GAA: On February 9th, a photograph appeared on the front pages of the national newspapers that may yet come to serve as an epitaph for Irish sport during the Ahern years.

Disposing of the last of the old currency, the dearly-departed punt, The Leader and Charlie Economy decided to rid themselves of their change in the best way possible. Giving the cameras a twinkle and the devil's own grin, the boys had a bit of an oul' flutter.

Betting slips held aloft, they stood in Paddy Power bookmakers of Baggot Street and sent the old money off with a bang.

The picture framed perfectly the myth of jocose ordinariness both men have cultivated over the past half-decade, appealing to the punter in us all and reminding us that despite the renown they have garnered in the stuffy and intellectual corridors of international politics, they are sportsmen at heart. The wonder was that they didn't bring Doctor Suave, Our Man in Sport, along for the ride. It would have been nice to capture the Three Amigos of Irish politics having one last throw, just for old times sake.

Not for them a prudish photo-opportunity plugging a State-sponsored savings scheme or charity. Despite icy economic forecasts, our Taoiseach and Minister for Finance could not resist another shoot portraying them as a fun-loving bunch, the kind of guys who watch The Premiership - or even show up on it. Fun, after all, has been the great theme of this administration - it seems like only yesterday since we showed the rest of Continent how to burn a million bucks in a 45-minute fireworks display.

All three men have a long affinity with sport. It is no coincidence that Bertie has begun to look even more robust now that the Dublin football team has rediscovered a touch of the 1970s swagger. Nothing brings out the roguish McCreevy smile like a good Kildare championship run. And Dr Jim McDaid was a soccer player of considerable reputation and has in recent times developed a famously shrewd eye at race meets.

Even though most Irish people would gladly endorse legislation banning politicians from coming within 100 metres of an Irish sports celebration, the presence of the Three Amigos was less galling because you had to allow, however grudgingly, that they genuinely seemed to love sport. While previous government leaders blatantly milked it on the podium (remember the Champs- Elysées in 1987) and inevitably scored own goals, the players of the Ahern era knew how to take their points.

If you connected the three (Leader, Ministers for Finance and Tourism/Sport) to a polygraph machine and asked them if they held the best interests of Irish sport at heart, they would all attest that they did and chances are they would pass. Regardless of how the coming election pans out, it should be acknowledged that this Government was sports friendly.

Which, as they begin the spring cleaning at Dáil Éireann, makes all the more remarkable the beautiful mess that Irish sport finds itself in. After a week spent lamenting the passing of Spike Milligan, it is a relief to find that Irish humour of the absurd is healthier than ever, given the hours of serious debate devoted to our Imaginary Stadium.

Only the Scots, schooled in the anarchic vision of Billy Connolly, could be mad enough to take on partners who can offer only the promise of facilities, based on the mutual cooperation of three sports bodies that don't communicate and backed by a Government that may not exist in three months.

There is a possibility UEFA will run with the Scotland/Ireland bid out of sheer curiosity. Oh to see the German advance party checking their Irish stadium 16 months ahead of the tournament.

"That's where the warm-down area will be," their hospitable Irish guide will explain, pointing to a fairy fort in an Abbotstown field. The chances are that all our guests would be so bewildered we would probably win the tournament.

But even if, for some inexplicable reason, UEFA aren't swung on the Celtic Chaos 2008 ticket, there is plenty of domestic fun to keep us going. By now, most of us are confused as to how many stadia stand in Dublin. Does Croke Park still exist? Have the IRFU already played at Abbotstown? Would a GAA XV beat an IRFU selection in an Association Football friendly? And if Ireland is without a National Stadium, how come Jimmy McGee does boxing reports from there on Friday nights?

It seems inevitable, given the abundance of grounds cropping up both on the ground and in our minds, that teams are going to lose big games from turning up at the wrong venue.

That's if they turn up at all. Last month's Government tax break, inspired by Charlie's desire to say thanks to our sporting heroes, managed to disenfranchise the biggest sporting draw in the country in one fell swoop. He might as well have just distributed a manifesto entitled, Reasons Not to Play GAA, From One to One Million.

Meanwhile, thousands of teachers are today sitting in their staff rooms vowing never to volunteer a second of their time again. Disillusioned by the bitter and ill-handled pay dispute of last year, they are now humiliated by the temporary resolution of the supervision disputes. Decades of an altruistic tradition are being torched as spectacularly and quickly as those fireworks over the Custom House a couple of years back.

The GAA ought to be worried. Rugby ought to be worried. Soccer should be nervous. All sport should. Far fewer teachers are going to be bothered investing their free time in coaching after this.

The Ahern years coincided with the arrival of a "Nothing-for-Nothing" mentality in Irish culture anyway. The demeaning of the ordinary members of ASTI - however ham-fisted the association's approach has been - has fatally weakened the true strength of Irish sports: the silent dedication at grassroots level.

There may well have been positive sports developments in the Ahern years, but they have been buried under the flashier excesses. The 1998 Tour de France charade? The brightest memory of that pointless exercise remains the Doc's fetching yellow polo neck.

For all the talk, nothing has changed in Irish sport. The fringe athletes still survive on a pittance. Stories like that of Karen Shinkins at the European Indoor Championships and the Irish rowing haul at the World Championships all happen despite of this country, not because of it. The best have to leave in order to compete. And they are the lucky ones.

Everything that happens in Irish sport is based on emotion, not sense. That's why the picture of our two heroes at the bookies is so apt. There they are, in front of the nation, going in blind and with good nature. Sure, you wouldn't know what could happen next, their smiles seem to say.

And that is the most frightening thing.