On the Couch / A wondrous wandering year of sport: It all starts with tradition

"I don't know much about tradition other than it comes from a Latin word meaning surrender," the central character murmurs to her lover in a smashing slim (138-page) novel "24 for 3" which I've just come across; cricket serves as an extended metaphor throughout the poem-like story.

I'm not sure I know much about tradition either. But I do know it's bound to figure prominently in our peregrinations over the coming 52 weeks through the world of sport - super event after super event deliciously devoured from the depths of our couches.

Both the Sydney Cricket Ground and Newlands in Cape Town are long on tradition. This week in their annual New Year Test matches, the Aussies staged a gritty comeback to defeat Pakistan in thrilling fashion while under the Oaks, South Africa and England went hammer and tongs before yesterday England held on for their second nail-biting draw in three test matches. Each could well have been the first port of call for our wondrous meanderings.

Indeed, a number of our panelists opted for one or both of these traditional cricket bonanzas. Using my prerogative as sole final navigator, however, I determined that we head instead for the home of modern sporting traditions to take in two soul events - one long on tradition, the other something of an upstart.

But how exactly do you determine when an event deserves the accolade "tradition"? In this country, you only have to repeat something once and already it's a hallowed tradition - that certainly befits a young country and a people short on sporting tradition. Ardent admirers of David's slingshot action or Samson's powerful upper arms may take umbrage, but they surely concede that, such stalwart athletes apart, the Bible isn't that hot on athletic endeavor.

True, the Olympics weren't far away in the Peloponnese. But, as John Landau would say, all comparisons are not so much odious as rigged. Anyway, that sporting tradition died ever so long ago, and Baron Pierre de Coubertin and his fellow Olympic revivalists didn't get their act going until way after the English were into their stride creating one of the great modern traditions - competitive sport.

And so, for the first weekend of the year, it's to the third round of the FA Cup that we head! Only in England can the first round proper be designated the third round. It's when the teams from the top two divisions get into action alongside 20 qualifiers from lower divisions who have made it through eight or nine preliminary rounds, and then the opening two rounds "proper".

I don't want to get into an argument with the planet's top soccer writer, but Rob Hughes has got it wrong when he says the competition has lost its luster. True, some managers succumb to the demands of money-mad owners, mollycoddle their superstars and field lesser teams, but the old competition still commands respect in face of the hefty gains to be made from league endeavors rather than the "loser-is-out" cup format.

One cup tradition has indeed sadly gone by the board - a drawn match yields only a single replay, and should a tie continue the outcome is only decided by the dreaded innovation of sudden-death penalties. At least, they do allow the one replay (unlike in most other countries) though nothing compared to when teams were asked to play until they dropped - or in the case of record-holding Alvechurch and Oxford City who in 1972 battled for 11 hours before Alvechurch won their fourth-round match after five replays by 1-0.

It's a great time for commentators to wallow in their favorite cliche - "the romance of the cup" as they search for the best giant-killing act when the minnows stalk the mighty. But Barrow, Carlisle, Lincoln and the MK Dons all faltered. Only Reading (not such minnows, but going through a rough patch) almost provided a shock, but scarred Liverpool survived to battle another day back at Anfield.

On Sunday morning I caught Elton John explaining why Third Round weekend is his favorite in the whole calendar because it allows us into the heart of soccer and keeps the money on a back burner. He no doubt sang his way joyfully across London to Stamford Bridge along with other Watford loyalists, only to endure a thrashing by Carlo Ancelotti's men.

So we had to rely on once mighty, now humble, Leeds United on ensuring that a glorious past would catch up with us. Last year, Leeds (now slumbering in the third tier) were put out by unknown Histon in the second round. But on Sunday at Old Trafford, as a great Guardian headline caught the moment, they again "glimpsed paradise lost," relieving all anxieties and providing balm for the decades of frustration for their tougher-than-tough fans.

Not even a customary Fergie rant and rave could generate the energy Man U required to cope with the passionate Leeds avalanche. Perhaps, we're about to witness a long-awaited revival of Don Revie's glory days of the 60s and early 70s - precisely the kind of magical hopes the Cup engenders. Unlike Rob Hughes, I don't believe Sir Alex was faking the tirade.

One of the constrictions imposed on panelists was that their chosen events take place within a week and that they repeat every year - so no World Cup for us virtual peripatetics, no complete Tour de France. But unlike tradition which must, by definition, be rock solid, the rules for our year of wandering are meant to be bent. So it was off to Alexandra Palace in north London for a second event, the finale of the World Darts Championship.

Some scornfully say darts should remain in the pub or back parlor and has no place on the global sporting stage and certainly not on prime time TV. Wrong, wrong and wrong again! Some even insist it isn't a sport at all. As his authority, Martin Johnson in The Sunday Times used Sky darts commentator Sid Waddell who, in turn, quoted philosopher, Ludwig Wittgenstein: "Wittgenstein said sport was as hard to define as language. The way I see it is this. If I was on the beach with me granny and we stood biffing a ball back and forth to each other, that's not a sport, but if we put up a net and say 'first to 15 wins' that's a sport."

During the year, I trust we'll get back to hoary chestnut of whether bridge and chess and boxing qualify for a sporting year but, by my arrow, darts definitely does, simply as an absorbing sporting endeavor that looks so easy that we all feel we can be masters and master the masters.

Waddell, by the way, is one of the great voices of sport, capable of creating cheer even on the gloomiest of gloomy winter nights - he was once reprimanded by his producer for referencing Rod Stewart, Ivanhoe, the Old Testament and Hamlet in the space of 10 minutes' commentary.

As a douze points television spectacle, darts is eminently deserving of a place on the perfect sporting calendar and is rivaled only by snooker in direct engagement with the emotions of its top players - those magnificent men in their upgraded nicknames parading their talents beyond the beer belly: Andy "The Pieman" Smith, Simon "The Wizard of Oz" Whitlocks, Darin "Big Daddy" Young, Shayne "The Bulldog" Burgess and, of course, Phil "The Power" Taylor who duly powered his way to a 15th world title in 17 years - a feat perhaps unrivaled anywhere in the world of sport.

The Australian Open is a fortnight away, so there's still a question mark over where we head in the interim. Don't fret, we'll get to cricket Tests, I promise, if only because of the insight offered by the protagonist in "24 for 3" when she finally gets the point of the game: "Oh, so it's like that play by Samuel Beckett.

Except that you can see Beckett in one evening. It doesn't take five days. This changes everything. It's not like life at all unless you believe in reincarnation. You get a second innings, a second chance. Everything you did wrong first time round you can now do right. Or vice versa."

("24 for 3" is by Jennie Walker, the pen name of Charles Boyle, an award-winning poet and is published by Bloomsbury. It's a great read, even more so for non-cricket lovers).