TV View: A six foot, five inch, 20 stone former SAS soldier called Ginger was hired, we learnt last week, by Manchester United to protect the Goodison Park faithful from Wayne Rooney during Saturday's FA Cup game. Or was he protecting Wayne Rooney from the Goodison Park faithful? No matter, his mission was to step in between the two should they square up in the proceedings.

In the end, of course, it was Roy Carroll who needed protecting, but Ginger was nowhere to be seen when the goalie was felled by that coin. Nor, indeed, did he manage to intercept the mobile phone that was chucked on to the pitch. If it had hit Roy Keane, who was in the vicinity, the owner would have had to have it surgically removed from his innards before answering his next call. Happily, it never came to that.

"I always had things thrown at me here," Peter Schmeichel told Gary Lineker at full-time, "but not mobile phones."

We couldn't help but think of the baby-faced Gaelic footballer interviewed on Prime Time earlier in the week. "It's time to move in to the 21st century," he said of the GAA and the Croke Park Question, "it's not the 1980s any more."

Cripes. Like the 1980s were the 1450s. He, then, would probably assume mobile phones weren't invented when Peter Schmeichel stood between the posts for a living, instead of talking football on the BBC, so could only have had Alexander Graham Bell's prototype chucked at him.

Any way, young Wayne, or Judas, as the Evertonians have lovingly renamed him, emerged triumphant from the encounter with his former pals. There was, though, not a lot of love in that stadium on Saturday, and there wasn't much to be found either at Turf Moor in the Lancashire Hot Pot clash of Burnley and Blackburn yesterday.

"The rivalry, the hostility, the hatred," Alan Hansen purred before kick-off. By half-time? "In terms of entertainment," he sighed, "it's desperate."

Too much hate, then, not enough passing to players wearing the same shirt, and a marked reluctance to dirty the gloves of either goalkeeper.

The entertainment factor wasn't upped by Burnley's decision to play just the one man up front. Why? Tactical genius on their manager's part? "Na," said Steve Cotterill, "we only have one striker."

The highlight? Probably when that angry young man ran on to the pitch and attempted to "sort" Robbie Savage. "They have cells underneath one of the stands," Mark Lawrenson told us, as the police removed the invader, a revelation that suggested trouble isn't uncommon at Turf Moor.

More trouble at the Celtic v Rangers game, which Setanta shared with us yesterday. Fernando Ricksen struck on the head by a lighter. Coins, mobile phones, lighters. The profile of the 21st century football fan: a smoker with jangling pockets who communicates only through texting.

The ugliest sporting scenes of the week, though, were witnessed on Saturday night's Who Wants to be a Millionaire, when Greg Rusedski and his wife, Lucy, attempted to win loadsa loot for the charity of their choice.

Much as he has done on the tennis circuit recently, Greg struggled through the early rounds, needing the audience, a friend at the end of a phone and a 50-50 to get to £8,000. Then? Well.

"Which Israeli minister was famous for wearing a black eye patch," was the question.

"I think it's Moshe Dayan," said Lucy, confidently. Greg smiled, looked at Chris Tarrant, then chucked his eyeballs in the direction of the heavens.

Lucy looked as angry as any ex-model who wants to be an actress can ever be. Greg smiled again. "Darling, let's be honest, we don't know the answer here."

"I just think it's (d)," insisted our Lucy.

Greg smiled again. Giggled a little. "Well, I'm not giving you the go-ahead on this one," he said.

He didn't own up, but Greg reckoned (a), Golda Meir, was a rap star from Brooklyn, and couldn't be certain if he (sic as a parrot) ever wore a black eye patch. "We don't know the answer, darling," he said again, using 'we' in an entirely royal sort of way.

Lucy finally succumbed to the pressure. They'd take their £8,000. Tarrant grinned. "It was (d) . . . Moshe Dayan."

"R-r-r-r-r-really," said Greg.

Lucy slapped her chair. She thought about slapping Greg. But she was on telly.

"You know the way you serve at 100 miles an hour," Tarrant said to Greg, "well, now you might have to run at 100 miles an hour."

And with that Greg was gone from the studio, with Lucy in hot pursuit. Only his exits from Wimbledon have been speedier.