My accountant called from Hawaii on Thursday night and more or less demanded that I write something about the crisis in Athletics Ireland. He goes down there every December, the lucky swine, to run the Honolulu Marathon and surf the North Shore and was obviously on his third or fourth Mai Tai of the night and missing home already.

"I know you won't want to hear this," he said, "but things are really getting difficult. The Sports Council are unhappy. The chief executive is under pressure. The high performance manager is unhappy and so is the chair of high performance. They're back to square one with that director of athletics position. It's a mess.

"Why aren't you on top of it? The Irish Mail on Sundayis going to town on the thing, giving it socks. You used to be right on the ball. You're falling behind it. No offence, but I'm getting a bit tired of reading about running in the mountains and your glory days back in Brown. This is a big deal. You need to write something about it. It's all the talk here on Waikiki."

I held the phone away from my head for a few seconds and then told him to calm down. My accountant is one of the sharpest and most candid in the business but has a tendency to get a little carried away, especially with anything to do with athletics.

He once ran a marathon off zero training and another time, after watching the movie about Steve Prefontaine, decided he was going to move to Oregon and live in a trailer park.

"Don't get me started on that stuff," I said. "I can hardly face the thought of it. To be honest, I couldn't care less. I'm bored to tears with it already. And you want me to inflict more of it on my readers?" "Or what's left of them," he replied. "Do you not realise this could bring down the whole of Athletics Ireland? If they lose their funding they're going out of business. Fast. Jesus, it happened to UK athletics not that long ago. I mean which side are you on here? And you call yourself an athletics writer?"

I was tempted to hang up at that point but instead told him to stay on the line, that I wanted to read him something. Rummaging through the vast pile of newspapers under my desk I eventually pulled out the weekend sports section from last April. This would show him who is on top of it.

"Listen to this," I started, and began reading from a piece I had written on Saturday, April 26th when Mary Coghlan first took over as chief executive of Athletics Ireland: 'Coghlan will need little reminding the job can be something of a poisoned chalice. Her predecessor, Brendan Hackett, resigned almost a year ahead of schedule, not because of anything overly controversial, but because he'd taken the job "as far as I could". But Hackett, in the spirit of Oscar Wilde, saw true friendship as stabbing someone in the front, not the back'.

"Coghlan has been chair of Athletics Ireland's finance and risk committee for two years, and while there have already been some rumblings about the process of her appointment, she certainly carries no political baggage. Her background is in accounting - she has a mathematics degree from Oxford University - which should rule out scepticism about her appointment and allow her to concentrate on running the sport.' It was silent at the other end of the line but I kept going: "And right at the end I say 'So Coghlan knows well the challenges facing the sport, and the challenge now for Athletics Ireland is to let her get on with it.'

It was still silent at the other end of the line but I could hear my accountant take a heavy drag from a cigarette, which didn't surprise me in the slightest even though he was supposed to be running a marathon a week later.

"You're missing the point," he snapped. "Mary Coghlan might be the best chief executive in the world but if the Sports Council aren't happy, rightly or wrongly, then we're in trouble. Athletics Ireland can't afford to rock this boat. I know the figures. Last year it cost €3.23 million to run Athletics Ireland, and €2.04 million of that came from the Sports Council. Without the Sports Council they are going nowhere." "Hang on a second," I said. "First of all that's taxpayers' money, not Sports Council money. They've no right to pull the plug on it just because they may not be happy with a chief executive. At least I hope not. I mean if they do every other governing body of sport are going to be looking over the shoulder. That would set a very dangerous precedent. Although I wouldn't put it past them."

That, he agreed, was hard to argue with. But he still reckoned that as long as the Sports Council weren't happy then there was little chance Athletics Ireland could appoint the new director of athletics. "And that's such a crucial appointment," he said.

"Crucial?" I went rummaging under my desk again and pulled out another weekend sports section and began reading from a piece I had written, dated November 1st.

'There can be no such excuses this time and it's crucial that the right person lands the job, and goes on to maximise Irish athletics for all its worth in the four years leading to London. They had hoped to ratify the new appointee on Wednesday, but for whatever reason, that didn't happen. Several candidates have been interviewed, and they have, apparently, identified the person they want. Speculating as to who that person will be is fairly pointless. They are better off taking their time to ensure they get that right person - because they can't afford to get it wrong.'"

"Okay, that's enough," he said. "It just kills me to think the sport is crippling itself like this. It's draining the place. Look at Patsy McGonagle. He's the chair of high performance and he's also in the middle of a dispute. Why aren't you at least writing about that?"

"I did. But I knew all this stuff was coming down the line like a derailed freight train. That's why I tried to steer well clear. This needs to be sorted out in-house, and sorted out fast. Nothing I say is going to help. Truth is I had plans to write an inspiring piece about Billy Mills and Native American distance running this week. You've gone and ruined that now."

My accountant said nothing. I rambled on a bit more, drifting from one sad chapter in the history of Irish athletics to another, cursing all those who have taken us down this road before and at the same time feeling sorry for them.

"Okay," he finally interrupted. "I've heard enough already. Recommend any good running books for Christmas?"