Regis butters them up the wrong way

Are you sitting down? Ready? Sure? Brace yourself: there are people out there who DIDN'T stay up to watch the qualifying rounds of the men's javelin in the World Championships and women's shot putt at five-ish in the morning last week. They slept through it. I kid you not.

Some bleated on, pitiably, about having to be up at seven for work and having a mortgage to repay so they couldn't afford to lose their jobs by pleading "all-night shot-putting", like any reasonable boss or building society manager wouldn't understand. Expulsion from The Sporty Settee Spuds Society awaits them all.

There is, of course, a chance that the investigation in to their failed Spud Test won't be conducted properly, or that the results will be inexplicably lost (last seen being fed to a shredder), in which case the offenders will be back on the couch for the next event (leaving the rest of us with no choice but to wave "Sporty Settee Spud Cheats OUT" banners in their faces), but we'll see.

Their loss. As it was for the people of Edmonton who, judging by the empty rows of seats in the stadium most nights last week, appeared to share this sense of apathy for the championships. Why was this? Banned-substance-related cynicism and a loss of sporting wonder? A shortage of Canadian athletic demi-Gods? A scarcity of genuine mega-stars (come back Michael Johnson)? Or are there just better things to do in Edmonton?

There were times, to be honest, when you didn't know where to look. Long jumpers, high jumpers and pole vaulters desperately in need of a bit of encouragement, turning to the crowd to plea for some rhythmical hand-clapping only to discover there was no crowd. One did what one could but the chances of that Bulgarian long-jumper hearing one spud clapping in front of a telly in Ireland are slimish.

Any way, those of you who slept through the championships missed one of the great sporting moments of our time when the Beeb's John Regis breathlessly described the manner in which Konstadinos Kederis carved his way through the field to victory in the 200 metres final. "Like a butter through knife," he swooned. Superb. Especially if you heard it live. The "D" word did, of course, feature heavily in most Edmonton-related chat last week. You might remember pop combo The Verve's hit parade-topper of a couple of years back The Drugs Don't Work. After watching these championships I'm not convinced.

For example at around three in the morning one night - if you know what I mean - my living room rapturously greeted the arrival in the stadium of a Russian walker who won her event without appearing to have even perspired.

"Magnificent," one marvelled, only to learn she had earlier served a two-year drugs ban. The living room felt only marginally less cheated than most of the other (clean) competitors in the race and asked for its applause to be returned in time for Paula Radcliffe's appearance in the 10,000 metres final.

It's athletes like Radcliffe who remind you why you love sport in the first place and no matter how much the drugs issue wears you down and leaves you cold it will never get the better of you. It can't, there are still heroes out there deserving of applause.

Radcliffe, of course, finished fourth and finishing fourth in major championship finals appears to be her destiny. She'll be forever known as "Poor Paula" - great but not great enough, and, worst of all, unlucky. Damn it, they might even tag her as the Colin Montgomerie of athletics. She's none of the above, she just got overtaken by three runners in her last two major finals, but she's still wonderful to watch - gutsy, big-hearted, an athlete who when asked to dig deep discovers there's no end to her resources of spirit.

And she protested against Olga Yegorova, "EPO Cheats Out" said her banner, perhaps her most significant Edmonton display. And even if there was an kernel of discomfort at Yegorova being the lonely focus of this demonstration of anger and frustration, because one wondered how many other runners in her race were guilty of the same offence, it was a protest that needed to be made and Radcliffe had the guts to make it. Good on her.

Meanwhile in Thurles, Pat Spillane suggested the Dubs belonged in Edmonton. "It was a victory for footballers over athletes," he said of Kerry's replay triumph which won them the right to meet East Meath in the semi-finals.

Beginning to feel sorry for the Dublin forwards, their name has been taken in vain so often. "The Kerry forwards can't score with their weaker foot, Dublin forwards can't score with their stronger," as Colm O'Rourke put it.

It was almost dΘjα vu, but not quite. Another Dublin comeback, but they didn't come back enough. RT╔ rubbed salt in to Dubs' half-time wounds by showing that Paddy Cullen moment again, when Mikey Sheehy hadn't the decency to wait for him to return to his line before lobbing a free in a goalward direction. Dubs should demand a refund on their licence fee.

Football's back. So are Liverpool. Maybe. But God is good so their season might crumble yet. Whatever happens we're in for a few laughs if Fabrizio Ravanelli's appearance on Sky Sports last week is anything to go by.

Displaying a wickedly, wacky sense of humour, one he had previously kept under wraps, he declared, dead-pan: "I believe I can win trophies at Derby." Boom boom.