I THINK it’s fair to assume that if I ran a 200m race against Usain Bolt he would beat me.

It might be a close thing between me getting to the first bend at the same time he was breasting the finishing tape, but otherwise it’s a foregone conclusion.

Similarly I fear Lee Westwood would probably annihilate me over 18 holes, and it wouldn’t take Jimmy Anderson long to knock over my off peg.

But hang on a minute.

They’re paid fortunes for being blessed with a god-given talent, the rest of us mere mortals can only dream of possessing such prowess.

That is why I despair when I read that Carlos Tevez piled on weight during the summer because he was depressed, and that Andy Carroll is leading a lifestyle more suited to a Rolling Stone than a Premier League footballer.

Tevez is more than a half-decent player. He’s one of the best in the world, and is rewarded accordingly by perhaps the richest club in the world, we can assume to the extent of around £150,000 a week.

At the moment he can’t get into Manchester City’s first eleven because of the form of Edin Dzeko and Sergio Aguero, yet he still picks up the same wage for little 10-minute cameos.

I can understand his frustration. He’s a footballer who wants to play. But depression? Give me a break.

Similarly Carroll strikes me as a young man who just doesn’t appreciate what a fantastic opportunity life has given him.

In this crazy era when a television show can make a millionaire of someone overnight for simply calling red or black, he has the same chance thanks to the art of being able to head and kick a piece of bladder around better than the rest of us.

So what does he do? He gets arrested occasionally, trots off to the Glastonbury Festival, and downs a few beers in Barbados and Ibiza.

No-one expects a young guy to lead a monastic existence, but if Carroll is to fulfil his immense potential he needs to realise that sacrifices have to be made along the way.

At Liverpool he can learn a great deal from the likes of Kenny Dalglish and Jamie Carragher – exemplary professionals.

If he doesn’t listen to them he’ll follow in a long line of ‘might have beens’ headed by that other misguided Geordie guzzler called Gazza.

THIS Saturday I'm commentating on a pay-per-view channel on Mansfield v Newport.

It sounds like a Fourth Division match from the Eighties doesn’t it?

Looking at the Blue Square Premier table is indeed like taking a peep into the past.

Wrexham are top, followed by Gateshead, while among the chasing pack are Mansfield, Cambridge and Darlington.

Luton and York are also well in touch.

Lower down you’ll find equally well-known names like Lincoln, Stockport, Barrow and Grimsby.

It's getting tougher than ever to win the league still referred to by most people as the Conference.

Crawley were the envied money men last season, now we have Fleetwood sailing towards Football League status.

A traditional name means little – a stark warning to those in peril in League II.

Plymouth Argyle and Bradford City beware!