The big smiley head on Pádraig Harrington. And a face so beamy you wouldn’t even need Christmas lights on Grafton Street, you could just stand him on a plinth in the middle and he’d illuminate it from top to bottom.

The moment we could all rest easy in the safe knowledge that he was going to win the Portugal Masters wasn’t actually when he sank that putt on the 18th, it was when he produced that death stare after his second shot bounced off the stand, almost decapitated a spectator, and nestled in the grass a few feet from the green.

The first time most of us saw the Pádraig death stare was back in 2007 when he won the British Open for the first time.

Until then most of us were under the mistaken impression that he might not have that murderous sporting instinct. But he slayed his opponents and brought home the Claret Jug which his son, memorably, filled with ladybirds.

Death stare

Lest any of us have been under another mistaken impression that he’d have been happy enough with the runners-up spot in Vilamoura, the death stare confirmed he was in it to win it, his fury over that dodgy approach making him homicidally determined to take no more than two shots to insert the ball in the hole. Which he did.

“It’s 2008 since you won a European Tour event,” said the Sky man. “I’ve won plenty since then,” said Pádraig, reminding the Sky man that there’s a golfing world beyond our fair continent.

But Sunday afternoons concluding with a Padraig triumph are the best Sunday afternoons, because there’s really no one in sport who savours success quite like him. And you end up beaming almost as broadly as himself.

The only other person to look as pumped on our Sunday afternoon telly was Crystal Palace gaffer Alan Pardew who turned up at Twickenham to watch non-rugby outfits New York Giants and Los Angeles Rams do their NFL thing.

Alan was in thrall to the proceedings, telling his sideline interviewer that English football could learn a lot from the NFL, which was enough to bring tears to the eyes of any devotee of English football.

The game? He loved it. “It’s so different, it’s almost like a foreign sport,” he said. No, he did, honest.

Over at Stamford Bridge, meanwhile, the home crowd informed their once beloved Jose Mourinho that "you're not special any mooooooore" in or around the time Chelsea went 4-0 up, completing a week for Manchester United that bordered on the cataclysmic.

First they made a major contribution to that 0-0 at Anfield that left viewers mourning for the 90 minutes of their lives they would never get back, then this.

Sky, need it be said, had billed the Anfield tussle as the biggest game in the history of Association Football, and tried to whip us in to a frenzier frenzy by announcing that Ryan Giggs would be punditing on the night, his special insight to the fixture proving to be “for me there were always two halves”.

Dunphy prediction

In fairness, that only took the week’s silver medal, gold going to The Dunph for declaring at half-time in the Barcelona v Manchester City Champions League encounter that “Messi is beginning to show signs of decline” and that Barca no longer had the players to “rip this Manchester City side to shreds”.

Full-time: Barca 4, City 0, Messi hat-trick.

“I’d like to confirm that Lionel Messi is not in such decline as I felt he might be before the match,” conceded Dunphy as Liam Brady examined the ceiling.

The result of the week, though, almost came from Dundalk’s Europa League game against the moneyed Zenit St Petersburg, that spell after Robbie Benson put them a goal up and before Zenit scored twice taking magical to a whole new level.

Come Sunday evening they were back on our tellies, this time attempting to seal the League, their beyond bonkers fixture list putting them on our screens more times than Coronation Street.

But they’re evidently viewing it with a death stare, homicidally determined to keep on producing magic.