Once again (and probably not for the last time) we have been faced with the question, “what is sport”. I don’t have an answer. Certainly not one which would satisfy both the readers of this column and the people I work with, so I’m not even going to go there.

What I do know, is what is not a sport. Like eating. Eating is not a sport, it’s a necessity. True it can be fun at times and if you grew up in a family like mine, then it certainly helped teach you survival of the fittest lore, but it is not a sport.

Pillow fighting is not a sport. I don’t care what those at the pillow fighting league think, bashing the stuffing out of your opponent and your pillow is not an athletic pursuit, it’s a teenaged boy’s wet dream. Underwater ironing is not a sport.

Neither is ironing while skydiving, base jumping, abseiling or any other ironing dare-devil activity. It’s not sport, it’s just stupid. Texting is not a sport.

It’s a communication tool – not an excuse to prove who has the fastest thumb in the west (for the record, that honour belongs to a 13-year-old girl). But what is definitely not a sport, under any normal, rational and socially acceptable person’s definition, is rock, paper scissors.

Or RPS as those in the know call it. The wrist elite have decided that RPS is the next Olympic sport goldmine – and they want your support to get the IOC to listen.

What is the world coming to when we try to convince the world at large that rock, paper, scissors is the new sport of champions? At the recent world championships (yes that’s right, there is a whole flock of elite RPS athletes – enough to have a ritzy competition in Las Vegas) they even had medics on board, just in case there were any wrist or arm injuries.

The most common, apparently, for those at the top of their game is a dislocation. I thought it would be people dying from boredom, but there you go.

To try and dress it up as sport, some contenders arrive at their bouts, Mike Tyson-style, silent and understated – except for the booming music, posse and bright red satin dressing gowns – which apparently are a “tool” to psyche out their opponents.

I’m sure it’s not the only tool in the room. There are referees – one of the world’s best poker players got every single one of his calls right – even though they looked back at the blurring appendages on the slow motion video replay anyway. And of course there are rules.

Dynamite is not allowed apparently – sorry little brother. And you have to be clear in your scissors and paper making – you can’t put your paper on the side in case it gets mistaken for scissors and vice versa. But you can leave it to the absolute last minute to make your selection and hope that your hapless opponent has put his weapon out first.

Seriously – this is not a sport. It’s just plain sad. But, if this can be a contender for the Olympics, then I would like to add competitive shopping to the list.

At least it’s athletic, it is definitely competitive – I dare you to take on a 50- year-old woman at the Myer manchester sale and come out on top Organisers wouldn’t even have to give you a prize – just make it winner takes all.

Not so sure? How about we rock, paper, scissors it? Best of three?