The USA Field Hockey Association's High Performance Manager wasn't answering her phone last Monday night at the US Olympic Committee's sparkling $65 million warm-weather training centre in balmy Chula Vista, San Diego, where the squad, picked for the Olympic Qualifier in three weeks' time, had been in full-time training for the past month.

Luckily the centre's nice switch person put me through to the canteen where another nice person with a Scottish accent ("How'd you end up in Chula Vista? Have you got an hour?") fetched me the Irish coach who told me that Ireland had just played the US (the eighth best field hockey playing nation on the planet) off Chula Vista's spanking new astroturf pitch, beating them 3-0. As lofty a high performance as you could imagine. Was that, one wondered, why the USA High Performance Manager wasn't answering her phone? If you reckon that that sounds vindictive, nasty and spiteful (with a hint of na, na, na, na, na thrown in) then you're entirely correct.

Not though, one hastens to add, simply because Ireland . . . .

. . . . none of whose players receive individual funding; all of whom have taken leave from their jobs or studies for the next three weeks (many on unpaid leave) so they can train, full-time, at the wet-and-windy-weather training centre - ie, pitch - in Belfield, which didn't cost $65 million to construct, in the hope that they might pip the USA and a few others to qualification for the 2000 Olympic Games in Sydney where they all dream of representing their country . . . .

. . . . beat the mighty USA - only because I still feel a bit aggrieved that the USA High Performance Manager, who had promised to pass on results, had let me down.

It had been difficult enough to find her in the first place because I hadn't been quite sure who I should contact in San Diego to pick up match results. Two Sundays before I had looked up the USA Field Hockey Association website and browsed through their staff list looking for a name and phone number of someone who could help me out with results of the matches between Ireland and the US (played four, won two, drew two - na, na, na, na, na).

By Monday lunch-time I reached the end of the list, which included a national team coach, an executive director, an assistant executive director, a director of player and coaching development, an assistant national team coach, an assistant executive director, a high performance manager, a director of futures, a director of sport development, a director of finance, a sport and public information director and a director of high performance, to name but a few. One can only assume that when the USA Field Hockey Association have a meeting they have to hire Madison Square Gardens to host it.

Malcolm is Caitriona O'Kelly's brother. DJ is Caitriona Carey's brother and David is Karen Humphreys' brother. Remember sunshine, the sisters are doing it for themselves.

This is not, one must point out, to suggest that the bulk of the Irish hockey establishment is behind the times. Granted, they have yet to appoint a director of high performance or a high performance manager, but, to their credit, they have done their damnedest to ensure that Ireland's Dutch coach Riet Kuper has had the best possible preparation for the Olympic Qualifier with her players, on the rare occasion that they've been able to get time off work. (Although, admittedly, some of the sport's branch people wouldn't look out of place on the set of Jurassic Park, not least because they think the feelings of their blazers are a whole lot more important than those of the players without whose efforts the sport wouldn't even exist, an irksome fact they tend to ignore - but don't start me).

Now, it has come to my attention that there are a few people out there who don't lie awake at night thinking about hockey. "But it's a dainty, girlie sport, isn't it," they often allege.

"Oh yeah? Have you seen Caitriona O'Kelly attempt to win possession of the ball? Look, just think of it as football with sticks," I often say to them, in a valiant attempt to broaden the sport's appeal.

Then, heroically, I provide them with a few examples: Tara Browne (the Packie Bonner, a la Italia 90, of the Irish team); Daphne Sixsmith (Paolo Maldini, at his peak); Mary Logue (Roberto Donadoni, a la Milan circa 1988); Caitriona Carey (Michael Owen, circa the moment he scored against Argentina in the 1998 World Cup); Jenny Burke (Gabriel Batistuta); Linda Caulfield (Roberto Carlos); Arlene Thompson (Marcel Desailly, circa France 98); Claire McMahon (Ryan Giggs, although she makes him look slow); Kim Mills (Ronaldo, when he's fit); Karen Humphreys (Denis Irwin); Rachel Kohler (Marc Overmars); Karen O'Brien (Robbie Keane) and Caitriona O'Kelly (a cross between Rivaldo and Roy Keane, but she earns £52,000-a-week less than the latter). "Mmm - where can I get tickets for the next match," asks the sceptic. "And by the way: is the cross between Rivaldo and Roy Keane Malcolm's sister?" Ahem. "Okay, okay: Malcolm is Caitriona's brother . . . DJ is Caitriona Carey's brother and David is Karen Humphreys's brother." Much better - remember sunshine, the sisters are doing it for themselves, as Aretha once put it.

Anyway, the sisters (and their team-mates) are as fine a bunch of individuals as you're ever likely to meet and if, against all the odds, they make it to the Olympics, may I be so bold as to make one request: would the employers who forced some of them to take unpaid leave from their jobs please not ask the players to give their companies a plug next time they're interviewed by the media.

Thanks awfully.