SPORT ON TELEVISION: Accidental heroes tend to be the best kind. And, unquestionably, the seminal moment in live televised sport this past week came on a sleepy Wednesday afternoon when the good Lord with a shamrock rooted to his backside rattled down a mountain side on a tea tray with even more mad abandonment than that crazy Sully in Monsters Inc.

This was real, and it was live, and it was absolutely gut-wrenchingly compelling viewing.

Eurosport had been giving us 24/7 coverage of these Winter Olympics, but, while they decided to focus on ice skating, it was left to the BBC to bring live coverage of the men's skeleton. I'm sure most people only tuned in to see for themselves this sport that was considered so dangerous that it had been banned from the Games for 54 years.

Little did we know that Clifton Wrottesley would not only play a central role in the madcap antics, but do so with a grace that appeared incompatible with a sport that seems to require its competitors to have a screw loose.

In the BBC studio, we had Steve Rider, Sue Barker and a woman called Emma Stewart tittering and giggling at the fact that Wrottesley had gate-crashed the party in his shiny, skin-tight, tri-colour suit, but the suspicion is that such light-hearted behaviour was brought about because they didn't know too much about him and, like the rest of us, were completely unprepared for his brilliant performance.

At least commentator Paul Dickinson didn't betray such ignorance. In a discipline where the participant races down a narrow passageway in excess of 125 kilometres an hour, Dickinson managed to get across the excitement of the occasion as well as imparting sufficient knowledge to those sitting at home (most of whom had never ever seen the event) so that the couch potatoes would have a handle on what was happening.

It was, quite simply, good broadcasting commentary from Dickenson, who allowed the images to speak for themselves while imparting his words of information.

With the sliders going in reverse order for the second run, it was the appearance of Gregor Staehli, of Switzerland, who brought the first tremor to Dickinson's voice. He described this former World Cup champion - lying in fourth place - as the man "who could stand in the way of the Irishman . . . the next few seconds will tell us if Ireland can expect a medal".

The Swiss slider did everything right, and so the pressure was on Wrottesley.

"What a moment for Ireland, on the verge of an Olympic medal," said Dickinson, as the colourful Wrottesley came into focus with his tray in front of him. The commentator told us that he would be hurtling down the mountain for 1,300 metres at over 80 m.p.h.

"All that separates them (Wrot-

tesley and Staehli) is a blink of an eye; it depends on how well he can slide down the mountain for a second time," Dickinson added.

And so it was that our new friend Dickinson took us through the run, down into Sunny Turn and on towards Snowy and into the Labyrinth with Wrottesley - and it was all so mesmerising that even the four-year-old and the eight-year-old in our living room were rooted to the spot in amazement as this green, white and orange-clad figure slid down the mountain side.

Of course, a medal eluded him. And, yet, when American Jim Shea sped down the mountain side a couple of minutes later to overhaul a guy called Martin Rettl, who had the weirdest hairstyle ever, to take the gold medal, who should be hugging him with genuine delight but the bold Lord Wrottesley. Isn't this what the Olympic spirit is suppose to be about?

Sadly, it hasn't been that way throughout these Games. We've had the question marks over the veracity of the ice skating judging, but, to be honest, the most outrageous decision came in the short course speed skating finals.

Again, the BBC brought us live coverage of this chaotic-looking event where skaters speed around a rink, and the incident arose in the men's 1,500 metres final where the South Korean Kim Dug-Sung crossed the line first in front of the American skater Anto Ohno, only for the referees to disqualify the Korean for "blocking" and award the gold medal to the home skater.

These sort of decisions can pass by uncomfortably with few comments from studio guests, but, fortunately for us, the BBC had a chap by the name of Matt Jasper sitting in the arm chair. Anyone crazy enough to participate in this particular sport, as Jasper does, is obviously capable of speaking his mind.

There was to be no sitting on the fence from Jasper, who tore into the decision with the sort of spontaneous reaction that all studio guests should possess to prevent those at home rushing out to make a cup of tea at the very appearance of a studio panel.

The crucial incident occurred on the back straight in the final lap, but Jasper told us that Kim was only "protecting his line, as he is entitled to do". But he went on to say that Ohno's reaction to being cut off was "cheating", and that he "should get an Oscar for that".

It was obviously pretty good acting because the judges didn't waste much time in disqualifying the Korean, who was stopped in his tracks by the announcement and dropped his flag onto the ice in disgust.

Jasper wasn't unduly surprised at the decision when he saw who the referee on the rink was who had made the decision and bowed to the baying of the American crowd.

"Hah," said Jasper upon seeing the referee in question, "we call him 'Spine' Anderson . . . because he hasn't got one."

Which goes to show, and certainly the Winter Olympics has confirmed the view, that sport's Corinthian spirit has been replaced by something sinister.