So, Eddie Irvine can't understand why Damon Hill isn't chirpily skipping away from the world of Formula One and looking forward, in frenzied anticipation, to spending more time with his rhododendrons?

Nor can he understand why Hill, despite this being the most miserable season of his Formula One career to date, continues to insist that he can do better, that it's just a matter of fiddling with a few nuts and bolts?

Janie Eddie, you just don't get it. When, in a few years' time, you're being encouraged to pack in your Formula One career by some younger chap, whose mouth rarely takes advice from its brain, will you promise to let us know how chuffed you feel then about your impending retirement?

Maybe you'll be one of the lucky ones, one of the few who can walk away from their sporting lives without ever looking over their shoulders and wishing they could have their time all over again. Yes, Damon Hill has already made enough money to ensure he won't have to become a driving instructor after he retires to pay the mortgage; yes, he's having a thoroughly disastrous season with Jordan and yes, if he'd any sense at all he'd say good riddance to Formula One, stop risking his life by driving around in circles at over 200 miles per hour and find other things to do to fill his days. But what, you wonder, could ever replace the thrill for Damon Hill of driving around in circles at over 200 miles per hour (in front of crowds of over 100,000) for a living? Indeed, rhododendrons are very lovely things when they're in full bloom, but looking after their needs is hardly as stimulating as fending off Michael Schumacher as he looms large in your rear-view mirror while you're zipping around the winding streets of Monaco.

So, who could blame Hill for hinting last week that tomorrow's Grand Prix might not be his last, even though it now appears it will be, despite the fact that his farewell party had already been arranged? And who could blame him for squeezing every last drop out of his Formula One career? Health willing, he'll have another 40 Formula Onefree years on this earth, so why not hang in there for as long as he has the desire?

George Best has spent much of his time since hanging up his boots prematurely insisting that he has no regrets ("I spent a lot of my money on booze, birds and fast cars - the rest I just squandered"), but it's hard to believe that there aren't times when he thinks, "bugger, I could have played for another five or six years at the very highest level".

Retirement from a sporting career lasts an awful long time - look at Steffi Graf and Boris Becker, who both hung up their rackets last week - and they're not long past 30. If we collected a penny for every time they were referred to as "veterans" during Wimbledon we'd earn almost as much as Damon Hill.

But even for those who do play on until the legs say enough, it's hard to walk away. A few summers back I had the pleasure of meeting a former great Down Gaelic footballer, well over two decades since he'd retired from the game.

His life was going well, he said, he had no complaints. He had a good job, a nice home and no money worries. But "it's all downhill once you hang up your boots", he said, laughing. He wasn't really joking. Finding something - anything - to replace the thrill of playing in front of 70,000 people in Croke Park or the simple camaraderie of your team-mates must be nigh on impossible.

A few years ago cricket historian David Frith wrote a book called His Own Hand which examined the bizarre number of retired cricketers who have committed suicide.

At least 100 have taken their own lives, including 24 Test players (the last being English wicket-keeper David Bairstow, 10 months ago). That figure of 24 equals over one per cent of players who have represented their countries, when, for example, Britain's suicide rate is 0.007 per cent of the population. Simon Hughes, former cricketer and now a sports writer with the Daily Telegraph, wrote of the end of his own career last year at the time of Bairstow's death. "It is to many a way of life. It becomes your wife, mother and favourite uncle, an all-in-one family that, once initiated in, you cannot see beyond.

"I cried when I was sacked by my county, Middlesex, having played for them at various levels for 22 years. "I felt spent and worthless, like an old washing machine thrown on the tip. Cricket defines professional players - it is all they've ever done. Without it, they don't know who they are or what they can be instead."

Of course the greater percentage of retired sports people go on to lead perfectly contented lives, but even for them it must take some adjusting after their sporting legs are no longer willing. On the evidence of interviews he gives to the media, Damon Hill appears to be a whole lot more stable, well-adjusted and down-to-earth than most of his Formula One colleagues, so nobody is predicting that he will struggle with life after he completes his final pit-stop. But still, if the prospect of retirement for us non-sporty types is scary (don't they say it's one of the great causes of stress?) it's difficult to comprehend how the likes of Hill could ever happily swap the buzz of their sporting careers for the challenge of fertilising rhododendrons.

"But it's for him to decide, it's not my problem - as long as he qualifies behind me I don't care," proclaimed Eddie Irvine last week, after giving a lengthy lecture on why Damon should retire.

You're right there Eddie, it's not your problem. But it will be in a few years time.