IN A LEAGUE OF THEIR OWN

Hold on to your hats, folks, fasten your seat-belts, gird your loins, and let the devil take the hindmost, for that annual bonanza of brinkmanship when Foul Play makes its predictions for the destination of soccer's major prizes is upon us.

It is a unique event due to the fact that Foul Play pledges to refund all monies which may be forfeited by readers who have had a bet based on these predictions. And unlike the Hoover corporation, Foul Play honours this commitment to the letter, with a smile on its face and a song in its heart. *

First up, the England Premier League is absolutely certain to go to Manchester United, or my name is Boutros Boutros Ghali. (And how are you settling in to the United Nations gig? No complaints so far, I hope? - Ed.)

United are on something of a roll at this stage of their history, and if they fail to win the League after the acquisition of Roy Keane, then it will probably be another 26 years before they do it again.

Pundits will argue that their participation in the European Cup could lead to an end-of-season fixtures glut, but it is a peculiar state of affairs when a team of United's stature starts whingeing about being involved at the highest level.

With the gargantuan sums of money that these boys are receiving, it is unsavoury to hear them moaning about feelings of tiredness.

Aston Villa will go close if they can persuade Paul McGrath to turn up for all the fixtures, and Arsenal will probably grind their way to a challenging position. Graeme Souness' Liverpool look stronger this year, and if Ronnie Whelan can make it onto the field with some degree of frequency, they could overcome the problem of Souness' curmudgeonly presence, and make a bit of a splash.

But it would be foolish to look beyond United if you're looking to place your tank - say, £10,000, all refundable - on a pretty sure thing.

For the F.A. Cup, one would have to fancy Manchester City, if only for the fact that they will probably be hung by the heels from the Maine Road stand if they fail to answer the success of United with some form of silverware.

It would be encouraging to see Terry Phelan and Niall Quinn popping off to the World cup with a glide in their stride to match that of Roy Keane and Denis Irwin, the newly-crowned champions.

All the better if the Birmingham Four of Staunton, Townsend, McGrath and Houghton can weigh in with a Villa victory in the League Cup.

Let us take a big deep breath then, and sally forth to the bookmaker's with £5,000 (all refundable, remember?) which will be whacked on a big treble of United, City, and Villa for the major English honours.

Stick in Glasgow Rangers for the Scottish League as a banker in an accumulator, and then live happily ever after, surrounded by the trappings of enormous wealth.

I've done my bit. Now it is time for them to do their's.

As the Republic faces up to the final rigours of World Cup qualification, it is interesting to note that Denmark seem to think that they are already home and dried for America '94.

This revelation arrived during BBC 2's On The Line, which featured a report on the efforts of Zambia to recover from the air disaster in which their entire squad was wiped out.

The Danes invited the new Zambian squad for a month of coaching and general preparation at their top facilities, and a spokesperson was quoted as hoping that Zambia would be competing against Denmark next summer.

The only variable in his equation was the possibility that the Africans might not qualify. One wonders if the Spaniards are in similarly bullish mood, and if so, how do they reconcile this with the arithmetic of the situation whereby only two teams can qualify from the Group?

Clearly, Denmark are confident that they will stuff Spain in the last game of the series, because otherwise they must be expecting something pretty horrible to happen to the Republic during the run-in.

What could it be, I wonder? Losing to Lithuania, perhaps? Being disqualified for bribing Albania with free jerseys when they forgot to bring their own? Succumbing to a fatal attack of galloping hubris?

I think we should be told

Doubtless we will all be sitting in front of our TV sets in a state of molten terror as Sonia O'Sullivan assumes the mantle of favourite for the 3,000 metres at the World Championships.

We have learned that in the aftermath of the Olympics, while the nation was saluting the magnificence of her performance, Sonia was feeling like lying down on the railroad track in anticipation of the next train out of Barcelona Central.

This is a healthy attitude for an athlete in her position to take, because it is not an experience that she will wish to repeat.

I expect Soniamania to break out with great ferocity as she reaches the tape in the first place, but I will not be unduly miserable if she finishes anywhere other than fourth.

In the kama sutra of athletics, this has become the Irish position for both male and female, but it looks as though Sonia will plump for a more dominant configuration in Stuttgart.

This, after all, is where a Mr. Houghton put a certain ball in a certain net. It is hallowed ground for the Gaels.

* Declan Lynch

* This offer only applies to readers in Gambia by the name of Seamus, who are fluent in seven languages, including Munster Irish, and who have ski-ed naked down Mont Blanc, smoking a Havana cigar.