Beefy in a stew as Fat Boy gives England tail a roasting

TV View:When we finally waved a white flag and surrendered to sleep we did so confident in the belief that not even England could lose a Test match from the position they were in, that all we'd miss would be the snooze-fest that is two sides settling for a draw. When we returned to Ashes duty early next morning there was Michael Hussey hitting Australia's winning run. Strewth. Bonzer.

"Oh my word," as David Gower put it, filling the gap left by a momentarily speechless Ian Botham, who simply couldn't find the words, at least not ones of the broadcastable variety.

"Quickly, it became outright panic. Like medieval royals with syphilis, they went suddenly mad," wrote Greg Baum in the Sydney Morning Herald of England's collapse.

The Aussies? Peerless in cricket, peerless in sporting analogies. You can't imagine, say, Marty Morrissey using the syphilis analogy for, say, a Mayo All-Ireland final, can you?

"Cricket against Australia is never over until the fat boy spins," as another writer so deliciously put it last week.

Shane Warne could do with less of the "fat"; "portly, peerless" might have been better. But peerless he remains. Only a humbled Jose Mourinho is a finer sporting sight. But that's as rare a sight as, say, Ashley Giles taking a wicket. Which reminds us: what do you call an Englishman with 100 runs against his name? A bowler.

Happily, we didn't miss the week's other sporting contest: Eamon Dunphy's rage v Bill O'Herlihy's concern that the lawyers might be watching.

It all kicked off when the topic of Cristiano Ronaldo raised its ugly head before coverage of the Champions League tie between Manchester United and Benfica.

"Ronaldo's a waste of space. He's a cheat, and a renowned cheat now," said Dunphy, whose comment would have been harsh if it wasn't for the fact he was talking about the shameless, self-centred, narcissistic prima donna who, even if he played like a cross between Duncan Edwards, George Best and Roy Keane, still wouldn't be fit to wear the United shirt.

Billo, though, pointed out that Alex Ferguson had defended the lad and had sort of suggested the whole world was out to get him. This, of course, led to one of those heated debates inevitably laced with Billo cries of "YOU CAN'T SAY THAT!" And they're always the best.

Dunphy: "Ferguson's been a disgrace . . . he's a bloody eejit, he's a fool!"

Billo: "Ah come on, Eamon, you can't say that!"

Dunphy: "I'm saying it! He's a liar and a fool!"

Bill: "You can't say that!"

Eamon: "You can! Someone needs to tell the public the truth!"

Billo turned to John Giles for some restraint but Gilesie has for so long been irritated by Twinkle Toes (Ronaldo, not Billo) he could offer him none. He did, though, offer one concession: "They're all at it, Bill."

So, that was that. Dunphy had said his bit. Apart from: "He's SIR Alex Ferguson! He's a knight of the realm in THAT country! He should be trying to clean up football! Instead he's defending an obvious cheat!"

And: "What Ronaldo does is the equivalent of Tiger Woods picking the ball up in the rough and putting it on the fairway."

"Okay. Right," said Bill, by now regretting ever mentioning the Portuguese wonder boy. Tickets for the defamation trial were reaching prices of 26,473 on eBay last night. Well, no, they weren't, but that's the kind of money we'd be willing to pay if it guaranteed us a front seat.

Jose Mourinho, though, would probably outbid us, which is more that he managed against Arsenal yesterday.

"Unbelievable. He hit the ball with three fingers, not five," he swooned yesterday as he talked to Sky Sports about Michael Essien's equaliser.

"Eh?" said the Sky man, like ourselves befuddled.

Meanwhile, on the rugby front, there was a warm welcome to the European Cup on Saturday from George Hook for Leinster prop Stan Wright.

"They've signed a guy from the Cook Islands who wouldn't hold up a wall," he said, after viewing Stan and Leinster beat Agen.

But for us the weekend's rugby highlight came from Paris, where the pre-match entertainment for the clash of Stade Français and Sale was, as the Sky man put it, "very Baz Luhrmann". Moulin Rouge, though, was in the ha'penny place next to this: can-can dancing ladies by the dozen, many the subject of lovingly lingering close-ups by Sky cameras, and more pink than you'd find in Barbie's wardrobe ("An obvious 'cry for help'," as one (spoof) psychologist said of the pink that stars in the Stade Français kit). Double Strewth.