IT is one of the great regrets of my life that I never had a child who was into football. Out of four offspring – three boys and a girl – none of them is in the slightest bit interested in the beautiful game.

Over the years, I’ve taken them to matches and bought them football shirts with their names emblazoned on the back but, in the end, it has been to no avail.

Hannah showed fleeting signs of interest in watching Match of the Day for a while when she was little, but I soon realised it was only an excuse so she could stay up late and eat crisps.

I gave up all hope when she started calling Cesc Fabregas, one of my favourite players, Des Fabrego.

You see, it’s vitally important to us dads to have someone who shares our passion for football – and I’m starting to appreciate that it’s just as important to grandads.

Take my old mate Nigel Dowson – Cockfield lad, father-of-one, and Darlington hairdresser, who is to become a grandad for the first time. His lovely daughter Leanne – the more sophisticated partner in the hairdressing business – is having her first baby.

Well, you’ve seldom seen anyone quite as excited as Nigel when the baby’s sex was confirmed as a boy. I know it’s wrong to assume that only boys will be interested in football but that’s just the way Nigel is. He’s not what you’d called one of those “new men”.

The trouble is that he’s in fierce competition for the unborn baby’s loyalties with Leanne’s husband Steve. And here’s the rub: Nigel is a committed Newcastle United fan, while son-in-law Steve supports arch rivals Sunderland. The battle for supremacy is already well under way and the baby isn’t due to be born for 16 weeks yet.

Steve, as is his prerogative, stole a march by driving to the Stadium of Light and buying his son some Sunderland baby-grows. There is not the slightest doubt in his mind that the baby will grow up to be a Sunderland supporter.

But devious grandad Nigel has other ideas. When I called in to the salon for a trim last week, he was holding his mobile phone against Leanne’s tummy while she was in the middle of giving a customer a cut and blow dry.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Shhh,” he replied. “It’s what do you call it? Subliminal.”

His ring-tone is the theme from Local Hero, the music which greets Newcastle United’s players when they run out on to the pitch at every home game.

“This is the fifth time he’s played it to my tummy today,” sighed poor Leanne, who has enough on her plate without worrying about musical messages filtering through to her foetus.

“I reckon if I play it enough times, he’s bound to come out a Newcastle fan,” said Nigel, humming along to his ring-tone.

No wonder the baby’s kicking so much.

THE THINGS THEY SAY

HANKS to the anonymous person who sent a story my way about a boy called Billy...

Billy was a pre-school boy, not very well behaved, but described by his teacher as a lovable rogue. One day, he had a fall in the playground at nursery and ended up in hospital having a few stitches to his head. Afterwards, the doctor, checking for concussion, said to him: “Where do you live, Billy?”

“Consett ,” replied Billy.

Doctor: “Yes, I know, but whereabouts?”

Billy: “I told you – Consett.”

The doctor took a deep breath and added, patiently: “Okay, but what if you got lost, and the police found you and asked you where you lived, what would you say?”

“No comment,” came the immediate reply.

OUR sports editor Nick Loughlin was having a conversation with son Thomas, aged seven …

Thomas: “All the teachers have been to a funeral today.”

Dad: “Whose funeral was it?”

Thomas: “Sheila, the dinner lady from school.”

Dad: “Oh dear, did you know her?”

Thomas: “Yes, she gave me my dinner today.”

The mind boggles.