Cyril Farrell thought Lindsay Davenport would struggle without Jamesie O'Connor; Virginia Wade was convinced Jimmy Barry-Murphy's sliced backhand landed on the half-forward line (she saw a puff of chalk); Andre Agassi's greatest weapon is his cross-court Brian Lohan and Sean Og O hAilpin's favourite surface is Steffi grass. Agassi is sponsored by Kepak, Pete Sampras by Carroll Meats, but Marty Morrissey thought he was stupid for pulling back Vinnie Claffey and giving away a needless break point to Offaly. Meanwhile Colm O'Rourke cursed audibly when a light drizzle forced the Meath and Festina teams off the pitch at Croke Park for 20 minutes, although he was glowing in his praise of the stewards who quickly covered the grass with a tarpaulin the size of Connacht. Later in the day Myles Dungan reckoned Sergio Garcia had a decent shout of emerging from the peloton and crossing the line first at the end of stage one (Montaigu to Semple Stadium) of the Tour de Druid's Glen, although he noted that Ger Loughnane had just, ominously, birdied his last four sideline cuts.
That's the trouble with channel-hopping, you can end up addled and badly in need of a lie-down. But it was one of those Sundays, when there was a string of clashing sporting events on the telly, and you ended up not being able to tell your rasping volleys from your sizzling puck-outs.
Wednesday was better: there wasn't much on, except for RTE's previews of the Irish Open. The Six O'Clock news sent a reporter, who shall remain nameless (we'll call him "Colm Murray"), to Druid's Glen to chat with John Daly at the end of his warm-up round. "Colm" told us of Daly's "well documented" struggle with his truly terrible gambling addiction (word has it that he's chucked away almost as much as Nick Leeson blew on Barings Bank), before he interviewed the Wild Thing himself. "You've got to be super value at 80-1 with the local bookies," said "Colm". "Gasp," said the viewers. "Mmmm, that's interesting," said Daly's face. An unconfirmed rumour, emanating from the Wicklow area on Wednesday night, claimed that Daly's odds were cut to 80-1 ON after a big-hittin' blond American male with an Irish surname placed his fee for turning up at Druid's Glen on a big-hittin' blond American male with an Irish surname winning the Irish Open. But he didn't win. And word has it that bookies the world over will no longer accept bets on big-hittin' blond American males with Irish surnames carding scores of 80-plus in either their third or fourth rounds. But of course the really big sporting event of the week wasn't at Druid's Glen, it was at Luttrellstown Castle, where David Beckham was to be wed. And Sky "you can never have enough outside broadcast units or spare satellite dishes" News was, naturally, there to cover it. Well, not to cover it exactly, but they did at least have live reports from the nearby Clonsilla Inn on Saturday evening, capturing the frenzied build-up to the Spicey nuptials, as only Sky News could.
A reporter by the name of Georgie was given the task of asking the Clonsilla Inn regulars just how privileged they felt to have their local situated near the spot where the Manchester United midfielder and the Posh Spicey Girl were going to say "I do". (Location, location, location, is, after all, everything).
"Yeah, it's . . . good," said one young lad (aged 10-ish), who had a microphone thrust in his face. Georgie was clearly hoping for a greater degree of enthusiasm, but in fairness to the young lad he was probably too busy wishing his Ma and Da would sup up and let him get home to his back garden where he could get on with practising his David Beckham free-kicks. (Have you ever met a 10-year-old lad who gets excited about "yucky" weddings? Neither have I. Bad choice of interviewee, Georgie). Georgie went on to warn any of us planning to travel up to the gates of Luttrellstown Castle on Sunday that the traffic would be chaotic and we might not get a glimpse of United players arriving for the big occasion.
She needn't have worried, though. Those of us present waited 91 minutes for United to arrive and we'd just about given up on them when, first, Teddy Sheringham popped up and, one minute 42 seconds later, Ole Gunnar Solskjaer snuck through the gates past the Munich-born security men and voila, United were home and dry. And the crowd went mad, Brian.
Back to Sunday. Despite Cyril Farrell's pre-match worries Lindsay Davenport coped admirably with Jamesie O'Connor's absence and beat Steffi Graf in straight sets in the Wimbledon final. (Why the Duchess of Kent had to wear a skirt made out of a red and white checked table cloth when presenting that big dish to the American, we'll never know). And Marty Morrissey's chiding of Pete Sampras paid off too - he beat Andre Agassi in straight sets. But Ryan Giggs (post wonder-goal v Arsenal in FA Cup semi-final replay) has a lot to answer for: he (Sampras, not Marty) celebrated by ripping off his shirt to reveal a chest so hairy that you wondered how it didn't hamper him aerodynamically as he rushed the net to volley away Andre's attempted passing shots.
And Myles Dungan needn't have worried about Jimmy Barr's birdierush - Sergio Garcia held out to win the Irish Open. "This is your fourth tournament as a professional - why did it take you so long to win," Myles asked the young Spaniard. A late developer, we can only assume.
And what happened at Semple Stadium? Ooh I say: game, set and match to Cork, 1-15 to 0-14 after 70 minutes on court. And with that Virginia Canning broke into a rousing version of "de Banks". Time for a lie-down, methinks.
