THE reported response of Paul Gascoigne on learning of his exclusion from the England World Cup squad was to rant and rail, stomp his feet, kick a door and bawl his eyes out. In other words the same kind of reaction one might expect of a particularly ill-behaved

toddler who has just been told that he cannot get his own way. Of course the decision must have been heartbreaking for Gazza, but his immature temper tantrum simply reinforces the public impression of him as a spoilt brat.

On his return to Britain, Gascoigne's first action reinforced his capacity for selfish behaviour, as he sought refuge at the home of his estranged wife, Sheryl. Typically, he was prioritising his own needs. For her own reasons she has indulged him, providing a safe haven from the storm of publicity. Perhaps she did not want to deny him the comfort of the company of his son, Regan.

Like an indulged child who refuses to face hard facts, Gascoigne sought sympathy from Sheryl despite the fact that she has already initiated divorce proceedings against him. She has exceptionally good reasons for divorcing the wayward footballer, a man who not only viciously assaulted her but who repeatedly put his own interests first throughout their relationship, most famously when he missed Regan's birth in favour of a boozy bender with his mates.

Gascoigne apparently cannot accept the fact that his wife wants him out of her life. His inability to absorb her rebuffal, his reported desperation to keep the marriage alive, is often commented upon. When Irene Dunford, ''the older woman'', released details of a tryst with him he was furious because he feared the squalid revelations would harm his chances of a reunion with Sheryl.

Strangely, many men and - stranger still - many women, view Gascoigne's clumsy attempts to win Sheryl back with lurking admiration. For the public is always quick to applaud a man who declares devotion and nails his heart to the door of a loved one. The spectacle of determined male pursuing reluctant female is, after all, the classic staple of most romantic tales.

''She will be mine,'' declared a male friend when he met the woman of his dreams last summer, despite the fact that her initial cool reaction to him suggested she reckoned that he was the stuff of her nightmares. He was not put off and instead set about determinedly wooing her. His focused campaign won him the respect of his mates. Gritting his teeth and ignoring the fact that she invariably ignored him, he showed up at various social occasions he knew she would attend and was unfailingly sparkling company, always attentive and kind towards his quarry. In time, his pursuit was seen as some sort of gallant quest. ''Gosh, he just doesn't give up,'' we would smile indulgently, praising his single-mindedness.

By contrast, another acquaintance's similar pursuit of a reluctant lover was discussed by all and sundry with a mixture of scorn and pity. ''Oh Lordy, that's so pathetic,'' we would mutter at the sight of the infatuated one being unfailingly sparkling company and always kind and attentive towards the quarry. So, what was the difference?

Why, only that in this case the pursuer was female and the pursued was male. This inversion of the traditional ''man chases woman'' formula inspired not respect and admiration for the determination on display but instead derision, pitying glances and whispers of ''bunny boiler''. Because when a man is persistent he is seen as ardent and passionate. When a woman evinces any signs of persistence she is viewed as unhinged and lacking self-worth. In our enlightened times we still think that it is very unseemly for a woman to be that upfront about her desire. A man who chases the seemingly unattainable is deemed to have oodles of self-confidence. Women who do so are dismissed as having no self-respect.

Guys who attempt to win over reluctant chicks are patted on the back by their mates and reassured with comments like ''faint heart never won fair lady''. Women who set their caps at chaps who snub them are all but dragged back by scandalised female friends screeching ''stop making a fool of yourself!''

It's an appalling double standard which I admit to being guilty of. I'm ashamed to admit that I have encouraged ardent males and discouraged smitten females - perhaps because I'm still too in thrall to notions of a Jane Austen world in which men always make the first move. In principle I admire the upfront way someone like Madonna phones fanciable male actors and models and asks them for a date, but the truth is that I'd rather gnaw off my fingers than make that kind of call myself.

Hollywood continually reinforces the impression that women should on no account take the initiative in romantic matters. In the deplorable My Best Friend's Wedding, Julia Roberts plays a woman who resolves to snatch a former boyfriend from the brink of matrimony. Attempting to do so she degrades herself horribly, acts viciously and gets her come-uppance when she is rejected by the guy and ritually humiliated in a scene where she has to make an abject apology to her rival in front of a crowd of hostile women.

Underpinning the hypocrisy which sees society scorning unrequited female love and praising ardent Romeos, and probably fuels Gascoigne's hopes for his marriage, is a macho notion that women are more malleable than men, that it's easier to get women to change their minds about affairs of the heart. But the fact is, when we observe an impassioned male lover who is determined to overcome the odds, what's usually going on is the mundane and distinctly unromantic age-old problem of a man who refuses to accept that when a woman says no she means no.