TV Review: How do you tell the difference between Sky Sports and Network 2? No really, how do you tell the difference.
This week saw almost 40 hours of sport on RTÉ's second channel, most of it soccer. "Still not enough," cries Couch Potato Man, who is already dreading the end of Euro 2004 on Sunday week. "Is this what our licence fee is for?" asks the nation's football widows, and widowers - yes, they exist too.
But, before RTÉ is accused of subverting its public service broadcasting remit, consider the wider benefits of a diet of five hours of soccer a day. The cultural tastes of various viewing categories are catered for, from celebrity-gazers who can enjoy spotting footballers' wives/mistresses in the crowd, to classical music buffs who can savour some of Europe's top anthems - the Czech Republic's Kde domov muj? (Where is my home?, (composed 1834 by Jan Skrouop) is a particular delight.
For children, the success of Greece provides important lessons about team work and perseverance, while the collapse of Italy will surely make l slick-backed hair unfashionable once more.
Parents, meanwhile, can draw lessons from the progress of the Netherlands - a country which famously discourages its younger children from playing competitive football in order to allow their natural flair develop. England, in contrast, is obsessed with capitalising on young talent as quickly as possible - as evidenced by its over-reliance on an 18-year-old Liverpudlian still, literally, in short pants.
Food for thought in a week that saw an array of advocates of the "start 'em young" theory of child development. The Pushy Parents ranged in extremes from Sue, who moved a mere 200 miles from home so she could be near a school with chess on the curriculum, to Owen who was seen sending his youngest, Charlotte (10), on to the floor of a disco dancing contest with a firm shove in the back and a blast of an air horn.
Then, there was Elena who predicted her musical son, Alex (11), would be "as big as Pavarotti" - in a career sense, presumably. Her doting had certainly created the pomposity of a tenor. "My voice is not suitable for what I call 'today's pop medley'," the precocious young talent declared.
Perhaps scariest of all, however, was Theresa who had enlisted her four kids into a modelling agency, the youngest of whom, Millie (2), cried all the way through her interview with its casting director. Theresa will be instantly familiar to anyone who has stood on the sidelines of a children's rugby, hockey or soccer match. "You don't do sports day unless you come first," she barked at her kids.
Not surprisingly, the doting mom has been banned from attending her daughters' netball games. When her eldest, Jasmine (11), was later turned down for the role of Mary in the school nativity play, Theresa promised to collar the offending teacher and "get it sorted" - a threat which you didn't doubt would be carried out. "People," she said, "are always saying: 'Ooh! You're a bit pushy. It's not fair on the kids. What if they don't want it?' But I just say: 'They are in the paper. They are on the telly. What are your kids doing?'."
Then there was Kevin and Daphne, a showbiz couple who unashamedly projected their hopes and dreams on to their only child, Marie. Like many of those featured, the couple appeared to need more parenting than their daughter - a telling moment coming when Marie threw her arms around her blubbering parents and sighed maternally, "I'm so proud of you."
The programme suggested that, despite the best attempts of parents to mess up their children, the young 'uns survive. By the end of the programme, even Alex had gained some perspective on her mother's pushiness. When Elena signed him up for a kids' edition of Stars in Their Eyes, the 11-year-old huffed: "Honestly, I think impersonating people is - how do you put it? - nonsense."
Further illustration of the pitfalls of parenthood could be found in Peter Finlay, an Australian-born son of a travelling diplomat, who grew up with the best of everything. Until, his father fell ill, that is, leaving 16-year-old Finlay - then better known by his nickname Dirty Pierre - alone in a plush mansion in Mexico, with no shortage of cash. It was, he admitted, a "highly corruptible and dangerous" predicament. "What did I do? Well just imagine yourself . . . I was intoxicated for 10 years, and I had a hangover for 10 years, and that was the worst hangover imaginable." Finlay has since inserted "But Clean" to his pen name, having chucked a cocaine habit, and turned his life around by writing last year's Booker Prize winning Vernon God Little. He has also moved to Co Leitrim, where he was tracked down by Alan Yentob for Imagine . . . Dirty But Clean Pierre. The programme, in fact, opened with some footage of Finlay drinking in a local pub and meeting a priest - an unfortunate combination of images, given the accusations against DBC Pierre of playing up to cultural stereotypes in his best-selling book.
The subsequent road-trip proved more enlightening, as Finlay and Yentob traced the journey of Vernon from Texas to Mexico, ending up on a deserted beach sipping vodka from a coconut shell about the size of a tree trunk. In fact, for readers such as this one - who didn't particularly like the book - the BBC documentary provided ample reasoning to give it another go.
As for Finlay himself, the impression was of a man who had been given a second chance in life, and was taking it gracefully. The best tribute came from Antonio Mayer, a Mexican friend and one of a handful of survivors from Finlay's wasted years. Asked to describe how DBC had changed from D Pierre, Antonio replied: "He is less immortal . . . and not suicidal." Apparently, that was a big improvement.
What else do parents have to worry about other than their children going off the rails, like Finlay did? Well, there's always hearing the words: "Mum, Dad, I'm off to Gaza to act as a human shield"? That's what happened to Americans Craig and Cindy Corrie four years ago when their daughter, Rachel, set off for the Middle East.
Death of an Idealist followed the parents on their first visit to the region to try to make sense of their daughter's life and death; she was run over by bulldozer manned by two Israeli soldiers in Rafah as she tried to prevent the demolition of the home of a Palestinian family.
Rachel had written to her parents about the situation in Gaza - last year alone 1,500 homes were demolished by the Israelis. But for Craig and Cindy it was still a shock to visit homes where their daughter sheltered, and to return within days to find them mortared and shot to pieces.
Several of Rachel's friends were tracked down, including her last, loved-struck boyfriend, who said he could never put her death "in some sort of political agenda". In contrast, the woman from the International Solidarity Movement, with whom Corrie had been working, had no such qualms. "I can't see how she could be upset if her death would increase her life's work," the ideologue declared.
Hamas also inevitably exploited Corrie's death, and we were treated to the sight of a leader of the terrorist outfit condemning the murder of "that small child in cold blood". All that was missing from the documentary - and it was a big omission - was a voice from the other side.
Pro-Israeli lobbyists have accused Corrie of being a terrorist stooge. Yet the only voice of dissent in the hour-long programme was of an Israeli soldier shouting at western protesters in Gaza to go home. "It's not your war. It's our war," he cried.
In the absence of a critical analysis of the value of Corrie's sacrifice, we were left with a straight-forward but compelling tale of a family's grief. While Corrie's parents did express pride in their daughter's work, as they drove through the narrow streets of Rafah, amid blood-thirsty graffiti celebrating her death, Cindy confessed that her over-riding thought on the trip had been: "I wish she had never come."
Finally, for anyone who doesn't understand why the rest of Europe likes seeing England loseat football, two words: Baddiel and Skinner. It is hard to believe it but this "comic duo" have been broadcasting Fantasy Football for more than a decade now - 11 years in fact, of badly-rehearsed gags at the expense of Johnny Foreigner, and of jingoistic chest-thumping over "Ingerland".
The English Football Association has done a lot to clea n up the image of football. But the media has its part to play too. Banning Ron Atkinson was a start. However, if England is to truly join the ranks of civilised footballing nations, and indeed allow us Irish wave a small St George's Cross when it competes, Baddiel and Skinner must go. In the meantime: Come on Holland!
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Shane Hegarty is on leave