Telly addict: watching sport for 24 hours

The sun never set on the British Empire they said, and the same can now be said of TV’s sporting world. A particularly dedicated coach potato can view a bottom-of-the-table clash in the Brazilian league, and then take in an interprovincial camogie game before lazily flicking to horse racing in the north of England. But is it now possible to watch – for 24 straight hours – live sport on the television? I tuned in and turned on to find out on Saturday.

With American broadcast heavyweights ESPN taking on the muscular Sky, the BBC seemingly beefing up their coverage of major sports events this year and RTE continuing to punch above their weight, one can now sit in your front room on any given day and watch as-it-happens action bounce into your sitting room via a series of spinning satellites.

For some assignments in journalism you wear a flak jacket, a look of authority and a St Christopher’s medal. And if you’re expected to turn your back on a war zone to deliver a crisp 120-second piece-to-camera, maybe you don’t hit Beirut’s disco-bars ‘til the sun come up over Lebanon.

For other reporting jobs, the preparation can be less Woodward and Bernstein and more Doheny’s and Nesbitt’s. How many of us have set the alarm to rise early on a weekend morning to watch a match half the world away, under the familiar fog of a hangover? It was with a very real sense of journalistic integrity then, reader, that I too undertook my task, shackled to a very sick head.

Therefore, I cannot vouch for the authenticity of everything I am about to relay to you. My notes were hastily scribbled on the back of an eircom phone bill. The line has since been disconnected.

However, I will faithfully and earnestly attempt to retrace the steps of my journey through the cathode ray tube, to a full day of sporting entertainment. This is post watershed stuff. As they used to say on Dragnet, only the names have been changed to protect the innocent.

Nice to see you, to see you nice: Australia v New Zealand, Sydney
8.00am: When we were in school and encouraged to undertake the 24-hour fast at Easter, the trick was always timing. You don’t want to miss two dinners, the perceived wisdom went; no, start after Home and Away and you’ll be back on the Wagon Wheels by tea-time the following evening. Such logic is also valuable when trying to pursue the live sports action throughout the planet for a day, like Saharan nomads chasing the sun across the desert. So we start early with the Bledisloe Cup clash.

I could not begin to tell you how good the All Blacks are! This is because I nod off throughout. But New Zealand ultimately snatch victory at the death in Stadium Australia and as the antipodeans wind down for the night, we’re up and running for the day.

You loves ya baby?: West Brom v Ipswich Town
12pm: If Roy Keane was a TV character – as if he isn’t already – he’d be the maverick cop who doesn’t play by the rules – but he gets results. If he’s the tough-talking sergeant with the heart of gold, swarthy West Brom boss Roberto Di Matteo rides a powerful motorcycle in a gleaming white uniform around the California highway system alongside Erik Estrada.

This time, however, Keane fails to get the result. Cut to the Ipswich boss chasing a terrified-looking pimp down a dark and familiar alleyway as the credits roll.

Well, holy God: The Athletics World Championships
All day: Amongst all the Wii World Cups and one-day conker internationals that are now available to us, the athletics coverage on the BBC from Berlin is an event that I could have watched decades ago. In the black and white days of old, families gathered around the TV set, adjusted the rabbit ears carefully and watched home-grown heroes put names on maps. These moments were a like a Kennedy funeral; sporadic yet important affairs.

The voices of Steven Cram, Brendan Foster, Sue Ryder and John Inverdale are like a warm, familiar blanket and we can forgive them their Team GB myopia today.

What chu talking about Willis! The Solheim Cup
The tournament is broadcast throughout the day on Sky. The sight of American women fist-pumping, whooping and hollering stateside is exactly what I do not need. I’m not saying it’s un-ladylike, but Sue Ryder isn’t doing it. I flick over to Big Brother for a bit (the whole bit). This is a sport too, I decide. We’re only six months from pay-per-view monkey boxing, anyway.

Missed it by that much: AC Milan v Sienna
10pm: While many tuned into the chips and cheeseburger Match of the Day, I got smart and opted for a supper of antipasti and tiramisu with Serie A calcio on ESPN, with a side order of the Cincinnati Masters. Milan took on lowly Sienna and ultimately won 2-1. I flicked back and forth to MOTD and saw no goals in either, but plenty Lineker and cattenacio.

Stop the lights: LA Galaxy v DC United
12pm: As well as bringing a lot of American sport to the table this year, ESPN also let us see the Yanks give the beautiful game the apple-pie treatment; this tie – which took me into Sunday morning at last – was peppered with ads for next week’s Superclasscico. Barca and Real aren’t meeting already – they call the Chivas v Galaxy derby the same name. It’s akin to labelling the Munster Senior League the world series.

I’m sorry but I, once again, channel hop to RTE2 where they’re showing the classic comedy-drama Almost Famous, which tells the exotic tale of a budding journalist on the road with an imploding rock band. It’s like watching my life reflected back at me as you can imagine.

Just one more question, ma’am: Phillies v the Mets
3am: Baseball isn’t a sport for TV. To experience America’s game one should taste the hot dog, smell the stale beer and catch the foul ball. I take in some of the Phillies’ win over the Mets in the magnificent Citi Field which is as good a sound stage for any MLB drama after their move from Shea Stadium. But then, in the small hours of the night, the real action got under way as those of us still awake and watching at this hour – insomniacs, serial killers, insomniac serial killers – are treated to the Little League World Series on ESPN. Think your local street leagues hosted in Las Vegas and televised and broadcast like it’s grown up professionals on the diamond and not tweens. It’s like those paintings of dogs dressed as humans and made to play poker.

After 18 hours of live sport this is the twilight zone I always knew I’d reach.

As we approach the 18-hour-or-so mark and the All Black stars are dipping their toes in the pool in a posh Sydney city hotel during their recovery session, the live action, mercifully, at last winds down. I rub my eyes, pull open the curtains and, yawning, reflect on a day’s journey into night.

Then I click the Sky plus, fall back into the sofa and watch back stage two of Tour of Ireland. Thankfully, these days, for us telly addicts, those between the white lines throughout the world, are always in our time zone.

this column first appeared in today’s Irish Examiner newspaper