Ho ho ho! It's Robbo's Christmas Presents!

Happy Christmas Christians! And to the other 67%of the UK population - and the rest of the world - I hope you're busy being merry in the best way you know how.

Traditionally I like to play Santa at this time of year, bestowing my largesse on the great and good and piss-poor of our sporting world. So here's your pressies, people.

To Sepp Blatter: a mirror. Take a long hard look in it. You feel 'sorry for football'? The one you've left behind is like a deflated flaking casey that's been kicked through playing fields strewn with dog shit. And you Platini. Don't think memories of your twinkle-toed derring-do is going to get you forgiveness. 

To Jose Mourinho: one of those NHS posters warning you not to abuse the staff in the hospital. With Dr Caneiro's face on it. And a few brochures for property in the Cheshire area, just in case. 

To David Moyes; a lovely Titleist three-wood - it's the only new club he's going to get for a while. 

To John Terry - a mobility scooter - it'll make him quicker off the mark and it's got a tighter turning circle than he has. 

To Jesus Navas - some hypnotherapy to help him over come his fear of open spaces. Just cos your name's Jesus doesn't need to mean you can't put over a good cross. 

To Leicester City - sleeping tablets, so you can keep on dreaming. I was quite excited when it looked like Liverpool might bag a Premier League a while back. If Leicester win it I might have to have a bonfire in the back garden and throw every piece of cynicism I have on to it. 

To Guus Hiddink - a rear-view mirror (always assuming he can't have surgery to insert eyes in the back of his head.) Chelsea can still win stuff when the manager does what he's told - Avram, Di Matteo, etc. But if you're thinking of laying down the law, well, let's just say there's thirty pieces of silver under every coat-peg in that dressing-room. 

To Wayne Rooney - a trichology operation to undo the criminal acts done to his scalp. He's a kind of reverse Samson, Wazza. Ever since he had that hair put in he's lost all of his power. 

To Louis Van Gaal - a big thank you for his defiance in the face of the media scrum. It may sound a tad hypocritical but me I just make jokes at the expense of these extremely well-paid dictators. The proper press, as LVG more or less said, get to almost sack someone themselves if they really put their minds to it. Louis, now you know how Jeremy Corbyn feels. 

To Daniel Sturridge, Sergio Aguero, Andy Carroll - a special gentleman's remedy to make you relax a little more. A kind of anti-Viagra which might stop you being pulled off early so often.

To Roy Hodgson - Stuart Lancaster's phone number. They can have a good chat about how to play Wales and Woy can do the bleedin' opposite. 

To Remi Garde - a new Villa, preferably one on the Algarve fecking miles away from Birmingham.

To Tyson Fury - a kettle, a teabag and an instruction manual, so he can get his poor Mrs sorted on Christmas morning. 

To Riyad Mahrez and Jamie Vardy - a pair of headphones each with some happy-clappy music playing, and a block on the phone numbers of their respective agents. Yes, a footballer's career is short, the time to cash in on your success is even shorter (particularly in Vardy's case) but withering on a bench somewhere amongst the rich kids is no way to further a career. Stay put. There's plenty of time to review options in the summer.

To Lord Coe - a Teflon suit, probably the one Blatter wore for twenty years. There's going to be some shit flying around and it's only a matter of time before some sticks to you. 

To Chris Froome - a few buckets of faeces at the ready for the Tour de France. They throw piss, you throw poo. It's the only way to answer these critics. 

To Andy Murray - well he's something of a gift to the rest of us if I'm honest. If the Scots get independence we'd lose two things of major importance: North Sea Oil and Andy Murray. The rest, you can keep. But any road I'd buy Muzza a GB team shirt so he can delude himself into thinking he's still playing Davis Cup when he hits the inevitable Federer semi* and Djokovic final.

To Gary Neville - a foreign language dictionary. Not English-Spanish by the way - I'm sure he'll catch on to that soon enough - but an English-PhilNeville dictiionary. Much of what Phil says gets lost in translation and given it's the younger brother who talks to the players at Valencia I'm wondering how the hell Gary can possibly survive. It might well be, as Phil might put it 'a bit of a baptismal of flame in that sense'.

To the drug testers in Rio 2016: patience, and more patience. Analyse every last drop of that urine as if you;re life depended on it. In fact if the competitor is running beyond 800 metres and is Russian, stand on her bladder until every last trickle has been eased into the pot. And best of luck.

To the international footballers of Scotland - some very comfy cushions for the summer time. Enjoy your rest. Just imagine how much fitter you're going to feel in August without a busy summer of action knackering you out.

To all the readers of this sometimes sporadic blog - have a great Christmas, and may the roll of the ball and the blow of the whistle always favour you.

May the dive not deceive you, the shoot-out not shaft you, the vagaries of fortune take you to the very brink of success.

And may Leicester City, in an act reminiscent of Usain Bolt's unmanning of Justin Gatlin, lift the title and make the country believe in the beautiful game all over again.

And failing that, may Boro keep tonking promotion rivals 3-0 cos I'm not up for any more of that May Day play-off tosh.

Happy Christmas!

[*You're right - the phrase 'hitting a Federer semi' doesn't have a good ring to it.]