For the 'A' list sporting celebrity, it brings in tax money. Reading even a few pages of these ghosted propaganda tools is an act of endurance.
When Wayne Rooney was 20-years-old, he wrote or, rather, he 'spoke' his life story - "Wayne Rooney, My Story So Far." Which, of course, leaves room for a sequel, even a trilogy.
The blurb reads as follows: "Find out the answers to the big questions: How has the meteoric rise to fame and fortune affected this seemingly shy, yet prodigiously gifted youngster?"
Disappointingly, "he shags grannies" is not the answer to that one! No, there is no mention of knee tremblers with heavily painted ladies in dowdy knocking shops. Instead, it tells the story of how he made his debut for Everton: "the anguish of the foot injury that threatened to keep him out of the World Cup in 2006 and his relationship with partner Colleen."
In essence, the book is like a longer version of a 'Hello' magazine article. Everyone knows he is a good soccer player and he lives with a celebrity lady. But like most people, he's really not that interesting. There are exceptions to the rule, but very few.
The Italian Stallion's "Full Time, The Secret Life of Tony Cascarino" is compelling, because it has the virtue of absolute honesty and it happens to be a rattling good yarn. He exposed his life to the world, warts and all. In one extract he explains how a Dublin stranger threw herself at him in the hotel after an international match.
"I said to her let's go to your place, mine's a little crowded (he was sharing a hotel room with David O'Leary). The taxi took us to a house in the suburbs, where we ripped into each other like crazed animals, then dropped as though we'd been shot with tranquillizer darts. Afterwards, I said 'Honey, What's your name?"
Don't you normally ask that question at the start Tony?
Now we live in an 'Oprah Winfrey culture,' where everyone is prepared to go on the radio or television and geyser their views. Sporting autobiographies fly indiscriminately off the presses, mostly of the "I will never forget waking up the morning after the final and realising we had finally done it" variety. Mickey Harte has now conversed his way to a second autobiography in five years. "Presence" apparently, is the crux. The man that emerges is an omniscient guru, exuding calm and wisdom. The pages conjure images of the cult seventies series Kung Fu, where Grand Master Po guided the young Shaolin Monk Chang towards enlightenment.

Master Po: "Close your eyes. What do you see?"
Chang: "I see the water, I hear the birds."
Po: "Do you hear your own heartbeat?"
Chang: "No."
Po: "Do you hear the grasshopper that is at your feet?"
Chang: "Old man, how is it that you hear these things?"
Po: "Young man, how is it that you do not?"

Interesting Insight
The books are an interesting insight into how Mickey views himself, but not much more than that, since the story of Tyrone has been done to death. There's no sex, violence, rock 'n' roll or hard drugs, but we do learn that defeats are not Mickey's fault. No, those have been down to the referee, bugs and his star player letting him down!
Clearly, it will require more time before Sean can truly hear the grasshopper at his feet, a spiritual journey which will, no doubt, be depicted in Mickey's next book.
Donal Og's book "Come What May," also hit the shelves last week. All I can say is he certainly has. Here, sex is high on the agenda, including a delightfully sordid 'one night stand' in Hong Kong.
The book is combative, revealing and at times very funny. His father's response when he told him he was gay was "Like f. . . it, Donal Og, the abuse you're going to get about this. I thought it was hard defending your short puck-outs, but f. . . it, this one..."
I was drinking tea as I read this passage and choked with laughter.
There is, of course, pettiness and malice in the book. He clearly despises Kilkenny, somewhat ironically describing their hurlers as the "Stepford Wives of the GAA," but at least he has the guts to say so.
The announcement that he is homosexual comes as no surprise, its timing more to do with getting on the 'Late, Late Show' than any enhancement of the gay cause.
The Irish Gay Rights Society this week welcomed the development and applauded Donal Og for his courage. How antiquated that sounds. No one has ever congratulated me for being a heterosexual father of five young children with strong sexual urges that are rarely reciprocated. Meanwhile, he is free to enjoy the life of a sailor. The world just isn't fair!
Donal Og may not be the first self obsessed homosexual with a chip on his shoulder, but his book has the unusual merit of being both real and interesting.
It will do very well, except, of course, in Kilkenny . . . .!