TV View Mary Hannigan"A little terrier," Dennis Taylor called him, although a pesky Jack Russell might have been more apt. By the time Paul Hunter left the arena at The Crucible on Saturday he had bite-marks all over his ankles and, well, Ken "Dogged" Doherty had just completed one of those sporting comebacks that leave your lower jaw nestling on the floor.

Seven-one down, 15-9 down, won eight of the last nine frames. Madness.

Marvellous stuff. Much of it, of course, watched from behind a cushion, with the oohs, aahs, gasps, wails, strangled cries, whooping and cheering from the audience, along with the sound of missed pots rattling in pockets and the thud of successful ones dropping, keeping us informed of Doherty's progress. For those of us who have often questioned whether snooker could work on radio, well, after this experience, it probably could, in a slightly wacky and hugely excruciating kind of way.

"When Paul Hunter woke up this morning little did he know that he'd entered the twilight zone and the worst day of his professional career," said Steve Davis back in the studio, words that will have comforted the loser no end. Davis then paid tribute to Dough-er-tee, just as he walked through the door and collapsed on to the couch beside him.

"How, why, what, who, where?" was the gist of Hazel Irvine's first question. Like ourselves she didn't quite know where to start. Doherty, his face so ashen it looked like it's never seen the sun (in fairness, outdoor snooker would be chancy in this climate), put much of the credit for his comeback down to his sports psychologist.

He didn't reveal what advice he'd been given but we'd hazard a guess it went something like this: "See them there balls, Ken? Pot 'em". And he did too.

The risk for Ken is that if he wins his second World Championship today he'll have acquired a level of fame that might just attract an invitation to appear in the next series of I'm A Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here.

John "Stray Elbows" Fashanu and Phil "Tuffers" Tufnell (as he was affectionately known by his former cricket team-mates) are starring in the current series, along with lots of really famous celebrities this couch has never heard of.

Ever try to teach a small person how to catch a ball in the back garden? And, after intensive expert lessons, you lob the ball in the air, they close their eyes, stick out their arms and scream "will it hurt?". And then the ball bounces 26 feet away and they say "ooops, sorry". Well, that's how Tufnell used to "field" for England during his international career.

We have, then, a soft spot for the lad and want him to triumph in this contest. He's finding it hard, though. Like all his fellow-contestants he was allowed bring two items with him through the ordeal. Most chose nail clippers, moisturiser, tweezers or useful survival gadgets. Phil asked for a bar of chocolate and a blow-up doll. The programme makers said "no", so he asked for pliers instead. He has yet to find a use for them in the Australian outback.

Fashanu is having a challenging time too, enduring one ordeal that saw a jungle-full of creepy-crawlies make their way down his trousers, another when a snake wrapped itself around his thigh. Your average day in the Wimbledon dressing-room, probably. A cake-walk, then.

Speaking of cake-walks: Michael Schumacher won the Spanish Grand Prix yesterday. "Go 'way," you say.

It completed a fine week for the speedy one who, guest presenter William Hague revealed on Have I Got News For You on Friday, is joint favourite with Karl Marx to win the title of Greatest Ever German, the poll currently being run by a German television channel.

"They're including Austria in this, which is kind of how Germany's problems began when you think about it," said Hague, explaining that one particular famous German of Austrian birth had been banned from the poll.

Before the Spanish Grand Prix, ITV's Martin Brundle bumped in to Real Madrid's handy Brazilian left back, Roberto Carlos, on the grid - we knew he was nippy but hats off, qualifying ahead of Rubens Barrichello and Fernando Alonso was damned impressive.

"Can we have a quick word with you for British television," asked Brundle. "I no understand English," said Roberto. "You do understand English," Brundle persisted. "No English," said the speedy one.

"Okay," said Brundle, whose ears need syringing, "We're going to see you Tuesday on ITV, you're playing Juventus?" Roberto replied in Portuguese. Brundle waved a white flag. "Okay," he said, "good luck - is Beckham coming to Spain?"

Roberto smiled, his face sending out an easy-to-understand message: "I may no speak English, but me no stupid."