Turbo-charged Tyrone leave Kingdom dazed and confused

TV View: Our thoughts were with the coach-load of American tourists winding their way around the Ring of Kerry last week, snapping away, to their hearts' content, with their newly purchased digital cameras, reaching for another 128mb memory stick in their handbags at every twist in the road, so many marvellous and wondrous sights are there to capture.

But, of course, things would turn ugly when they attempted to secure a refund on their cameras from Duty Free on their way home, citing a "colour malfunction" issue as the reason for their complaint.

"Ducks are NOT green and gold," they would have told the salesman, "nor, indeed, are cattle or sheep". The salesman would have, very politely, tried to explain that Irish folk habitually plaster their animals in the colours of their county in the build-up to the Big Day. As the man says: it's part of what we are.

The tourists would have guffawed, until the camera salesman reminded them that they dye their rivers and Guinness green on St Patrick's Day. At which stage they'd have said: "hmm, fair point".

And it IS part of what we are. We douse our rams, heifers and drakes in green and gold emulsion because it's all we can do to calm the pre-Big Day nerves. Although, in fairness, up North they take a different tack. Especially in Tyrone. They just drive in circles around the Ballygawley roundabout in advance of the final, emerging dazed and confused - much as Kerry did when they left Croke Park yesterday.

"This is the full-on Tyrone experience," as Joe Brolly put it at half-time, making the whole performance sound like a vintage rendition of Sex Machine by James Brown.

"There's stuff we put in the rally cars," said Michael Lyster, "it's called turbo max, it's a special fuel to make the cars go harder, I think those lads down there have had a few cups of it."

Colm O'Rourke nodded, a nod that said "you're taking your analogies one step too far, Michael", while Brolly was spotted blinking, like he'd just come off the Ballygawley roundabout, dazed and confused.

Thirty-five minutes later. "I can't think of a better place to be this day," said Tyrone captain Brian Dooher, with Sam firmly in his hands, smiling up at him.

Sure, the fourth weekend of September, where else would you be? Melbourne, maybe? For the Aussie Rules Grand Final, as beamed to us by TG4 and Sky Sports. Confession: this couch, no matter how hard it tries, just can't whip itself into a frenzy over Aussie Rules, sort of viewing it as a blend of the odd mind-numbingly dull aspect of Gaelic football and a trip down a dark alley in the wee hours where you meet folk who tend to frequent such locations. We only tuned in to see how the Aussies would pronounce "Tadhg", as in Tadhg Kennelly, the Kerryman who plays for Sydney Swans.

Disappointingly, Ronnie Wilkinson (a cross between Phil, Grant and Peggy Mitchell), one of the Sky Sports' team, who plays for the Wandsworth Demons' Aussie Rules team, got the pronunciation spot on, even nominating 'Tie-ge' as one of the man of the match candidates.

Naturally, with Tad H G on board we were rooting for the Swans, who hadn't won the Big One since roughly the time Hitler came on the scene (1933).

Better still, the Swans' captain, Barry Hall, had been freed from a one match (ie the Grand Final) incarceration after a "Free Barry Hall" campaign had been launched, a campaign that was supported by none other than the Archbishop of Sydney.

"A little punch in the stomach, it wasn't something he didn't need to do," said Sky Sports' panellist Nathan Hale, upon reviewing video evidence of Barry sending an opponent in to the middle of next month with his fist. His one match suspension was "downgraded" to a reprimand. Justice was, um, done. Go Swans.

The West Coast Eagles too, though, were starving for success, as their choice of sponsor - Hungry Jacks - suggested. We knew this because Christi Malthouse told us. Christi is a kind of Aussie Rules' Marty Morrissey, a sideline reporter, only Aussie telly calls her a "boundary rider".

But what IS a boundary rider, exactly? Could they get around the Ballygawley roundabout without emerging dazed and confused? Could they learn to pronounce the All-Ireland champions' name properly - it's Tir Eoghain, not Ty Rone (as in Power)? And could they look a green and gold duck in the eye and say 'did you hear about the two ducks flying over Tyrone - one said 'quack', the other said 'I can't go any quacker'?"

Or does this couch need to stop sitting up all night watching boundary riders discussing the Archbishop of Sydney and a Kerryman called Tad H G?