TV View: Another one of those weekends that leave you addled, from O'Moore Park to Flushing Meadows, from the Oval to Croke Park, with assorted pit-stops elsewhere thrown in.

But, as Richie Benaud put it yesterday, "It's one of those things up with which you've got to put". Although he was referring to bad light, we had a flurry of televised gargantuan sporting events in mind.

One of the things up with which the players who turned out at O'Moore Park, for the women's All-Ireland football semi-finals, have to put, of course, is a lack of financial reward for their efforts. Such is the amateur sporting life. But when we saw Kim Clijsters being handed a cheque for $2.2 million later that night, for hockeying Mary Pierce in the US Open final, there was only one conclusion: strewth.

The largest pay day in the history of women's sport, it was. And frankly, we were rather chuffed it came Clijsters' way.

Lots of reasons: she had failed to win in four Grand Slam final appearances, she fought back from a career-threatening injury, she was dismissed as a "choker", and she appears to be one of tennis's more rounded, pleasant individuals. But, most importantly, when she and fellow Belgian Justine Henin-Hardenne first emerged on the circuit they had to cope with being dubbed the Brussels sprouts. For that alone Clijsters deserved reward.

But boy, was she made to work for it. Not by Pierce, but by Bill Harrison, chairman of sponsors JP Morgan Chase. Perhaps not conscious of the fact that play was due to start at the Oval in seven hours, and thus a portion of sleep was required, Bill spoke at length in the presentation ceremony. At great, great length.

"We've seen (in women's tennis) the commitment to excellence and the commitment to be the best you can be, values that our firm certainly tries to embrace," he said. Sponsors? Don't ya love 'em?

"So tonight," he said, turning to Clijsters and Pierce, who, like ourselves, had nearly nodded off, "let me congratulate two wonderful firms".

Clijsters giggled, before Bill corrected himself. "Two wonderful players," he said.

Mind you, with $2.2 million in the bank after one week's work, Clijsters' turnover is up there with the beefiest of firms.

In fairness to Pierce, not once did she ask the umpire to suspend play due to bad light when Clijsters' serves were ripping down towards her. And this match was played at night. If the Oval umpires had been in the chair at Flushing Meadows Clijsters and Pierce wouldn't have got playing until sunrise, despite the floodlights.

"It's so dark it's unbelievable," sang the England fans at the Oval, rather anxious for play to be suspended. But while they raised umbrellas to shelter themselves from imaginary rain, the Australian supporters ripped off their shirts to let the imaginary sun at them. The weather was somewhere in between, the light, according to every retired batsman in the Channel 4 commentary box, perfectly fine to carry on. But the umpires deemed otherwise.

"Australia have been cheated," concluded Geoffrey Boycott who, one of these days, will finally speak his mind. A big thank you, then, to the Oval umpires for mucking up a potentially brilliant climax to a wonderful series.

Granted, there are one or two subtle differences between cricket and hurling, but if they thought Shane Warne was endangering the lives of England batsmen with his spin-bowling, how would they have officiated at Croke Park yesterday? For example, when Cork's Dermot O'Sullivan goes for a high ball with an opponent, his mother closes her eyes and whispers "don't kill him".

"Is it Dermot or the opponent you're worried about," Des Cahill asked her on Up for the Match. She giggled . . . but never answered the question.

Mercifully, bad light didn't stop play at Croke Park where, remarkably, all 80,000 supporters were in their seats in time for the final. We say remarkably because, earlier in the morning, RTÉ had dispatched Darragh Maloney to the Red Cow roundabout and Marty Morrissey to the side of the N4 and not since the invasion of Iraq have so many vehicles been spotted descending on one location. Our thoughts went to anyone out for a Sunday drive: if they were aiming for a DIY centre they were probably swept on to Hill 16.

Not that they could complain.

Nor could Mrs O'Sullivan: Dermot killed no one, and no one killed Dermot, and when she opened her eyes Seán Óg had the cup in his hands. No cheque for $2.2 million, but sure, Liam MacCarthy's worth more than that.