Although I am proud to British, I am rarely jingoistic when it comes to sport.

Yes, the Last Night of the Proms does bring a lump to my throat, even if the words to Jerusalem make a mockery of the English language. Builded?

However, as I get older I find that my patriotism rarely includes sport, indeed I will often be found cheering for the other side.

In 1966 I was enthralled by every minute of the World Cup, even if my team (Tottenham Hotspur), the team which had dominated the early part of the decade, was not represented in the final squad, Jimmy Greaves having been sidelined by an injury that was to damage his career, and indeed his life.

From the opening bore-fest with Uruguay, the tantrums with Argentina, the heart in the mouth thriller with Portugal and that glorious final with West Germany, I watched it all, and loved every minute of it.

I watched the final along with my mother in a small hotel in Eastbourne. I can remember, as if it were yesterday, the atmosphere in the TV lounge as the assembled guests watched the action on a black and white TV. No colour, no plasma screens in those days folks.

It was one of those perfect days, even if there had been times when it looked as though it really was "all over" and the Germans had us beaten. Sir Alf - finally a Tottenham connection - had done it, with the assistance of three West Ham players and eight others. History was made, the sun was shining, and we were top of the world.

I'm sorry, but the joy of that afternoon, even accounting for youth, cannot be compared with the modern game, an era when players admit that owning a Ferrari takes preference over playing for their country, and a player (Ashley Cole) describes being offered £55,000 a week as "taking the p***". Indeed his agent subsequently claimed the player had been treated like a "slave".

Well, if that's contemporary football, you can stick it.

It would be wrong to single out football however, for all sport, indeed life, has been tainted by the 'me, me, me' attitude.

We watched England's cricketers beat the world, and subsequently fall apart, just as we'd watched our other sporting 'heroes' rise to the top then sink without a trace. It's hard to be inspired by people who are only apparently in it for the fast buck and tea with the Prime Minister.

Consequently, disappointed at the attitude of our sports stars and (usually) embarrassed by our fans, I tend to revert to (British) type and support the underdog.

In terms of Formula One that used to mean Minardi, the eternal optimists, which, like Tyrrell in its final years, was there in order to be part of it. As the saying goes, it's not about winning it's about taking part.

Sadly, amongst many race fans the attitude towards Minardi changed once Paul Stoddart got involved, the Australian seen by some as a whinger and troublemaker.

That said, Stoddart, who had close connections to Tyrrell, saved Minardi and gave it a few more years, allowing several drivers to get their first taste of F1, including a certain Mr Alonso.