TV View: Parrott calls for the police after angle-defying shot in snooker

The three Rs. Rory, Ronnie and Rasmus. And Rashford and Roy too if you want to make a quintet of it. Throw in an auld Rollercoaster too because that was the nature of the week that was in it. Lord, the vagaries.

“Ah, phone the police,” John Parrott had said when Ronnie, aka the O’Sullivan lad, played one of those angle-defying shots in his semi-final against Shaun Murphy, the like of which would leave you purring and wondering how it was even angularly possible. Ken Doherty tried to re-enact it during the BBC’s coverage and nearly broke the camera person’s lens.

“When he plays like that you may as well give him the trophy now,” said Murphy after, recognising the simple truth that when Ronnie’s in the mood you might as well head for the hills. Mind you there were those who reckoned Shaun’s double-jobbing hadn’t helped his cause, him having been on commentary duty for the Beeb the night before his semi-final.

That’s a bit odd – you’d normally be joining the punditry lark after you’ve been knocked out but he was having none of it. “I’ve been doing it for three or four years, people need to get over themselves. If I thought it was detrimental to my life I wouldn’t be doing it. People need to cop on to themselves and find something else to talk about.”

Darragh Ó Sé: How each county is shaping up as race for Sam Maguire kicks off

---

Sexton’s leadership vacuum will be felt as Leinster can’t replicate the emotion of La Rochelle match

---

Séamus Power needs big week in Dallas to qualify for PGA Championship

---

Ross Byrne is a reassuring presence as Leinster seek to make Champions Cup final

---

Too true, but still, that would be like Rasmus Højlund being on punditry duty for Arsenal v Liverpool in the FA Cup and chuckling at Kai Havertz’s attempts to hit a barn door only for him to fail to do the same 24 hours later against Wigan.

Roy, aka the Keane lad, has long since lost sympathy for Højlund, though, even if the rest of the world and its mother feels for the fellah, him having not received an assist of any particular note since he rocked up to Manchester last summer, Antony, Marcus Rashford and Alejandro Garnacho so busy running into culs-de-sac or sending shots in the direction of Bolton.

“He can be kind of an asshole,” ex-Leeds gaffer Jesse Marsch said of our Roy last week, and there will many who agree. But, as we know, people who don’t love Roy are the dreariest of folk and are best ostracised.

Sunday? Højlund scored the greatest goal in the history of association football against Spurs. Okay, that’s not true, it was just a well-hit thump. But “that’s more like it”, said Roy, Højlund’s goal having sent United on their way to a swashbuckling triumph that puts them back in the title race. Kidding. 2-2. But, look, this weather that feels like a triumph. And Marcus Rashford scored. Which might lessen the complaints about him caring more about feeding starving kids than netting for United. It’s a gas world.

Back to Ronnie. And you call Roy grumpy? “This is an iconic British sporting venue,” Parrott had said of the Ally Pally. Ronnie? “I just don’t like this place. I find it disgusting. Everywhere is dirty. It’s cold. It’s freezing, Honestly, it just makes me feel ill. I’m a bit of a clean freak and when I come in here it gives me the heebie-jeebies. I just can’t wait to get out of here.”

Ronnie’s da backed up his son’s complaints about Ally Pally by accusing the World Snooker Tour of being the “Gestapo” for making his lad play there, perspective always being important with these things, and having spent time in HM Prison Gartree for murder, he knows more than most about trying conditions.

It was less chilly over in Dubai, but Rory – aka the McIlroy lad – had a conclusion to his final round that ... well, as commentator Alison Whitaker put it, “that is an absolute horror”. It was too, Rory missing piddly putts and finding random lakes en route to snatching defeat from the jaws of a $425,000 success.

“Look, it proves he’s human,” was the only consolation Wayne Riley could offer.

Mind you he’d already proved he’s human by warming to this LIV lark, or at least tolerating it, having been the erstwhile saviour of the sporting world’s morals. You know what they say, never invest too much hope in your sporting idols, they’ll inevitably let you down in the end. And possibly give you the heebie-jeebies.