ONE man who has overcome a great deal of pressure in the past nine months is football referee Mark Halsey.

Having officiated at Goodison Park on the opening day of this season, his world fell apart 48 hours later when he was diagnosed with a rare form of cancer which necessitated intense surgery, chemotherapy and radiotherapy, with up to 15 sessions a day in the latter stages of his recovery.

Mark’s wife Michelle was already undergoing treatment for myeloid leukaemia. How cruel life can be.

With typical stoicism Mark has fought back to the point of returning to action at last night’s Accrington Stanley v Barnet game, while Michelle is in remission.

Referees may not be everybody’s cup of tea and Mark knows the cheers that acknowledge his recovery will soon turn to boos – but he’d have it no other way.

SIR Alex Ferguson calls it “squeaky bum time” and there can be little doubt the pressure did get to Roberto Mancini when he tangled on the touchline with David Moyes.

The loss of three points in Manchester City’s bid for a Champions League place next season, was too much for him to take, and perhaps he even saw his job slipping away.

The faces of the Leeds players were etched with fear during their defeat at the hands of Millwall, Gianfranco Zola looked a haunted man after West Ham’s defeat to Stoke, and the image of Arsene Wenger on his knees, head in hands, after Birmingham’s last-gasp goal denied Arsenal three points, were all illustrations of emotional frailty – or crumbling under pressure – call it what you will.

PRESSURE is probably one of the most over used words in sport.

It gets an airing every time a golfer has a nasty little six-foot putt, it’s said to be responsible for missed penalties in key football matches and it’s certainly there for umpires who are found wanting in comparison with cricket’s snickometer.

Yet the word should probably be reserved for folk like Blair and Bush when they decide to send us to war, or a surgeon performing a life-deciding operation.

Pressure is created by uncomfortable situations, so it’s fair to assume that the hitherto nerveless Tiger Woods may be prone to the odd twitch when he steps into the glare of the world’s attention at Augusta next week after his self-imposed golfing exile.

His infidelity has been chronicled in every part of the globe, mentioned on every broadcast and in every journal from Playboy to Penthouse, which in a strange way has put that word pressure on every journalist covering his comeback.

Even the venerable Peter Alliss admits that one word out of place in his commentary on the Masters could get him the sack.

At 79 you’d think the doyen of the game was unsackable. Not so.

“I have to guard against saying something facetious or silly which I think is funny and somebody else does not think is funny at all,” he says.

“It will be the most difficult broadcast I have ever done.

“It would be very easy for me to end my broadcasting career in this politically correct world.”

I know the feeling. Anyone who has been at a microphone will admit to saying stupid things at certain times.

Often you don’t know where it’s come from, but if you think about it, commentators spill out thousands of words during the course of a day’s work, so it’s not surprising that the odd one is ill-advised, but delivered in a second without recourse in a live situation.

There is no disputing Woods is the biggest box office in the game, if not world sport as a whole, and because of the nosey side of nature may have even extra aura because of the sexual revelations that have tarnished his image.

I’m not sure whether he’ll win the Green jacket again or not, but I reckon once he gets that first tee shot away, he’ll see it as a symbolic milestone in being able to move his life on a step.