Tuned into the domestic channels on Saturday afternoon hoping to catch up on the Irish progress over at the European indoor athletics championships in Ghent. On RTE 1, though, the sporting drama was confined to the mysterious illness which had stricken the popular race horse Rainbow and the gallant attempts of David Banner - aka The Incredible Hulk - to steer him from harm's way.
It must be acknowledged that the "Rainbow's End" episode remains a particular highlight in the ever-formidable Banner oeuvre. Inexplicable barn fires, acidic reins, shots fired from the book depository . . . it seemed the luckless Rainbow, who just wanted to race, was safe from no hazard and he would almost certainly have come a cropper had Banner not been into the ponies.
Even now, some 20 years after its heyday, the show resounds with metaphors which still ring true, and Bill Bixby, the actor who played David Banner, brought an understated sense of tragedy to the role which is reminiscent of early Tony Hopkins.
And his weekly metamorphosis from the diffident doctor to the raging and quite, well, incredible hulking figure who reaps benign havoc may be the defining moment of 1970s adventure television.
It is perhaps, though, just a little bit unfortunate that even as Dr Banner was skulking around Rainbow's stables, Irish sprinter Karen Shinkins was busy setting an Irish record in Ghent.
Ghent does not sound like the kind of place where you would bring the family for the fortnight in June, but you might have been forgiven for assuming that it might have been the kind of venue which RTE sports would have thought appropriate to locate a few cameras for the weekend.
There are times when the national broadcaster comes in for an unfair pasting from regular commentators - the shooting season seems to be a 12-month affair as far as critics of the station are concerned. As far as sports coverage goes, RTE sometimes do it very well (TG4 generally present their limited menu with more vigour and imagination, but that's for another day), and there may well be valid reasons why the main Irish broadcaster was not live in Ghent.
But Eurosport was the saviour on Saturday afternoon for those interested in Irish affairs. The pace over the first lap in Shinkins' 400 metres semi-final was blistering, and while others lagged back, the Irish woman went all out and claimed third.
While Pospelova cruised in at the end, the Eurosport commentators became involved in Shinkins' attempts to fight off a late surge over the last 100 metres. Ten minutes later, they excitedly broke the news that Shinkins had set a national record of 52.8 seconds, eclipsing the time she set in Athens early in the year.
"Delight for the Irish," they sang. Twenty minutes later, Sinead Delahunty buckled down and claimed an encouraging fourth in the 1,500 metres final. And it was only heating up.
At around 4.30 (The A-Team, an orchestral documentary and Roseanne (TV3) were the domestic offerings), James Nolan stepped up and hightailed his way to a silver medal in the 1,500 metres, unceremoniously elbowing his way into contention on the closing straight.
It was good stuff, and Mark Carroll capped a great weekend by taking gold in yesterday's 3,000 metres.
The Flanders indoor arena in Ghent will never be mistaken for the Theatre of Dreams - only 3,000 people watched Nolan's race - and given that this is Olympic year, the weekend feats won't be long fading in the memory.
But athletics, struggling to restore a positive self-image across the globe, is, with the notable exception of Sonia O'Sullivan's profile, practically an invisible sport in Ireland. The presence of athletes like Shinkins and Delahunty in Sydney will be down solely to their own fortitude and the work of lone coaches.
Most days in most years, they plough a lonely furrow. It would be nice if, on occasions like the one just passed in Ghent, they might be warmed by the bright lights and Irish plaudits for once.
Premiership soccer, though, has set itself up as the TV sport of the new century, at least in this part of the world. A crowd of 30,000 showing up on a blustery night at Lansdowne Road to watch a sporting fixture which had not been sidelined by the adventures of Dr Banner was a notable confirmation of the appetite for the glitzier echelons of the game here.
While the Irish national side has enjoyed a genuine and loyal home support for the past 15 years, the astute marketing of the Premiership has helped to keep the team fashionable despite the comparatively lean summers since 1994.
The actual game is now only as important as the starring players; Sky, the print media and the terrestrial soccer shows have all facilitated the transformation of the English league into virtual docusoap. The characters are everyday faces, the plot lines two-a-penny. Hence, the consequences of the Baby Beckham catastrophe are gravely debated on Football Focus and Match of the Day.
The absurdity of the concentration of interest on a bunch of guys who are, for the most part, utterly uninteresting except for their (often questionable) soccer skills, is only really highlighted when jarring comparisons to previous times are made.
The passing of Stanley Matthews made such contrasts between past and present inevitable. While the Beeb hired Michael Cimino to direct an epic tribute, and ITV had Gabby Yorath noting that there had been "loadsa e-mails 'bout Sir Stan", the effect was all the one.
Born in 1915, he was "a son of the Potteries"; dignified, articulate, just glad to have heard the applause.
"Thirty-three years as a pro. Life is wonderful, isn't it," Matthews said during one of his final interviews. "I mean, I've been all over the world, coaching, and it hasn't cost me a penny."
Such sentiments are, like the man himself, sadly lost to the so-called glory game.
