Television, as we are regularly reminded, has been responsible for most of our ills. Not only did it introduce sex to this fair land, but it has transformed sober, hard-working TDs into frivolous, image-oriented prima donnas. And it effectively destroyed the Railway Cup.

Even after all these years, it is difficult for traditionalists like myself to come to terms with the notion of St Patrick's Day without the Railway Cup. When I was growing up, the national holiday was linked inextricably with attendances of 40,000 at Croke Park and images of Clare's Jimmy Smith and Christy Ring in the same forward line for Munster.

There was also the thrill of seeing brilliant, unrewarded hurlers such as Norman Allen and Des Foley of Dublin and Jobber McGrath of Westmeath stand shoulder to shoulder with the cream of Kilkenny and Wexford talent in a Leinster team. And there was Roscommon's Gerry O'Malley in a Galway- dominated Connacht hurling line-up.

When the Railway Cup went into serious decline a few decades ago, we were told that it had fallen victim to all the counter-attractions on St Patrick's Day, especially on television. And, in a way, it was difficult to dispute the point given that the only television viewing I can remember from my schooldays was watching The Perry Como Show (his signature tune was the tantalising Dream Along with Me, I'm on My Way to a Star) in the TV lounge of the CYMS in Fairview.

So, what would have been the counter-attraction had the Railway Cup been staged yesterday?

Well, there was The Quiet Man on RT╔ 1, The Black Stallion Returns on Network 2, Apache on TV3, the Malaysian Grand Prix on UTV, Young Indiana Jones Chronicles on BBC 1, rugby league on BBC 2 and The Indian Fighter on Channel 4.

I don't detect any mad scramble for viewers in this scheduling. Indeed, there would be no contest between representative hurling and Gaelic football matches and much of that tosh.

As these programmes would indicate, St Patrick's Day is not a day to be watching television but rather to be out and about with one's family, celebrating the national holiday in the usual, hostile weather. Which would explain the minority viewing of the All-Ireland club finals on GAA Beo on TG4. Incidentally, isn't "staire beo" a wonderful translation for the word escalator?

Among other things, TG4 has been commended for making the language sexy. And by way of a preamble to yesterday's transmission, the image was strengthened by bikini-clad maidens cavorting across the screen in a preview to Wednesday's Survivor. Then, for female viewers, we had the wholesome image of clean-cut young men introducing the hurling match in Thurles.

Those with only a tenuous knowledge of our native tongue would readily have understood the choice of Semple Stadium for this year's finals, after being shown a shot of the major reconstruction work at Croke Park. And with the very roots of the national games now forming the showpiece of St Patrick's Day action in the inter-club format, there could hardly be a more appropriate venue than the birthplace of the GAA.

The bi-lingual, pre-match segment worked admirably, with the Irish observations of presenters Micheβl ╙ Domhnaill and Donal O'Grady, being followed by the English assessments of Liam Donoghue of Clarinbridge and Brian Whelehan of Birr. Then we had another of those ubiquitous Whelehans, Pad-Joe, confirming the widely-held view that Semple Stadium has the best hurling surface in the country.

"Conditions are bad overhead, but the ground is perfect," he said. And despite "an gaoth laidir", the quality of play in an admirably contested match endorsed his view.

The pre-match bi-lingual approach was repeated at half-time when Clarinbridge official Fergus Gleeson offered comments in English. Which made it all the more surprising was that there was no attempt to do likewise with the match commentary and analysis by Macdara MacDonncha and Joe Connolly.

In the hope of expanding my information about the various commentators, I availed of the half-time break in the hurling match to phone TG4 at their Galway headquarters. A recorded message, in Irish, informed me that it was not possible to take my call on a Sunday.

No problem. There was the offer of pressing "1" on my telephone for information about their weekend coverage. On doing so, I got another one of those infernal recordings which, sadly, have become an inescapable part of so-called progressive, modern living.

Not acceptable, in fact thoroughly disappointing, however, was the information, in Irish, that for this Saturday, December 15th, there would be rugby coverage of the Celtic League final between Leinster and Munster and for Sunday, December 16th, the focus would be on the on the Leinster Club Hurling final. Suddenly, TG4 didn't seem quite so sexy.

Meanwhile, victorious Birr manager Pad-Joe Whelehan found a splendid solution to any difficulties of language. "I let the players do the talking," he said with a broad smile.

And my most exciting viewing of the weekend? Ironically, it came briefly, in the form of words over a still picture on Final Score on BBC 1 on Saturday afternoon, lending further credence to the notion of the best pictures being on radio. With only seconds remaining in the Premier League match at St James's Park, the score was 2-2 when Newcastle were awarded a penalty.

Harry Gration, the on-the-spot reporter, in a manner of speaking, conveyed the dramatic news that Alan Shearer was settling himself before facing the kick. And we could picture the Toon Army on tenterhooks waiting for the local icon to secure an improbable three points. But it wasn't to be: aiming for the goalkeeper's right, Shearer made poor contact and screwed the ball outside the left upright.

In that moment, we suspected that Newcastle's championship hopes had been cruelly snuffed out. And those ABUs who had tuned in would have taken scant comfort from Mark Lawrenson as he observed with undisguised admiration: "Manchester United, twice behind against West Ham, who had previously conceded only seven goals at home all season . . . and for United to ram five past them . . ."

As readers of these pages know, Lawrenson knows about such things.