I haven’t taken much of an interest in sport since I came to terms with the fact, aged eight, that I wasn’t going to be a professional footballer.

I’ll follow Ireland’s fortunes in the Six Nations rugby tournament, and Northern Ireland’s fortunes in football. If they lose – as is often the case – I’m annoyed for about 10 minutes. It’s only a game.

But the women’s football World Cup, Wimbledon and international cricket hardly crossed my radar and the Tour de France won’t either.

However there was a time when I took a keen interest in tennis, 25 years ago.

A girlfriend back then used to watch Wimbledon so I inevitably ended up watching it with her.

She wanted Goran Ivanisevic to win the men’s singles because she reckoned he was good-looking. From that moment on I hated Ivanisevic, and found myself rooting for Pete Sampras.

Now I knew the chances of her running away with the Croatian tennis player were fairly slim. In the end she ran away with somebody else. But I couldn’t help feeling jealous of Ivanisevic from then on.

It wasn’t the very end of my tennis watching. Five years later my interest was rekindled by Anna Kournikova – for much the same reason my ex had admired Ivanisevic. When she retired my interest disappeared.

This is all very shallow of course. Tennis players should be judged on their tennis playing talents rather than their looks. Indeed in all walks of life – unless perhaps you’re a fashion model – your abilities should matter more than your appearance.

The trouble is that appearance does matter, whether we like it or not. Looking the part can be more decisive than acting the part.

When former Lookaround newsreader Fiona Armstrong was chosen to present GMTV there was lengthy discussion about how much of a factor her attractiveness was.

It’s been clear in the world of politics for nearly 60 years now. Head-to-head debates between the candidates for US president began in 1960, when John F Kennedy and Richard Nixon faced each other.

People who had heard the debate on the radio, and had only the candidates’ words to judge, felt afterwards that Nixon had come off better.

But Kennedy was taller and better-looking than Nixon and was careful to wear a dark suit on TV, which stood out better in black and white days.

Nixon’s grey suit made him disappear into the background and his refusal of studio make-up left him looking as if he hadn’t shaved. And those who’d watch it on TV came away with the feeling that Kennedy won the encounter.

Abraham Lincoln was thought of as ugly. During a debate he was once accused of being two-faced, to which he replied: “If I had another face, do you think I would wear this one?”

He is remembered for freeing the slaves, but many historians argue he was too unattractive to be elected president these days.

Margaret Thatcher appreciated the importance of image, and was always happy to let the image makers do their work.

So she had voice coaching to make her sound more authoritative, her wardrobe was completely overhauled and she ditched the hats.

Another politician whose image is very carefully crafted is Nigel Farage. His father was a stockbroker and he went to a fee-paying school, yet he has cultivated an ordinary bloke persona with his accent, flat caps, pints of bitter, cigarettes – and his declaration during the last Scottish parliament elections that he’d bring back indoor smoking.

Winston Churchill and Clement Attlee are two of our most acclaimed prime ministers, and both were bald.

Baldness in some men is regarded as an attractive and masculine feature, and did not stop Sean Connery from being named by People magazine as “sexiest man alive” in 1989 and “sexiest man of the century” in 1999.

Yet it has been noted that it’s not a good look for would-be prime ministers these days – and a bald man hasn’t been elected prime minister since most households have had TV. Consider Neil Kinnock, William Hague, Iain Duncan Smith and Michael Howard.

There was a time when I toyed with the idea of a career in politics, long after I had to give up on the idea of professional football.

I wouldn’t want the responsibility of being a minister, and far less prime minister. I’d be an awkward squad backbencher.

But I wouldn’t get the top job anyway. My hair’s thinning out too fast.