rugby people think they are the bees' knees, or the Wasps' elbows for that matter. Their game was invented when a bored lad at Rugby School picked up the ball at a soccer match and ran with it.

It would have been simpler to send him off and ban him for three games rather than build a new sport around this escapade. Soccer is a better game, even though our Wycombe Wanderers are now in the doldrums. There's less contact, more skill, more excitement and you don't have to watch neanderthals in bleeding head bandages scrum down with each other.

Footballers look normal, while rugger stars are built differently, have handshakes that crush fingers and rippling muscles that make you feel inadequate. Still, rugby is by no means my least favourite sport. Golf takes that prize for sheer dullness.

Playing it is bad enough, but watching should be banned. Or maybe doctors could give special golf-viewing prescriptions instead of sleeping pills.

When associates ask me for a round of golf, I scare them away by replying: "I'm rather good at pitch-and-putt, especially on those funny miniature obstacle courses."

I've long bemoaned my rotten fortune for living in High Wycombe, virtually the only town where football league soccer has been relegated to second string behind rugby. But my luck is so bad that we're bound to breed the new Tiger Woods here, and golf will soon eclipse Wycombe Wanderers as well.