I'M sorry if you think I'm banging on about this, but one week into Euro 2000 and personally I think I'd rather die than turn on the TV.

And, coming from someone who really could win for England when it comes to that particular sport, that's saying something, let me tell you.

I've just got to say, is there really any need to screen three matches in one day?

In fact, now I think of it, is there any need whatsoever to devote so much time to one thing? No! I mean, let's take the weekend schedule for example.

Saturday night's telly kicked off for footy fans across the world at 7pm GMT when images of the opening ceremony were beamed across the globe before soccer God Des Lynam introduced second by second, blow by blow, all angles coverage of the Belgium Sweden game at 7.45pm.

Now, in case you missed a kick, an action replay of an-all important pass or a shot of a player emptying his nose on the pitch in almost three hours blanket coverage of the match on ITV, highlights were shown just over an hour later during Match of the Day and again, twice, when ITV and BBC 1 repeated the entire 90 minutes less than two hours apart at 12.30am and 2.20am.

And, of course, anything which scored even marginally above the boredom threshold was also mentioned on the news.

There was no escape.

If you'd not already died of the interminable tedium of being forced to watch the same match four times in a day, the dawn of Sunday morning brought no respite.

I'm afraid that, not content with taking over Saturday, soccer then hijacked the official day of rest when yet another plethora of programmes devoted to the beautiful game were screened back to back. It was ridiculous. I mean, I don't know about the longest day, but this particular torture began at the crack of dawn with a repeat of Match of the Day -- that's Sweden Belgium for the fifth time, if you're counting -- and was brutally followed by Football Fever, Turkey Italy, France Denmark, Holland Czech Republic, Euro 2000 highlights and A Question of Sport Euro 2000 Special before ending not less than almost 24 hours later when replays of the day's big games were shown simultaneously on BBC 1 and ITV.

I reckon there was at most about two hours worth of five minute breaks in the entire day when you could speak without fear of being shushed or interrupted by blokes shouting 'Referee!' and 'Oh my God! How could he miss that?'

And what did the TV bigwigs and planners offer the non-footballing viewers who pay their licence fee promptly each month instead?

Well, I'll tell you what.

Free Willy 2, some pappy highlights from Who Wants to be a Millionaire? and the token chick flick Thelma and Louise.

It's pathetic. Do the powers that be seriously think anyone who doesn't want to watch footy must be a simpering, whale loving greeny to be so easily placated by a glimpse of Brad Pitt's six pack and pecs?

Well, maybe on the last score, I suppose, but you can keep Free Willy captive for the rest of his life for me.

From where I was standing, or should I say lying horizontally on the sofa, on Sunday night, the real girlies behind Euro 2000 were on the pitch.

In the 15 minutes I spent watching the game before I slipped into a Magnum-induced coma I spotted one bloke dancing up and down the pitch in a ponytail and a pair of sunglasses, another practically in tears because someone had tripped him up and one player being wrapped up like a kebab on a stretcher because he'd banged his arm somewhere along the line.

And at the end of the day you do realise the world is watching, nay fixated, by the sight of 22 blokes chasing a ball around a field.

That's it. Bottom line. Sad.

Unless we're talking David Beckham's bottom line of course......