Three weeks ago we watched Britain's Steve Redgrave - probably the greatest Olympic athlete ever to step into an arena - row to his fifth Olympic gold medal in succession.

Redgrave is a diabetic. If he doesn't inject himself with insulin and keep his blood sugar levels in check, he could become ill, fall into a coma or die.

Frank Green is a hockey player you may never have heard of. He died some years ago training with the Irish hockey team during a light running session on the Vico Road in the south of Dublin city.

It was a crisp winter morning and the team was preparing for matches against England, Wales and Scotland when Frank simply went down on one knee and fell over.

Despite the expert attention of coach Terry Gregg, a dentist and goalkeeper Peter McConnell, a surgeon, Frank died on the footpath outside the gates of a house called Cliff Lodge.

Frank had a disability in that he had a congenital heart disorder. Frank and Redgrave were never selected out from the more "able" athletes because they looked and behaved largely in the same way as everyone else.

There were no limbs missing, no degeneration of motor ability, no speech impediments. Apart from their hidden disabilities, they were able bodied.

One thing which emerged very strongly this week in watching both RTE's sketchy and highlighted coverage and BBC's more comprehensive and serious treatment of the Paralympics in Sydney was that the definition of what constitutes being disabled is entirely blurred. The line between abled and disabled is continuous.

And the terrifying aspect of one side of last week's debate over the issue is that people appear to confuse the meaning of disability with their perceptions of imperfection or even uglyness.

Being a diabetic is a disability; having an unmanagable heart problem which causes death is too. Athlete Paula Radcliff, an asthmatic, is seriously disadvantaged when it comes to running in polluted cities. That is a disability.

So what is the fundamental difference between Green, Redgrave, Radcliff and David Malone Irish gold medallist in the 100-metres backstroke or Mairead Berry a gold and double silver medallist in the pool? This week the answer came back. No significant difference at all.

Rugby League's current disability is Rugby Union. How wonderfully ironic. Because of union's superior financial clout the long-time professional game of league finds that some of its better players are taking the leap.

Where union used to be insulted over league's effrontery at offering its players money to defect, it now finds itself with more than enough rands to cream off big names such as Wigan's Jason Robinson.

Those engrossed in Leinster, Ulster and Munster in the European Rugby Cup may have missed Ireland's first game against Samoa in the Rugby League World Cup which kicked off in Windsor Park on Saturday. Courtesy of BBC1, we were able to watch it.

Former players Ray French and union-league-union convert Johnathan Davies provided the in-your-face commentary in what was a relentless game of running and tackling.

The obvious and most vacuous question to consider is which of the two is the better game. Ask people around Featherstone in England and they'll say don't be stupid, tough guys play league.

Talk to someone on Stradbrook Road and they'll invite you into the members bar, ply you with Carlsberg and explain the history of every emblem on the club tie, then ring their wife to come and collect them.

Union is more varied in game patterns, league collectively more abrasive. Union rules are more complex (does anyone know what happens in a scrum), league simple enough to grasp even first time.

League moves at a higher, even-paced tempo. Union is stacatto. We could continue ad nauseum then kick for position.

But two more matches in Tolka Park will hopefully provide more than the 3,207 people who arrived at Windsor Park and what union might usefully debate is the use of the video replay, which is used in league.

Illegal tries, however, for both Ireland and Samoa were awarded simply because the referee didn't request the video replay which he is required to do if he feels something might be gained. Once again, even with technology available, human error creeps in.

No fears yet then at Lansdowne Road. Donnybrook, Ravenhill and The Rec were all sell outs despite the day largely being a wash out. In Belfast, where it appeared to be even worse than in Bath, you can imagine how the Samoans felt.

David Beckham wasn't in Dublin last week, but he was on BBC1's Parkinson on Saturday night. A fan, Parkinson thankfully didn't ask a single difficult question.

The Manchester United player's petulance on the pitch was overlooked, his "feminine side", a touchy subject for soccer players you'll agree, was discussed in a blizzard of laughter.

A latter day icon, Beckham did put our minds at rest over one contentious issue which has evidently tortured player conversations around the locker rooms of the Premiership.

"I can safely say that I do not wear Victoria's knickers," he declared before needlessly adding. "No, she's much smaller than me anyway."

Imagine if he'd married Scarey or one of the other slightly bigger Spices. He could have fitted into their knickers.

Now that would have caused a stir . . . "Er . . . no Michael, I can safely say I do not wear Scary's knickers . . . they're too big for me."