It was good to see snooker star Jimmy White back in the limelight at the World Championships in Sheffield, even if his chances of winning the title have evaporated again.

Jimmy is (of course) the Loveable Rogue of the snooker world. He inherited this title from Alex "Hurricane" Higgins, who would still be the Loveable Rogue if he could get past the first round of even a minor event. It is not enough to be in the news, like Alex, solely for exploits away from the green baize table. You have to pot a few balls now and again.

But in snooker, there is room for only one loveable rogue at a time, and Jimmy White remains the man.

Jimmy has had huge personal, professional, health and finance problems during the past few years. His attractively battered looks, his ability to play cards and drink beer at the same time, while relaxing in full view of the media, and the full-blooded way in which he deals with his aforementioned problems, have ensured him the Loveable Rogue tag, the most sought-after accolade in snooker after the World Championship title itself.

But such titles in the snooker world are greatly envied, and other players fight back strongly.

They know that the battle for the public's love and adulation is fought not merely on the green baize.

What all players seek is an angle.

For many years, the late Fred Davis was the Grand Old Man of snooker. He inherited this title from his brother, the great Joe Davis, when Joe died and left it to him in his will.

But Fred is now dead. Today, that is Fred's angle, shared for eternity with Joe. Fred's dead. The title of Grand Old Man Of Snooker is thus up for grabs, but there is no rush so far.

Steve Davis, no relation, has another angle, namely inscrutability. When Steve approaches the snooker table, no one knows, has ever known, or can ever know, what Steve is thinking. No. Not even Steve himself, except that he may be thinking now that his day is nearly done, and that he may inherit the mantle of Grand Old Man of snooker before his time. That is why Steve, when he is not being inscrutable, is being very slightly alarmed.

The angle to which our own Ken Doherty currently adheres is invisibility. Ken was World Champion last year, but in the current world championships has opted for the persona of Invisible Man. He has kept out of the media spotlight. He has not given any major interviews. He has lain low.

Being invisible, the only danger he faces is that of people bumping into him and possibly injuring his snooker arm.

Meanwhile Peter Ebdon is this year's Born-again Man, who found it hard to get over his defeat by Stephen Hendry in the final two years ago, but finally came to terms with it. He is approximately three years too old to contest the title of Comeback Kid.

Being the loveable rogue is only possible in a limited number of sports. For example, you cannot be a loveable rogue in golf. The game is too formal by far and the riff-raff element, so closely associated with roguery, is still kept at arm's length.

In tennis, which retains a certain social cachet, the most coveted title is that of enfant terrible. This is currently up for grabs. It was most famously held some years back by John McEnroe, an American who did not even speak French, or indeed English. Oddly enough, no French player, no matter how rude, has ever been an enfant terrible. It is a question of attitude more than language.

It was once possible to be a loveable rogue in soccer, before professionalism took its clammy grip. George Best was the first man to win this title and he has held on to it ever since. When he dies it goes with him: He is soccer's Loveable Rogue In Perpetuum.

George has worked hard at this. It is not a matter of just sitting back on one's laurels. Occasional bouts of serious misbehaviour are called for long after the playing skills fade, and George has not let us down.

In women's sport, the loveable rogue does not feature at all. No female sporting champions ever go out and get drunk, beat up boyfriends, cause rows in nightclubs and find themselves in trouble with the law. No. There is only one generic accolade, so competition is non-existent: any female sportsperson who does well is a Golden Girl, and there it ends.

Sonia O'Sullivan was a Golden Girl of Irish athletics, and is on her way to being one again. The Olympic swimmer Michelle Smith, despite the latest news, is still the Golden Girl of Irish swimming, and heartily sick she must be of it.

Right now there are so many Golden Girls, of whom Catherina McKiernan is only the latest, that the currency is seriously devalued. We badly need a female loveable rogue. Perhaps her time has come.

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