It's that time of year again. Whether they're veterans hoping to hear they've been n one more season, or teenagers praying they'll be told they have a future, waiting to be called into the manager's office to be given the verdict must be a petrifying, stomach-churning ordeal.

It's hard to imagine who takes the bad news worse - the 17-year-old who's told he's not good enough or the 34-year-old who's told his legs are gone, he's too injury prone, and, well, "you had a good career". True, the teenager has a 17-year-advantage on the veteran and, yes, there's always a chance he'll make it elsewhere - after all, a 17-year-old Roy Keane reckoned his hopes of a professional football career were over when Brighton cancelled the offer of a trial at the last minute. But when he hears the words "sorry son", it's probably hard enough to hold back the tears, never mind feel cheerfully buoyant about the future.

Tears? Well, he might be six foot two with size 11 feet, stubble on his chin and a voice as deep as Barry White's, but you shouldn't have to take it like a man when you're still only a 17-year-old boy. "The rejection rate is absolutely enormous," said Alan Hansen when he was in Dublin this week. "When you sign for one of the big clubs you might not think you're going to be a star, because you know how hard it is, your parents mightn't think you're going to be a star, but everybody else does. As soon as they hear he's signed for Liverpool, Man United or Arsenal, they reckon he has it made, so two or three years later when he's rejected and he arrives back home they all just regard him as a failure."

Echoes of the story about a young Dublin lad signed by a big English club. His estate threw him a party before he left, collected a few bob for him so he'd "be alright" when he arrived in England. Three years later he was back home, it hadn't worked out. But, by then, his mates had moved on, decent jobs, college, had gone abroad. He had nothing, no education, no qualifications, nothing. His neighbours could barely look him in the eye when they met him on the road. Still young enough to do fine in life, still young enough to start over and find another route to contentment, but awful young to have to deal with such an overwhelmingly crushing experience.

The veteran? He probably feels he has no future either, considering he thought of nothing else but football ever since the day 20 years before a scout told him he had potential. If your name is, say, Tony Adams, you'll be alright, you'll already have a million in the bank, you'll be offered a senior coaching job at a Premiership club, maybe even a managerial post a division lower or a punditry slot on Sky Sports. If your name is "yer man who used to play for City . . . what's he called again?" you'll be offered nothing but your cards.

Yep, it's that time of year. Tuesday, browsing through the latest football news. Multi-million pound transfer rumours abound. In the real world, "Paul Kane, who will turn 36 in June this year, has rejected interest from Livingston and Ayr United to put pen to paper on a new one-year deal with St Johnstone." But? "But leaving the club is veteran defender Alan Kernaghan, who will not be offered a new deal in the summer."

God, Alan Kernaghan? Remember him? Twenty-two caps for Ireland and every time his name appeared on the team sheet the nation cried: "Jack! What are you at?" When Paul Butler made his debut for the Republic last year against the Czech Republic and was made to look painfully out of his depth by Jan Koller, we all looked at each other and said, "Alan Kernaghan, mark II". Remember? Alan Kernaghan? Even booed by his own Manchester City fans because every time the ball came near him his legs turned to jelly, so devoid was he of confidence. In 1997, St Johnstone offered to rescue him from his Maine Road misery, but their offer of a three-month loan spell smacked of humiliation. He took it though, anything was better than nothing, and he earned the respect of the Perth club's following for his gutsy commitment.

Back in January, Kernaghan spoke about his endless injury problems, the worst a pelvic condition that he feared would haunt him in later life. Then, though, he was hopeful of being offered another contract by St Johnstone, one that would allow him to postpone thoughts of life after football. "What I ask myself is what will I do? I have been playing professional football since I was 16 and don't have a trade or anything like that," he said. Now, unless another club gives him the chance to squeeze one more season out of his legs, he'll be down the job centre when his former team-mates are back in preseason training. True, such is a footballer's lot, teenagers and veterans alike. But still, is it any wonder so many of them struggle to cope with life after football?