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Trolls existed before social media, you know. Back in the days when they 'took to Royal Mail', I got the poison-pen treatment after daring to suggest that Tiger Woods might not be the pristine icon his acolytes were purporting him to be.
THE END IS NIGH. That was my back page headline from April 22, 2014. Very Nostradamus, biblical even. Certainly prescient but, alas, not particularly clever.
When I was a teenager playing for the Parochial Jokers in Ballymena, I dreamed about becoming a world snooker champion like Higgy.
It's easy to see why the four-day Test is just around the corner.
Back in the day, we referred to it as 'The Aston Villa Principle'. Ergo: "Look, all I'm saying is… imagine this clown was playing for Villa every week; would United be trying to sign him? Good, I rest my case. Right, who's round is it?"
It felt like a corner had finally been turned. Celtic 1 Rangers 2. Stevie G's first victory in the other lot's manor; indeed, Rangers' first win at Celtic Park since 2010, when Walter Smith was in charge.
At first glance, there's no argument.
Finally got round to reading Keith Gillespie's autobiography 'How NOT To Be A Football Millionaire' over the Christmas break.
One day left, so there's still time to get my tuppence-worth in for Premier League player of the decade.
Fallon Sherrock really hit the bullseye with that double 18.
When your nickname is 'The King', respect is already a given. And there was a palpable sense of keen anticipation as football royalty touched down in Belfast - but the meeting didn't turn out as I'd imagined.
The back page headline screamed that Manchester United had lined up a swap deal with Real Madrid, with David de Gea going one way and Gareth Bale the other.
The most successful player in the history of football will, once again, be made available to other clubs when the transfer window opens next month.
I've met Dave Whelan a few times and he always came across as a throughly decent sort. That opinion hasn't really changed despite the flurry of negative headlines about the Wigan Athletic chairman.
Oh, brilliant... oh yes, ohhh YES! I know what you're thinking but you're wrong! That wasn't a soundbite from Fifty Shades of Grey.
One of the quickly cobbled-together ‘profiles’ of Brendan Rodgers informs us that “he doesn’t believe in ghosts.”
Two years ago a poll revealed that 87% of football supporters believe Newcastle United is “the worst run club in Britain.”
Okay, cards on the table right from the start. I know David Healy pretty well and I like him a lot.
Remember Neil Webb? Of course you do. Neil was a more than useful midfielder with an explosive shot who played for Nottingham Forest, Manchester United and England twenty-odd years ago.
I used to play a lot of tennis. Really loved it. Wasn't very good though, despite countless hours of practice on those terrific grass courts near Ballycastle beach, where my family would spend many a summer.
I was in Barcelona at the weekend, and the timing of the trip was both coincidental and mildly ironic. My last visit to the teeming Catalan metropolis was almost exactly nine years ago — for the Champions League final between Manchester United and Bayern Munich.
My first meeting with Alex Ferguson was a rather surreal experience. It took place nearly 20 years ago at the Brandywell, following a friendly between Derry City and Manchester United that ended in a 1-1 draw.
Nearly two decades on, and the wheel appears to have come full circle for Portadown Football Club.
Before getting into the meat of this week's column, I want to give a special mention to my younger brother Paul.
I have a shocking confession to make . . . I have never paid to get into Ballymena Showgrounds. There, I've said it. The secret's out. I can't take it back.
I heard Belfast councillor Bob Stoker on the radio the other day. I couldn't see his face, obviously, so I couldn't tell you how straight it was when he was delivering his remarks.
Our sister paper Sunday Life carried this big front page headline at the weekend: "Ulster coke shock."
Awards ceremonies, on the whole, are excruciatingly boring affairs. To me, the best bit is afterwards when you can stand at the bar and disagree about who should have won.
And so it came to pass. Yes, after many years of procrastination, hand-wringing and downright obstinance, the Irish FA has finally dragged itself into the 21st century.
Okay, let's make something clear right from the start: I don't particularly like Steve Staunton and I never have.
No, be afraid. be very afraid. I know what you're thinking; it doesn't really matter that England have somehow made it to another rugby World Cup final.
I hate the X Factor. no, actually I love it. Well, that's not strictly true either. I do enjoy watching it, but in a masochistic sort of way. And I'm become obsessed with spotting the fake, sorry, staged scenes.
Personally, I blame the anthem. I mean, let's face it, who could be inspired by the strains of "Ireland's Call?"
Maddy or Maddie? Is one right and the other wrong - or are they both right?
I'm not one of those people who runs around telling folk "I told you so." No, sod that. Actually, I am one of those people.
They call it the best job in journalism and, having done it myself, it's hard to disagree with that assessment.
It seems so long ago now. Even longer when you tell people about it and see the bemused looks on their faces.
They called it a storm in a teacup. And, in many ways, it was.
Clearly the silly season isn't over yet.
Last week's column on sectarianism seemed to cause quite a stir, going by the spate of e-mails it prompted.
Northern Ireland manager Lawrie Sanchez will be handed a deal worth up to 10 times his current salary if he keeps Fulham in the Premiership.
