TV VIEW:IF YOU exclude the Champions League quarter-finals, the Masters, Leinster and Munster's European adventures, the Grand National, that La Liga love-in between Real Madrid and Barcelona and the FA Cup semi-finals, the telly sporting week bordered on the run-of-the-mill, ho-hum, bog standard.

It ended much as it began when we drew on our expertise to forecast an Aston Villa versus Spurs FA Cup final, much as we had tipped King John’s Castle to romp home to victory at Aintree and Jim Furyk to leave Augusta looking like a refugee from a 1970s showband, ie bedecked in an unpardonably green jacket.

As it proved, King John’s Castle and Jim might as well have swapped places because the four-legged fella would certainly have putted better and the two-legged chap would, surely, at least have had a go over those fences.

“He came alive here last time, so if he does the same again I’ll get a great spin off him,” Paul Carberry had told Clare Balding not long before King John’s Castle refused, point blank, to even start. “You’re having a laugh,” said his stance, as Carberry discovered he’d have gotten a better spin off a rocking horse.

Furyk, meanwhile, had an 80 in his opening round, limping away from Augusta a day later, in no fit state to do the Hucklebuck.

Not that the sporting legends fared a whole lot better with their prophesies.

Kenny Dalglish, for example, turned up on Sky News on Saturday morning and was asked for his tip for the National. “I’ll go with the advice I was given when I got married: Comply or Die,” he said. Granted, his pick finished the race, but a whole 11 places shy of glory.

Ginger McCain? Any tips? “I wouldn’t choose any other horse in the race,” he said of Cloudy Lane while chatting with Richard Pitman. “And that’s not bullshit. He’s had a good preparation, he’s sound, he’s fit, there are no excuses – apart from the trainer, who’s a complete pillock.”

It was yet another touching tribute from Ginger to his son Donald Jr, who, on Grand National day two years ago, he lovingly described as “thick”. “And when you’ve got a boy who’s thick you can only do two things with him – if he’s really, really thick make a trainer of him; if he’s not too thick he’ll go in the army.”

As the young people might say: Ginger rocks.

Well, Cloudy Lane didn’t win either, finishing eighth, a failure that might have brought a smile to Richard’s face in light of his earlier chat with the divil that is Ginger.

“Were you a friend of Jenny Pitman?” he had asked Richard of his ex-wife.

“I was once, yes,” he said.

“Were you really? She’s a very nice lady.”

“And I hope to be later on . . .”

“Do you really? I wish you luck,” Ginger grinned.

Some time later, who did Richard interview but Jenny herself.

“You’re making me nervous,” he said, as his voice croaked. “I’ve known you nervous a few times before,” she replied, a bit huskily and somewhat fiendishly, leaving Richard mad eager to switch the topic to Corbiere, Jenny’s 1983 National winner.

Happily, he survived the ordeal, declaring that his ex was “like one of those new Werther mints – she’s still soft in the middle”. “That’s not what you said in the divorce papers, you unspeakable scuzzball,” Jenny didn’t say because the two of them, unlike King John’s Castle, have moved on.

And so, it would seem, has Tiger Woods. “He’s slipped right back in like an old pair of slippers,” Wayne Grady purred after Woods’ rather sumptuous drive from the 14th tee on Thursday.

By then we’d heard Billy Payne berate Tiger’s “egregious” conduct, this from the chairman of the Augusta National Golf Club that waited until 1990 to admit its first black member while remaining allergic to wimin, unless they’re making the sangwidges. That’s a high moral ground, it has to be said, the sanctimonious televangelist-wannabe speaks from.

“Our hero did not live up to the expectations of the role model we saw for our children,” he said, with a straight face, of the white male Georgian-born variety. It was the quality of comedy we haven’t witnessed since Bill Hicks departed this planet.

As the wise folk have noted of late, what semi-responsible parent would suggest to little Chuck or Candy that a professional sportsperson is a wise choice of role model? Folk with that little judgment should probably remain childless, it’d be best for the planet.

Birdie, birdie, bogey, bogey, eagle, birdie, bogey. Life remains a bit of an auld rollercoaster for Tiger. He has, though, one thing in common with Billy – he’s no role model. But with enemies like Mr Augusta National Golf Club . . . hmm, $20 for an, eh, “Go Tiger” T-shirt?

Cheap at the price. Anything to make the good ole boys weep.

“Ginger McCain? Any tips? “I wouldn’t choose any other horse in the race,” he said of Cloudy Lane while chatting with Richard Pitman. “And that’s not bullshit. He’s had a good preparation, he’s sound, he’s fit, there are no excuses – apart from the trainer, who’s a complete pillock