OH to be immortalised in marble. Cobbling together the weekly diary can be a process of laborious chiselling on a par with hewing out an elaborate cornice on a grand, neoclassical edifice. Reading it is probably even more of an onerous task. Well, that’s what the sports editor mutters in between pulling his own teeth with a piece of twine.

To celebrate a career of knocking 10 shades of whitdoyoucallit out of a variety of other violent brutes, Ireland’s Ultimate Fighting Championship icon Conor McGregor has had a £50,000 marble statue of him created to celebrate his 30th birthday. Given the batterings he has received down the years, you’d expect his face to resemble the grisly gargoyles on the cathedral at Notre Dame. The number of tattoos scribbled onto his body, meanwhile, make him look like a piece of note paper that someone nonchalantly covers in idle scribbles during a prolonged telephone call.

According to the Lithuanian sculptor responsible for this creation, however, there is beauty in this particular beast. “He is a phenomenon of our time; not just a smart athlete, but also a visionary,” said Edgar Askelovic with cooing reverence as he gazed at his work which has been titled Atlas. A man with the weight of the world on his shoulders? “And the bloody rest,” blurted the aforementioned sports editor with a groaning creak. The McGregor statue is a heavy, expensive, inanimate object. Rangers fans, meanwhile, have been peering at a similarly lavish, immobile entity at Ibrox known as Bruno Alves . . .

THE World Cup and hanky panky have always gone hand in hand. At the 2014 event, Brazil boss Luiz Felipe Scolari allowed his players to have “normal” sex but banned “acrobatics”. No wonder Neymar didn’t get picked. In 2006, meanwhile, Germany’s birth rate went up by 10 per cent in the months after the nation hosted the event. Given our own long-standing World Cup woes, the Scottish race will probably be extinct before we ever qualify again.

TO celebrate the victory over England in the World Cup semi-final the other night, Croatia’s Parliament members wore the nation’s football shirts during a cabinet session. Back in the big top of frolics that is Westminster, meanwhile, the bumbling buffoons embroiled in the Brexit debacle wanted to wear England shirts on the day of the semi . . . but simply couldn’t get out of their straitjackets.

A NEW cocktail called Barry Burn, after the perilous stretch of water that snakes around Carnoustie’s 18th hole, will be getting supped at the Open. The instructions to make it are simple. Add a teaspoon of honey and some Angostura bitters to a glass. Stir in a good dram of Loch Lomond malt whisky and fling in some ice. After his French farce on the 18th in 1999, there was a Jean van de Velde cocktail. Or was it just a cock up?

WE’VE been getting used to seeing a glowing, orange thingymebob in this country over the past few weeks thanks to the recent spell of sunny weather. And there is another orange blob appearing in Scotland with the arrival of Donald Trump. The flabbergasting president of the USA is to make a golfing pilgrimage to his Turnberry resort for a hit about on the delightful Ailsa Course. It’s just over 40 years since that mesmerising Duel In The Sun Open of 1977 took place over the storied Turnberry links. If the weather plays ball for a wee bit longer, eager onlookers may get to witness another golfing spectacle on the Ayrshire course: The Fool In The Sun.

WE’LL drink to that. Some of the diarist’s colleagues have consumed so much booze down the years, a random blood sample at the doctor comes with a head on it. At this week’s Scottish Open, Rickie Fowler revealed he had a drink named after him back in the USA. This reminded the diarist of the various beverages that honour some of the golfing greats of yore. The John Panton was a ginger beer and lime concoction while The Arnold Palmer was a mix of iced tea and lemonade. Staying with this thirsty theme, there’s apparently a gargle which pays tribute to Brendan Rodgers’ teeth. That’s right . . . Listerine.