I can’t imagine Manchester getting as many column inches as they have done this past week or so with every man and his whippet descending on Las Vegas so they could do what they do on any average Saturday night - namely get a bit trollied. I bet they don’t get the chance to boo too many national anthems down on Canal St.

While that might not be too surprising, I surely had my flabber gasted by how much they were charging to watch the thing on HBO. Never in a million years would I have expected to pay less for it on Sky in the UK than over here. Although I still managed to watch it on the old computer for bugger all - the Sky broadcast to boot, albeit with a time delay of around a minute.

Now as much as I think it wholly counterproductive to boo the national anthems of other countries, I had to raise a wry smile on Saturday evening. Over here, the start of any sporting occasion begins with some form of the Star-Spangled Banner. I’ve seen it at baseball and football, the whole stadium clutching whichever bosom it is they clutch as they turn towards the flag. Hell, I even saw it before the start of the dog racing at Wheeling racetrack as they piped it over the tannoy. I can assure you I was overcome with emotion that particular afternoon.

Americans seem to take the ritual of the pre-game anthem more seriously than the game itself. Unless there’s a wardrobe malfunction and then society has a collective meltdown.

I understand how and why Americans got a bit upset on Saturday night over the booing episode, but it wasn’t directed at them. Then again, I can’t see how you wouldn’t see it being directed at you to be fair. No. You see, the English football supporter mentality that has seemingly infiltrated most sports (bar rugby - I wonder why?) is actually cocking a snoot at all those who feign outrage every time it occurs. Sport seems to have lost a lot of its working class sensibilities, and in Ricky Hatton it had found them again.

As pointless, classless and crass the booing appears to be, it is nothing but the equivalent of a naughty kid who continues to wind up his parent because he knows it works and it’ll get him some attention. They know that sport has been lost to corporate boxes and that their ‘heroes’ are nothing more than overpaid duds. It’s exactly the same as the chant of “No one likes us, we don’t care,” that you’ll hear on the odd terrace once in a while. It’s almost as if they’re marking their territory and adding a bit of cheeky niggle to proceedings. I mean, when will Brangelina be that close to Manchester ever again? Unless it was a marvellously coordinated show of distaste for Dubya’s foreign policy.

Then again, those Daily Mail bores have always had double standards…..