The honours system

While England's cricketers were given gongs to recognise their Ashes triumph, Liverpool's footballers were forced to slum it with the commoners despite their inspirational fightback in Istanbul.

Quite right too. Tony Blair doesn't get much right when it comes to recognising the great and the good but, on this occasion, his decision was a wise one. Parry's reaction smacks of a personal crusade for status rather than a heartfelt plea for recognition of those under his control.

Sport's relationship with the honours system has always been a problematic one. The issue of worth and value does not sit easily with a sporting world comprised of vast disparities in both finance and exposure.

How can a footballer, paid more than a million pounds a year to train for a couple of hours a day and play a 90-minute match on a weekend, really be compared with a nurse or doctor working tirelessly to save lives?

The equation is almost grotesque in its lack of balance and to reward some of society's highest earners simply for doing their job seems a peculiar anomaly within a supposedly modern and forward-thinking Britain.

The honours system is a peculiar anomaly, though, and, as any trawl through the peerage lists will prove, rewarding the rich and privileged seems to be a prerequisite, rather than an unnecessary by-product, of the whole carry on.

So, if we are stuck with what we have, it is up to us to make the best of it. That means tempering the excesses of a system that seems unbelievably arbitrary in nature and a Prime Minister who displays a disturbing penchant for latching on to populist causes.

Cricket was undoubtedly one such cause but, if we are to have sporting honours at all, this summer's Ashes winners seem as worthy of recognition as anyone.

In keeping the nation captivated for more than two months of the summer, they fostered a sense of shared identity that transcended colour and creed. Given everything else that was going on in London at the time, that was quite some achievement.

Just as significantly, the likes of Andrew Flintoff and Kevin Pietersen energised an entire generation and transformed cricket from a dying sport into a viable challenger to football's hegemony.

Households, and particularly women, who knew nothing of the game, suddenly discovered a hitherto hidden passion for the leg break and the googly. Children swapped goalposts for stumps, a shift in mindset that has enabled the likes of Durham's community office to gradually start re-introducing the game on to the school curriculum. In short, England's Ashes winners kick-started a process that looks set to last.

Liverpool's triumph, on the other hand, though no less impressive and captivating, was fleeting. It burned brilliantly for the 45 minutes it took to wipe out AC Milan's three-goal half-time lead and the similar period it took to triumph through extra-time and penalties.

It did not bring the nation together, beyond an hour-and-a-half of wondering why Rafael Bentiez' side had been so bad in the first half if they were capable of playing like that, and did nothing to change the nature of England's relationship with football.

It was great to watch on television, and those lucky enough to have been inside Istanbul's cavernous Ataturk Stadium speak of a quasi-religious experience that will stay with them for a lifetime.

But, at its heart, it was a parochial victory. This was Liverpool winning remember, not England. Given the fierce rivalries that continue to colour the footballing landscape, there will have been a fair percentage of the British population wanting the Anfield side to lose, rather than succeed.

That should not be a barrier to recognition, of course, but club success does not have the impact or significance of an international triumph. If our honours system is to acknowledge anything in relation to sport, it should pay attention to that.

When London was awarded the 2012 Olympics, one of the Government's key pledges was to maximise the medal-winning capability of the British squad. No stone was to be left unturned, apparently, to ensure the nation was not disgraced in front of the watching world.

Well, when it comes to shooting, that promise is already starting to look pretty hollow indeed.

Thanks to legislation that was introduced in the aftermath of the Dunblane massacre in 1996, Britain's 200-or-so pistol shooters are banned from practising their sport in their home country. Their guns are kept under lock and key in Switzerland, meaning they are able to practice far less than their competitors.

The law can be modified. The police, military personnel and other servants of the Crown are already allowed to shoot pistols, while the ban was temporarily lifted to allow pistol shooting to take place in the Commonwealth Games four years ago. Another suspension will have to be granted to enable the Olympic competition to be held in six years time.

The sports minister, Richard Caborn, is currently considering a further modification to allow pistol shooters to practice in carefully controlled conditions between now and then.

Provided it is handled correctly, it is a concession that can do no harm.

So Andrew Murray blames the media for his first-round exit at the Australian Open. We'll remember that the next time he wants coverage for some spurious sponsor-approved sparring bout with his best buddy Amir Khan.