Mulch ado about nothing but we're so prooooooooooud

TV View: "Let me say this Tom," said George Hook solemnly, as Tom McGurk smiled that 'here we go again' smile. "Let me say it loud to everybody who's listening: if you think of Fr Matthew, Christy Ring, Bill O'Herlihy, Roy Keane and Jimmy Barry Murphy - there are times when you're prooooooooooud to be from Cork. (And Munster)."

This was a post-rugby-match address of Sermon on the Mount proportions. Except? George dealt a ghastly snub to the likes of Cha and Miah, Billa Connell, Graham Norton, Danny La Rue, The Frank and Walters, Niall Toibín, Charlie McCarthy, Sonia O'Sullivan, Din Joe, The Sultans of Ping, Dan Hobbs, Denis Irwin and Dave Barry, to mention but a few - great, great Cork (and Munster) men and women all.

But we should forgive him his indiscretions because he was overcome by feisty Munster, they of the motto: if we go down, we'll feckin' well go down with a fight. In contrast to? Hate to say this: Leinster.

"Callow in the extreme," as George put it, and for once he was understating it. Hands up how many regret not going shopping at the local DIY centre on Saturday instead of watching Leinster on the telly? Whoooah, too many to count. And it was '25 per cent off garden mulch' day too.

Ralph Keyes, though, didn't enthuse quite as much about Munster's efforts, leading George to conclude "it's very sunny out there, it could have got to Ralph's head". Either that or he missed out on the mulch discount, which would leave any man bitter.

George, though, had no complaints about the efforts of Alan Gaffney, Munster director of rugby, who's heading home Down Under any day soon. His greatest achievement, according to George - apart from his understanding of the Irish psyche, and getting the very best out of his Munster boys - was that he survived "living in Limerick". Collectively Tom and Brent Pope said: "Jeeeeeeeeeeeeus Geooooooorge."

Any way, as Brent kindly reminded us, we've finished a season stuffed with massively, hugely, sky-scrapingly, toweringly, loftily, soaringly high hopes with: no Grand Slam, no Six Nations championship and no European Cup.

Apart from that it's been grand.

We mean no offence to Munster but for us the most stirring sporting performance of the week came from Ted Walsh on Monday, when his horse was beaten in to second in the Irish Grand National. By a horse ridden by his son.

"I always knew you were a treacherous so-and-so," Ted didn't say to Ruby after the race, nor did he stop Ruby's pocket money. Nor, indeed, did he make him clean up the stray horse manure from the front garden as punishment for his insolence. Instead he just gave him an auld hug, patted him on the head and sort of half muttered that he was half kind of, sort of proud of him.

Between us Robert Hall and ourselves used up a juggernaut-load of tissues, not since Lassie Come Home were we so moved. Maybe it's global warming, but something funny is happening Planet Irish Fathers - they're half telling their offspring that they're almost nearly half kind of proud of them. Cripes.

Now, if Ruby had turned to darts we don't know how Ted would have taken it. Maybe, like us, he regards the game as the thing you play in a pub while waiting for the pool table to be free, which doesn't happen til three in the morning 'cos Typhoon Timothy has booked it with €37 coins, but is still on game one because he's playing safety with only the black left, and him playing against himself.

No matter. Typhoon Timothy will be punished in the next life. And any way, from here on in we're taking darts seriously - because it's now officially recognised as a: sport. Sky News celebrated this momentous landmark by visiting a pub in Erdington, north of Birmingham, where they fitted a pedometer on the pub's darts captain, Dave Jarvis, to show just how much distance he covers during an average darts game. Just to prove, as if proof were needed, that you have to be an athlete to play the game. After a couple of hours Dave had walked: almost three miles! Granted, most of that was taken up with trips to the bar for another pint, and sorties to the cigarette machine for another packet of fags. "It's about time darts was recognised as a proper sport," said David, sucking on his smoke and slugging his pint, "it's very good for you".

"Everyone says, like you know, it's all about beer and fags and all that - it's not," said Dave's team-mate Lee Shorthouse, whose lifting of his pint was barely visible through the smoky haze. D'you know, all we could say was: God be with the days.