On The Premier League:Perhaps the greatest of all new year traditions - aside from drinking industrial quantities of bad champagne or waking up next to somebody inappropriate - is the awards ceremony: the chance to recognise deeds of heroic significance from the previous 12 months and, more important, fill a chunk-sized column in a newspaper. So, in the spirit of the season and with midnight drawing ever closer, here is an alternative celebration of the year that was.

First, the David Bowie Award for Personal Reinvention.

A lengthy list of nominations here: Sven-Goran Eriksson has amazed almost everyone - including, probably, himself - by proving he can actually manage a football team, hauling the perennially clownish Manchester City to the brink of respectability, while even Gary Megson, an orange-coloured monument to managerial mediocrity, has earned himself the nickname 'The Ginger Mourinho'.

But there is, of course, only one candidate who stands out. Step forward, the new-look Roy Keane, with his Zen-like calm and carefully nurtured facial hair. The Corkman claims to have absorbed the best qualities from his previous managers, although the permanently puce Brian Clough and Alex Ferguson are hardly ideal role models for a young manager trying to keep a lid on his volcanic temper.

Then again, with Sunderland apparently sliding back into the abyss, perhaps it is time for Keano to turn on the hairdryer.

Second, we have the Chris Hutchings Trophy, awarded to the most misguided managerial appointment of the year.

Sammy Lee did his best to live up to Sam Allardyce's high standards at Bolton - even inheriting his ridiculous Madonna-style headset/microphone-combo - but the suspicion he had been spectacularly overpromoted was confirmed by his sacking after just 14 games in charge.

But, ultimately, who better qualified to claim this coveted gong than Hutchings himself? Thirteen games, nine defeats and eight points at Wigan at least proved that his first disastrous spell at Bradford was no fluke.

Hutchings and Lee weren't the only managers to endure a painful 2007. Even the apparently untouchable Rafael Benitez - whose only taste of the sack before this season was restricted to the odd glass of his native country's white wine - has reason to toast the new year with a touch more fervour than usual after collecting the Nancy Kerrigan Prize (for ability to skate on thin ice).

The Liverpool manager is not afraid to air his opinions but he has to time his battles more carefully in future. Antagonising your multi-millionaire owners - whose passion for football in general and Liverpool in particular has always been in doubt - is all well and good, but don't try it midway through your biggest slump of the season.

Benitez came very close to being booted out of Anfield after firing one barb too many at Tom Hicks and George Gillett but an uneasy peace has now been established: time will tell if it endures into next season.

There can be only one contender for the Joey Barton Prize for Football Literature. Cristiano Ronaldo's emotionally charged Moments - "The world's best young footballer in his own words," according to the PR blurb - was little more than a glorified fashion catalogue and an excuse for the winger to take his shirt off while sporting a range of curious hairstyles.

Even the excerpts that sound half-interesting turn out to be dud. The description of his convoluted pre-match routine - "I pick it up, bounce it, in short, I amuse myself. I do it just for pleasure, but there is also another reason - to put an end to any tension before the match" - had the tabloids salivating. Sadly, he was just talking about playing keepy-uppy in the changing-room.

The Doug Ellis Memorial Trophy for Services to Boardroom Idiocy also draws a lengthy list of candidates. Honourable mentions to Phil Gartside (Bolton), Dave Whelan (Wigan) and Adam Pearson (Derby), but none can compete with Daniel Levy.

The Tottenham chairman gave manager Martin Jol a huge summer-transfer kitty, embarked on a "secret" mission to speak to Juande Ramos in one of Seville's highest-profile hotels, laughably claimed no job had been offered (and was contradicted almost immediately by Ramos himself) and then allowed Jol to stumble on before eventually putting him out of his misery in November.

An utter shambles that disgraced a once-proud club.

And, finally, some fond farewells to the figures who leapt off the Premier League juggernaut in 2007.

Alan Shearer's one-armed salute will next be seen when he returns to the Newcastle dugout; Thierry Henry was perhaps the only footballer who could wear socks over his knees and retain his considerable credibility; and Jose Mourinho did wonders for Chelsea and the sale of cashmere overcoats.

They all exited centre stage during the year and 2008 will be poorer without them.