Game, sex and match

The Madrid Masters ball girls, in their tight-fitting Hugo Boss tops and tiny skirts, have become established figures at the men's tournament. But while the likes of Roger Federer, with his handsome looks, is complemented by such beauteous ball handlers, young Andy looked like he'd turned up for a student night only to find himself at a Hollywood after-party.

Yet while serious sports-lovers and feminists are making outraged noises about naked marketing ploys and the objectification of women, Spanish tennis authorities are cheerfully hitting back the accusations of sexism that have been flying at them from all directions like balls from a training machine.

Indeed, in an open-minded attempt to address such criticism a couple of years ago, the indignant tournament organisers recruited none other than the lovely Maria Sharapova for scouting out male models to perform as ball-boys at Madrid's WTA Women's Masters. If ustedes want equality, ustedes shall have it, the tennis chiefs proclaimed in their sultry accents. First round to them, then.

They also insist that the ball girls and boys are more than pretty faces, having all received coaching from official instructors, including an introduction to the rules of tennis for those that need it. Admittedly this will be of scant comfort to the tennis-obsessed school kids who can name every Wimbledon winner back to 1877, but whose visages are more Picasso than Paco Rabanne. However, Spanish fashion promoters hope it will play an important role in encouraging the nation's teenagers to invest a little more time in their appearance by putting down their book of tennis facts and doing something to address their unnatural attachment to stone-washed denim and mullet haircuts.

In these days of airbrushed perfection, the surprise is not that Spanish tennis chiefs insist on having only the most fetching of ball fetchers for the big matches, but that more opportunities haven't yet been exploited to fill important sporting roles with gorgeous catwalk types. (Just to reiterate: the exploitation here relates to the opportunities, not the semi-naked teenagers being encouraged to bend over and perform various lithe acts of ball retrieval on global television, who obviously aren't being exploited at all.)

When sport, fashion and beautiful people can be brought together in such a marketing dream, it seems the height of folly not to make the most of it.

Staying in Spain, then, the world of bull-fighting could surely provide ample opportunity for the exposure of nubile young bodies clad in barely enough fabric to bear the logos of their fashion sponsors. Imagine the audience numbers that could be attracted by footage of models wearing nurses' uniforms and jiggling through the streets of San Fermin in their Manolo Blahnik heels. Their vital role would be to follow the ravages wrought by the Pamplona Bull Run, tending the wounded on the streets and later in the ring.

Of course, it wouldn't matter that the only medical training they'd received was the instructions on the back of a box of plasters. The mere sight of those designer stilettos on long, bronzed legs picking their delicate way between the bodies of slain bulls would be enough to revive even the most seriously gored matador on the spot.

Over here in Britain there are almost criminal numbers of flesh-exposing opportunities being missed in the sporting world. Especially in cricket.

Dear Lords, if there's one game that needs a bit of sexing up, it's this one. Given this is a sport where matches can drag on for days, it could, however, be somewhat of an endurance test for which only the fittest of models would be up to the job. A perfect branding chance, then, for military-inspired design house Aquascutum to send out well-toned temptresses in sexy soldier outfits and artfully applied camouflage make-up to revive the crowd with emergency flasks of caffeine-heavy tea.

There is a risk that Andrew Flintoff and friends – more used to woolly jumpers and boys in blazers – would find themselves stumped or simply bowled over by such gratuitous gorgeousness at close quarters. However, it would undoubtedly be a chance worth taking to prevent a mass outbreak of sports-induced somnolence among the cricket-watching public.

North of the border, of course, things get a little more tricky. While our national passion for sport is unquestionable, the reality of Scottish weather means lengthy periods spent outdoors without a vest can be potentially fatal – not ideal when you want your sex-objects, sorry sports support squad, as under-dressed as possible.

All the more reason then, to find an activity that allows the models to run around as much as possible, ensuring not only do they warm themselves up, but they also keep the audience nice and hot with the sight of their lovely, bouncing bosoms. And nowhere is more heat required than on the gale-swept boundaries of the Highland shinty field. An opportunity surely, for Glasgow designer Christopher Kane to get in on the sporting act by creating one of his figure-hugging Lycra outfits – just perfect for the models to brighten up the mood as they jog around with towels to vigorously rub down rain-soaked players and spectators whenever the need arises.

Of course, as the Spanish tennis authorities made clear, the opportunity to make a semi-naked spectacle of yourself at national sporting events must be made available to men as well as women.

It would therefore make a lot of sense for those in the show jumping world – a sport with a very high proportion of female spectators – to put their minds to suitable roles for hunky male models. Surely Ralph Lauren, with his passion for the equestrian aesthetic, would make a perfect sponsor of topless grooms who would rush out between rounds in nothing but tight trousers and manly leather boots.

So busy would the audience be admiring the models' biceps that they would pay no attention to the scatological nature of the task for which the shovels they carry are intended.

No, the self-righteous sports fans and the feminists are just going to have to get used to the idea that only the most beautiful are fit to grace our sporting events – and jobs must be found to attract them.

Even awkward Andy Murray looked pretty happy with his recent ball-fetching companions.

Let's just hope he learns a lesson from their well-groomed appearance and is finally embarrassed into getting a decent haircut.