Last year seems just like a hazy memory. The heroes and villains who populated the 2015 sporting saga have been reduced to mere statistics in the history books. Perhaps, then, it’s time for one last stop-gap tour of all that 2015 had to offer.

Football, of course, did what it does every year, producing a never-ending cycle of never-ending competitions and matches, where, to quote Sep Herberger, “after the match is before the match”. Among this vast and endless sea of football, Barcelona were the team to reign supreme, winning the treble in May. A once-in-a-lifetime success, achieved for the third time in five years. Chelsea would conquer the Premier League Everest in May only to tumble into a glacier in September, left dangling precariously above the relegation zone. Arsenal won their seventeenth ‘Champions League qualification trophy’ in a row. All five major leagues were won by the teams with the best players and often the healthiest financial backing; it was only among the national teams where minnows Northern Ireland and Iceland qualified for next year’s European Championships. Guus Hiddink helped a footballing world power to descend into farce as Holland failed to qualify. Does anybody know where he is now? Meanwhile, slowly, and ever menacingly, Alan Pardew stakes his claim for the future England managerial position.

As a team, the sport England were truly victorious in was, of course, tennis. That said, although it was a cumulative British victory, it was won thanks to the 2014 referendum and a Scotsman, as Andy Murray almost single-handedly (except on his backhand – I apologise) led Britain to a first Davis Cup win in 79 years, with several stunning victories over tennis heavyweights such as David Goffin, Richard Gasquet and Bernard Tomic; didn’t even Lleyton Hewitt haul himself onto the court with a Zimmer frame to play once more in such a prestigious tournament? Novak Djokovic, meanwhile, enjoyed the Davis Cup from his beach house in Barbados (presumably), surrounded by his three major trophies from Australia, Wimbledon and the U.S. So did Roger Federer, the effortless elegance of his hair and his unwavering popularity more than making up for his lack of recent Slam titles. Rafael Nadal, however, proved, with the exception of several topless underwear commercials, almost invisible throughout.

From modelling to, well, modelling. It was a busy and tiring year for Lewis Hamilton, in between jetting to glamorous photo shoots, attending parties and frequenting the world’s hairdressing salons. On the track, he could take it much easier; with ten wins and the title wrapped up early, this year’s Formula One Championship was a veritable stroll in the park. Sebastian Vettel tried to spice it up with some on-track upsets and off-track humour, although his attempts to eradicate centuries of conviction that Germans have no sense of humour were somewhat undermined by Nico Rosberg’s dour forlornness. If anyone did amuse themselves this year, it was Max Verstappen, who raced F1 cars like it was all on a PlayStation, and made it look just as fun: a star in the making.

Wishing it was all just a computer game, or a nightmare, was the England rugby team, dumped out by Wales and Australia in the World Cup group stages – the first time that a host nation has fallen at this hurdle. If the winners were predictably found in New Zealand, it was Japan and Argentina who proved the real underdog heroes. The former stunned the rugby world (the non-rugby world remained only mildly affected) with a last minute, oh-Hollywood-your-scripting-is-so-predictable, victory over South Africa; the latter thumped Ireland in to reach the semi-finals for the first time.

If everyone loves an underdog, it perhaps explains why Chris Froome had to ride through cups of urine as well as headwinds to win the Tour de France. Visiting Britons have scarcely had a more hostile reception in France since Agincourt, yet he was serene, and, judging from his disappointment at the BBC Sports Personality of the Year awards, distinctly uninspiring, as he rode his way to a second title. He’s certainly no Wiggins; perhaps time to brush up on his tattoos and guitar riffs. The real cycling hero was Peter Sagan, winner of the world championships in September. To those who don’t know him, he’s the sporting equivalent of a cross between James Dean and Jim Carrey. With fatter thighs.

God, there really is quite a lot of sport to get through. In summary: England surprisingly beat Australia to regain the Ashes, although the speed with which one team, previously heralded, capitulates to the other may suggest they are both fairly rubbish. Athletics took a momentary break from doping-related self-implosion through its own self-scripted good vs. evil showdown as Usain Bolt beat Justin Gatlin in Beijing. Things went less well-scripted when wealthy vulgarian and former convict (several counts of battery, two of domestic violence) Floyd Mayweather beat the family man, people’s idol, prominent humanitarian (and a much smaller) Manny Pacquiao. The stage was thus set for Tyson Fury to help improve boxing’s public image later in the year. If that was the bad, then the good was surely the England Women’s football team beating Germany and finishing third in the World Cup. Women’s football has still got a long way to go until it captures the public recognition it deserves, yet the attention lavished on England’s World Cup team proves it may just be heading in the right direction. Heading decidedly in the wrong direction was FIFA: one can always rely on them to bring the ugly to the beautiful game. It turns out the men who run football had built their constitution and ethics on the model of Brezhnev’s communist regime.

The year was wrapped up in sparkly, lengthy boredom by the BBC in their sports personality awards ceremony. Jessica Ennis-Hill finished third for the fourth time. Kevin Sinfield (rugby league) showed just how many Northerners watch Sports Personality when he finished second in the annual vote. Adam Peaty showed how few Northerners like swimming after he broke two world records and became double world champion, yet finished second last. And Andy Murray surprised everyone, not by winning (which after Davis Cup success seemed to be in the bag), but by making a joke in public.

And that was really it. Was it a great year in sport? Perhaps it’s too early to say. Yet the absence of the Olympics or the World Cup mean it is highly unlikely; an Oscar-winning film about Greg Rutherford’s long-jumping world championship victory certainly seems a minor possibility. Yet sport fulfilled what we want from sport. It gave us highs and lows, made us feel happy and sad, created excitement, anticipation, nervous nail-biting tension and edge-of-your-seat fear and, all the while, in the grand scheme of things, remaining utterly inconsequential.