THE trophies have been ordered, the room booked and the DJ has 'We Are The Champions' downloaded on a loop on the sound system.

The captain's mum has been out buying a new white shirt with buttons up the middle so he looks smart when he picks up all his prizes.

His dad takes one last look at his speech about what a privilege it has been coaching "a great set of lads" for the last five seasons, and slips it into into the pocket of his club tracksuit next to the special shield he's ordered this year to commemorate his lad being the first player in the team to make 100 appearances – an achievement made all the more special as none have come off the bench.

The cool kids – top goalscorer, centre-mid  and lad who's twice the size of everybody else and growing a tash – have sorted out where they're sitting: together and well away from the coaches and their parents.

And the team secretary/treasurer is busy trying to get a replacement semi-local celebrity to present the prizes after the lad who used to play for the club and has gone on to make it at a League Two club's academy has pulled out at the last minute because he has a physio session before Saturday's game at Cleckheaton.

Yes, it's that time of year again when junior football teams hold their presentation nights.

But one lad who's not looking forward to it is the poor kid who when the players were told on the QT at training on Wednesday night who had won the prizes found out he'd be getting most-improved player.

Oh no, he's thinking, not the dreaded most-improved player. All the other kids laughed last year when Simon walked up to the stage to get it and the coach said it was for "filling in manfully" when either of the two regular full-backs couldn't play.

Whoever invented this most token of trophies should be ashamed.

It's meaning was put best by Lostock Cricket Club player Tom Sheen at their annual dinner last Friday when handing out prizes.

After beginning by telling the audience that "for some reason" there was an award for wicketkeepers when all they actually did was stand in one place and let the ball hit their big gloves while the bowlers – like him – did all the work, he introduced the next 'prize'.

"And we also have an award for the most-improved player," is the gist of what he said before leaving a pause pregnant enough to build up humorous anticipation.

"Which is basically an award given to the worst player who wasn't quite as bad as he was last year."

The laughter in the room was audible evidence of this award's single-edged swordiness.

There is wide acceptance, even if it is deep down in the sub-conscious, that most improved player is unnecessary tokenism.

It is neither something of which to be ashamed nor proud, but it is to be avoided at all costs.

For some reason, however, those involved in bestowing prizes on players feel it necessary to lumber a youngster who is already trying to prove himself to the rest of the team with a public presentation of an award that shows he has so far failed to do so.

So it is time for club coaches to save their money – and one of their player's blushes – and ditch the most-improved player.

Stick to the awards the kids want to win – player of the year, top goalscorer and the daddy of them all, players' player of the year.