SPORT ON TELEVISION

UGH. As the Olympic Viewing Marathon staggers into the second week, I'm beginning to think that alcohol is not a performance enhancing drug. Nor is sleep deprivation the ideal preparation for those middle-distance events of social intercourse which make up our daily lives.

Shave and taper? Well, it's difficult to shave when your hand is shaking, but I have been tapering these last few evenings: I only go in for the one. As yet, there's been no dramatic improvement in form.

After closing time, it's back to the comfort of the television chair in the company of a bottle of Heineken and whichever munchies made it through the pre-Atlanta selection process that was the European football championships.

IT has been both a glorious and deeply annoying week for those of us who love swimming. Annoying because of the regular references to this "Cinderella" sport. We may live on an island of ignorance, but a significant proportion of the sports-viewing body politic of the world find the drama in the pool at least as entertaining as the events on the track. As for the field events, they are little more than a curiosity for most.

There are few things to match the sheer fun of a tight relay. The partisans grow hoarse from their screams, and the battle seems to last for eons. Donovan Bailey and Ato Boldon have a 10-second entertainment value. Compare that to the pool by the time Gary Hall Jnr and Alexander Popov spring into action, there's already been a couple of minutes of vein-bursting action. Can't touch it.

So, "overnight" swimming, success. A marvellous record at under-age competition, success in the Europeans, forced to go abroad to train. Yes, there's no doubt about it, Gary O'Toole has been the sensation of these Olympic Games.

Cool, humorous and oh-so-knowledgeable, he has been the perfect pundit. Even those of us who would claim a certain amount of specialist knowledge in the area found plenty to savour in O'Toole's observations.

He also had the perfect foil in Bill O'Herlihy, the chef de mission of the RTE Olympic squad. Uncle Bill has a genuine interest in things aquatic (though his talented daughter did blow his cover during the week. "He's always saying he brings us to the pool in the mornings," she said. "Usually it's our mother").

Bill asked Gary how the Irish swimming authorities - the amateur association, O'Toole spat - should greet Michelle, Smith on her return: "If they bow their heads ... And if they just say, `Thanks'."

O'Toole also told us that snooker has been recognised as an Olympic sport, and that John Parrot had suggested a new Olympic motto: "Slower, more safety, sit down and have a cup of tea.

The rapport between the two men became obvious as they parted: "Thank you Angel," said Bill. "Thank you darling," said Gary.

INDEED, as a whole the home broadcasting team are having an excellent Games. Uncle Bill has anchored the relay brilliantly; Tom McGurk has been solid in his multi-discipline event (though he might go a bit easier on the interrogations: these are athletes, Tom, not politicians); Tracey Piggott has brought a freshness to the morning floor exercise, and Noel Andrews is certain of another boxing gold.

The coxless pundit squad is equally strong, with O'Toole, Mick Dowling and John Treacy all in top form. There are some concerns over Eamonn Coghlan's fitness, however. As we returned to the studio following Sonia's 5,000m heat, and Bill handed over to the experts, Eamonn said: "I just wrote down `Loose as a goose'." Well, Eamonn, if you have to write that down, maybe it's best to leave the pencil at home.

Which brings us to Marty Morrissey, who, unfortunately, got honours marks in this week's Olympic Dope Test. Marty was detailed to head out to Hillside in Galway to capture the flavour at the Barrett camp before Francis's first bout. Marty was talking to Francis's mother, Margaret, and in the middle of the usual guff - you must be proud, we are, will he win, ah, he'll do his best anyway - Marty asked, "What do you think is his greatest asset, his left or his right?" Then, as Mrs Barrett hesitated, Marty asked: "You never suffered at his hands?"

God help us. Tell me, Mrs Barrett, you're a Traveller of course. Does your son beat you?

Correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't recall Myles Dungan asking Mrs Carruth if she lived in fear of her son.

Still, it could have been worse: Marty might have been sent to Atlanta. Picture it. He collars Francis as he steps out of the ring:

"So, Francis, how did it go?"

"Alright like."

"Do you ever give your mother a good thrashing?"

"What?"

"Tell me, where can I buy a good slash hook?"

"Sorry?"

"I'd love to buy ye a pint, Francis, but ye'd be barred from my local."

Thump.