What do athletes do when the world stops watching? The experience of four former stars, each of them black, incidentally, hit the screens last week.

They Called Him God offered the most insightful portrayal of Paul McGrath to date, in that he agreed to speak about the years which saw him at times perfect his sport while lying down repeatedly to drink.

It is impossible to quantify the affection and pride with which McGrath is regarded in this country. Over the course of the programme, Eamon Dunphy al lowed that he was the greatest ever Irish player, one of a select trio who would have graced any side in the history of the game.

It was suggested that he had uniquely managed to transcend the boundaries which normally govern soccer loyalties - club, nationality, race. He was simply loved and, unsurprisingly, the tone of this simply paced reflection was of genuine, fond warmness.

Big Ron recalled the day "McGraff walked in and he'd an earring in," prompting the former Manchester United manager - no stranger to the odd bit of jewellery himself - to advise the young Dubliner that great centrehalves simply didn't go for such accoutrements.

The myth of the much-maligned drinking-club days in Manchester, when McGrath was said to accompany three other prominent United stars on social outings, were knocked on the head, and Alex Ferguson appeared to humourlessly explain why he got rid of McGrath.

One of the most interesting aspects of the programme lay in the contrast between Graham Taylor, a man much derided since his ill-fated stint as English manager, and Ferguson, one of British soccer's great success stories.

Ferguson's personality was the total opposite of McGrath's, leading to inevitable clashes, and he never saw beyond the man as a footballer, an asset or, as he perceived him, a liability. When he was advised that McGrath's knees would give him another season at most, he was adamant that he should be off-loaded.

McGrath went to Aston Villa, where he noted that the "fans thought I had come just to finish out my career".

Taylor knew immediately that he was dealing with a figure more complex than the average domestic soccer professional. "I never read the riot act even once. Paul needed help. Paul McGrath wanted to be a world-class footballer and to walk down the street unnoticed," he said.

McGrath shone for Villa for more than seven years, protected by the likes of Taylor and physio Mike Walker through his drinking bouts, which had originated in Manchester, when he drank simply to overcome shyness.

One of the most poignant aspects of the documentary was McGrath's recollection of his delight at getting on the Irish team, at just "getting a game". Midfield was not his preferred position, he said, and given that he was playing alongside the likes of Liam Brady and Ronnie Whelan, he "went around trying to be a thug - they'd do the craft".

His penchant for self-destruction, his weakness for the drink, gave the programme a slightly ominous subtext but, essentially, this was a positive celebration, an understated tribute to a dignified man.

Former Olympic champion Linford Christie popped up on the Late Late Show to talk some sport with Gay. A quietly spoken, graceful individual, Christie has survived through sheer strength of will, has overcome hard times and allegations relating to substance abuse by perseverance, drawing on the positives.

Asked about the all-pervasive influence of substance abuse in sports by Gay, Christie said that he felt he could beat fellow competitors regardless of whether or not they were clean.

The following evening on Kenny Live, Pat Kenny played that section from the Late Late Show for Ben Johnson, whose name is generally prefixed by "disgraced sprinter", and asked for a reaction. Johnson simply narrowed those curiously bloodshsot eyes and laughed before reminding everyone that Christie had never beaten him in the races that mattered, never ran the 100 metres in the 9.79 seconds which had shot him to infamy.

Johnson's take is that the whole sport is rotten to the core, that he was just a patsy, exploited by the system. In a couple of weeks, he expects to have his life-ban overturned so that he can race again, this time as a clean athlete, trying to turn a few buck.

Although it was tempting to wish him well, you couldn't help but feel that the whole thing smacked of a jaded, desperate circus act, hoping for one last turn.

But at least Ben Johnson is left with the opportunity to look back upon his shortcomings, which contrasts greatly with the wrenchingly sad and empty life and death of Justin Fashanu, as examined in BBC's Inside Story.

Fashanu illuminated the soccer world briefly in the early 1980s as a brash and mesmerising young icon and became Britain's first black £1 million footballer when he transferred from Norwich to Nottingham Forest.

"I saw the beginning and end of Justin at Notts Forest," said his brother John over the course of a searingly honest and articulate interview about the "fallen idol".

Justin was a natural, bright and athletically gifted, all John wanted to be. He was a teenage star, propelled into the bright lights, and quickly found himself bewildered by the friction between his stardom, faith and homosexuality.

Brian Clough discarded him when he failed to score goals and he slid from there, surrounding himself with symbols of success.

Viewed now, the footage looks faintly ludicrous - BMWs on damp side-streets, lurid clubs blaring Duran Duran.

He "came out" with the aid of spiv agent Eric Hall and the tabloids at the start of this decade and they have pilfered his dignity for cheap money since.

He hanged himself last May after he was accused of sexually assaulting a male juvenile in Maryland.

"I tried my best," he wrote by way of apology. "This seems to be a really hard world."