Funny, my Granny used to say: "Never trust a man who wears shiny slip-on shoes, a cheesy grin, gold cuff-links and a big ignorant watch that sparkles under lights."

I've seen a few in my time who failed three of her benchmark tests, but never all four. Until 10 days ago, that is, when FIFA met up to dish out the hosting rights to the 2006 World Cup in an open, honest and democratic way (Granny would have fallen off her windsurfer on hearing that, she'd a great sense of humour).

But, yes, almost all the FIFA bigwigs (literally big wigs, in some cases) on view on telly from Zurich had those shoes, grins, cuff-links and watches, and I'd like to see the receipts for all of them, especially the grins. In fairness UEFA president Lennart Johansson only passed three of the tests because he doesn't do grins (although he might have flashed a smirk when Germany won douze points), but FIFA president Sepp Blatter was just the type of man granny had in mind.

So, yet again, proof that she was ahead of her time (or maybe her local cumann was ahead of theirs, because that's where she claims she first saw men fitting the above description). Proof, too, that FIFA couldn't be trusted to do the right thing, in this case inviting Africa, for the first time, to the World Cup party. Not sure what Granny would have made of Charles Dempsey, though, New Zealand's Oceania's delegate at the Big Do but who appeared to have difficulty understanding the meaning of the word "delegate".

I was feeling sorry for Dempsey last week on hearing of his allegations that his life had been threatened by dodgy European types if he voted for South Africa in the final round. Then I read Mihir Bose in the Daily Telegraph and his account of our Charlie chilling out in the hotel bar at midnight the night before with Johansson, amongst others, laughing and joking and singing My Way.

Does this sound like a man who was under "unsustainable pressure?" Well, no. Unless, of course, Big Len (Mr Johansson to you) joined in on the karaoke session, turned to Charlie and sang: "And now, Charlie, your end is near, and so you face your final curtain . . . unless you abstain."

Of course Charlie had a menacing note stuck under his hotel door later that night but, as we know now, it was a hoax. Just as well for FIFA, otherwise in future years every bidding country would keep their money and gifts in their pockets and just shove "Vote Early, Vote Often (for us)" notes under delegates' doors, thus siphoning every drop of gravy off the FIFA train. Someone made what seemed to me an eminently sensible suggestion earlier this week, one that would clean up this bidding process for once and for all: stick all the bidders' names in to a hat, pull one out and voila, you have your next World Cup hosts. That way everyone would have a chance, even Morocco. They were my second choice after South Africa to win the 2006 bid, partly because I was impressed by the honesty of Driss Benhima, the president of their bid.

"We have no money, we have poor facilities, poor infrastructure, we cannot lure sufficient sponsors and media deals and we don't have the stadiums," he said a few months back. It was a statement that suggested to me that his heart wasn't in it, but then he added: "Any young man from Europe can go very cheaply to Morocco, by bus, in 20 or 30 hours from London."

Good enough for me.

Of course if the bidding process took place in a hat it would give Ireland a chance too. I like the idea of the World Cup being staged somewhere like the Phoenix Park (assuming Eircom Park hasn't, em, been built) with free entry for spectators.

"Right, Brazil and Italy, you're on pitch four - over there, beside Harry's hot dog van. France and Argentina? You're on pitch nine, but it'll be a while yet, they're finishing up the south-east Dublin 39-a-side pub championships. Figo! What are you up to? They're the women's changing rooms - the lads' are down there by Wellington's monument. Colombia and Nigeria - pitch six. But look out for the deer, they're grazing around the centre circle. Right, good luck lads - above all, just enjoy yourselves."

At least this way football would be brought back to its roots. These days? Well, after lengthy, exhaustive research I have concluded that there is a lot of money in football, too much. Oh yes. Take this week for example. Lazio bid 110 billion lire for Parma's Argentine striker Hernan Crespo. That's 110 "count 'em" billion, which is a lot of lire in anyone's language.

I checked on the internet to see how many punts that adds up to and it came out at £44,737,000.05 (although, you'd like to think Parma would deduct the five pence). That would pay for an awful lot of slip-on shoes, cheesy grins, gold cuff-links and big ignorant watches that sparkle under lights, when you think about it. But that's the problem with football these days, it knows the price of everything and the value of nothing. Sure, if it did, South Africa would be hosting the World Cup in 2006.