Two British sporting institutions drew neck and neck this week. A Question of Sport has taken 45 years, three hosts, 16 captains, a million high-fives and several makeovers to bring up 1,000 not out.

When fatgate broke — Jerry Kiernan’s personal operation transformation for upholstered Gaelic football players — I could not be drawn into the barney.

Arsene Wenger’s tormenters are circling for the kill now. There is a Shakespearean vibe around North London. A great man is on the verge of being driven demented by betrayal and changed circumstances.

Last Tuesday was a mixed bag for grapplers.

Hopes, plans, dreams — all scaled back yesterday at the Aviva.

Jack and Wes. The neighbour’s lad and our own. We clung to these slight men this week with a need that might have looked a touch desperate.

It is barely a decade old, but has Transfer Deadline Day already evolved into the most reliable barometer we have of who we are?

Just as he knew best about most things, it seems Shankly was right again.

Villarreal, Norwich City, Fyffes, Big Bird, Coldplay, jaundice sufferers, my true love’s hair.

People have been saying things about sport for a long time now, often saying them on television; for the purposes of entertainment or enlightenment or devilment or to obtain a small fee or maybe to express bewilderment at fresh proposals to rework the national leagues.