KEY POINTS:
This has long been the time of year when people make jokes about British tennis. Which is another way of saying that this has long been the time of year when people make jokes about Tim Henman.
But no more. The first Grand Slam tournament of the year
is almost on us, yet something unusual has happened even before a sweaty palm has wielded a racket in anger at Melbourne.
Andy Murray, the Scot, has been installed as the men's tournament favourite, thanks to a run of wonderful form and a knack for beating Roger Federer.
Tennis has developed a nice pattern of shared national dominance, although the Russians have landed with such force in women's tennis that Anna Chakvetadze is starting to let the side down, having slipped to a scratchy 18th in the world rankings.
Personally, I'd still have Federer as the favourite for the Aussie title, for the simple if slightly dodgy reason that I can't quite believe that, being still well short of his 28th birthday, his great reign is over.
But Murray's rise is significant because tennis now has a little cluster of players at the top who are all capable of winning the title, making this an enticing tournament indeed.
British sport is undergoing a bit of a renaissance. The old dart used to be just that - the Brits and Irish were unrivalled in anything that could be played in a pub and backed that up with a fabulous record in anything that could be played in a smoke-filled hall.
The great outdoors weren't a complete loss, as the likes of Daley Thompson, Nigel Mansell and Nick Faldo proved, but it was hardly a strong point. Not any more.
Lewis Hamilton is the Formula One champion, the Brits had more than handy Olympics, Manchester United and Chelsea played out an all-English European Cup final, England put a dent in Australia's long Ashes cricket run three years ago, Padraig Harrington won two golf majors last year, and while England can't win soccer's World Cup or Euro championship, their premiership has swept the world with outrageous force.
Even there, England is on a rise within a rise. Aston Villa - a club full of English players as opposed to imports - is making a wee challenge for the title, although they can't be regarded as serious contenders until Alex Ferguson slags them off every second week.
Yet none of this British and Irish uprising is as surprising as finding one of their lot listed as the favourite for a tennis Grand Slam tournament. What a staggering development. A measure of how low British tennis had reached is that Murray, who hasn't actually won anything really important yet, has already put out an autobiography.
So while the Brits guardedly anticipate a historic Aussie men's open victory, 70 years after winning their last major title, the tables have been turned to a point that you can almost have a giggle at the state of Australian tennis, and even American tennis when the Williams sisters can't be bothered.
This Australian Open, which begins on Monday, might announce the genuine arrival of a new world tennis star. It will be fascinating to see how the fiery Scot handles the assignment under this sort of pressure, but even if he doesn't grab the silverware here, you feel sure that a grand slam title is not far away.
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The New Zealand Rugby Union will have its fingers crossed, hoping its precious poster boy Daniel Carter turns up in fine fettle later this year. Carter's fetlock is proving a problem in Perpignan - an Achilles injury forced him out of last week's match and he will miss this weekend's Heineken Cup game.
Apart from the rank unfairness of allowing one player a rule-breaking dispensation to earn a small fortune in Europe, the NZRU is breaking its own coaches' proclamations on the need for players to be properly rested and conditioned each year. And the problem with being paid a fortune is that the people shelling out the money expect a decent return, and that might mean Carter being pressured to play on injuries. And playing year-round football is an invitation for increased wear and tear.
The NZRU might have kept Carter happy and at home for now, but it's not the most sensible way to prolong a career. It will be very interesting to see what state he turns up in in the middle of this year.
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Saracens coach Eddie Jones is still doing his bit for the Aussie cause, promoting his pivot Glen Jackson as the answer to English rugby's No 10 woes. Jackson, the sprightly 32-year-old who used to play for the Chiefs and New Zealand Maori, was a clever footballer with evasive talent but unfortunately this also extended to tackling. Put it this way - he was no Jonny Wilkinson in the grunt department. Jackson, of course, is up for this unexpected gig and pointed out he has an English-born son to prove his Bulldog spirit. Good luck to him, and opportunism and patriotism are only a snappy quote away these days. Jackson at No 10 and Riki Flutey outside him - now that's a tasty lineup.
Perhaps England could complete the downunder deal and bring back Henry Paul to play in the centres. That would give Lesley Vainikolo plenty of chasing to do.
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Has there ever been a more distinctive cricketer to visit these shores? The West Indian captain Chris Gayle cut a magnificent figure on this rain-interrupted tour. He is a wonder to watch when his batting is in full flight, as it was in Napier yesterday, where he was almost languid yet brutal. Gayle is like a big cat, padding his way through the game. When others on the snarling world cricket scene might have railed against a particular umpiring decision during an incident on this tour, the big fella reckoned "you win some, you lose some". How fabulously relaxed. I know little about Gayle except what I've observed on television, where he has been the King of Cool. Hopefully, he will pass this way again.