It was a week of dynamic phenomena, ejected matter and ionised plasma swirling around in the sun's shooting corona. No not the eclipse, but Laura Davies and her three-iron at the Women's British Open.

The US PGA (a large men's event) might have been on this week on the other side of the Atlantic, but on terrestrial telly (BBC 2) Iben Tinning, Annika Sorenstam, Davies and the rest of the women's professional tour were making just as good a fist of playing heavenly bodies.

In fact, the English woman hits the ball with her three-iron further than the others hit their drivers. For those of you who don't play golf, that's just plain weird.

And on that subject, did you see the size of Sherri Steinhaur's head - her driver, her driver's head? Think of a large mallet velcro-lashed to the end of a sewer rod. Imagine how far you could hit that sucker. But did it out-launch Davies? Not likely. Davies's only problem is that she hits the ball everywhere.

"No one's been in there before," observed commentator Peter Alliss as the British number one made a phenomenal recovery from a dense thicket at the back of the 13th.

Humiliating for the other players to be seen as so whimpy? Over at the PGA in Medinah a male version of Davis would have been seen as something of a sexual powerhouse. Imagine it - "Sorry folks the course is too small to take out my driver." Whoa!

Women understand that big is unimportant as Davies slid away to qualify. Just, with a 75. Alliss and Alex Hay provided the bulk of commentary on BBC 2, Alliss unafraid to jump with both pair of spikes into deep bunkers. How many decades has it been since professional sportswomen were referred to as "nubile things"?

There were more nubile things on Wednesday in Zurich at the biggest athletic meeting outside of a World, Olympic or European championship. Nubile anchor man Roger Black was there, much prettier in fact than Sally Gunnell who was infinitely more pretty than the ugly end to the men's 3,000 metres steeplechase.

We learned in the BBC's fine coverage that Bernard Barmasai was in the running for the $1 million Golden League jackpot. His Kenyan compatriot and flatmate is Christopher Koskei, no slouch himself. At the end of the race when the two were sprinting for the line, Koskei, notoriously fast in the sprint finish and clearly illustrating a fresh impetus going down the home straight, somehow came second.

"A little bit of formula one here," the team of commentators boldly declared. "Team leader is allowed to win on this occasion. The brown envelopes could come into it again and a little present for Koskei at the end of the season." There were a couple of points of interest in the women's 1,500 metres. The Dutch pacemaker was sponsored by Playboy (and in case you wondered, such a nubile thing!), while the Romanian winner, Violeta Szekeley, won in a time of 3:59.31, the fastest time in the world this year. The Romanian is 34-years-old and ran a personal best. As Alliss might have said, "unusual that".

Unusual too was the time RTE 1 broadcast Breaking Ball - or Breaking Curfew (depending on what parents might think of Gaelic games being screened on Fridays at 11.30 p.m.).

Nothing shown here to permanently damage the eyes of young enthusiasts, although this week Breaking Ball (repeated on Saturday Network 2 at 3.00 p.m.) relayed a story to suggest some players don't always look back favourably on their careers. Seamus Shinners, the Galway goalkeeper in the 1979 All-Ireland Hurling final, unravelled his feelings 20 years after Chunky O'Brien landed a long-rage puck into the canal end net and before he misjudged another ball for two soft goals. Galway, as a result, lost the championship to Kilkenny.

Shinners sat stoically recounting his living purgatory. A picture of equanimity, his even-keeled voice indicated nothing. But his words were shattering.

The short piece proved, if nothing else, the deep roots of GAA and how it infiltrates and consumes hearts and minds. The strength of the interview was what Shinners gave away about himself. Dignified and unadorned, a hostage to what should have been precious memories, he was heroic in his bald confessions and they were, actually, saddening.

In doing so he spoke a different language to the professionals who take appearance fees, and cut fees, and runners-up prizes, and win bonuses and highest break awards.

Family and parish honour, county pride and memories. That is what the 1979 final offered Shinners. "After the match had ended, I couldn't get lost fast enough," he said. "For 15 years I thought about the goals every day. For five more it was every two days. I get very emotional about it. I would have given my two hands to win that for my county, my family and my friends."

Shinners' playing career is over and Duxie Walsh's is coming to a close. Walsh is the best handballer that ever lived, but the GAA don't seem to care. Duxie, like Shinners, breathes the same vapours and plays for the same intangible reasons but his sport is ailing.

The final frame was of the Kilkenny man gathering his ball in a court that seemed to reek of dark nights and mildew. The lights, for which he has to feed coins into a meter, then went out. Enough said.

The other side of the coin, last weekend F1 again dominated our screens. Abrasive, aggressive, hostile, loud, conniving team politics, a watch and petrol. Mix for two hours and you have a F1 qualification race.

Commentators in F1 scream when something important is about to happen. Not just Murray Walker yesterday on ITV, but all of them.

`YES . . . I THINK HE IS . . . YES . . . HE IS . . . HE REALLY IS THIS TIME . . . HE REALLY IS GOING IN FOR A TYRE CHANGE . . .'

And so another race ends at the Hungaroring and everything seems so quiet.