TV View:Fists flying left, right and centre; jabs, hooks and uppercuts galore, a bout of epic proportions, but the officials finally restored order and Carlow and Louth's minors got on with the game at Croke Park.

It was but one instalment in a scrapathon of a weekend, kicked off, so to speak, by Bernard Dunne at The Point. Indeed, Michael Lyster drew comparisons with Dunne's contest the night before, Carlow v Louth also going the distance before being decided on points.

Twenty-nine of the 30 Carlow and Louth players on the pitch got involved in the scrap, Michael told us, only the Carlow goalkeeper opting to keep out of the brawl because he'd more sense. There are some who'd protest that he should be the only one disciplined for breaking the "one in, all in" rule.

Colm O'Rourke, though, doffed his cap to him, and insisted it was time we followed the example of Australian Rules. Turn a blind eye? No. "If two fellas are at it let them off, but if anyone else interferes they get twice the suspension," he explained.

"Like the playground in the auld days?" asked Joe Brolly. "Gather around them and throw your shoes at them when they're scrappin'? Spit on them? That's a Meath education for you."

"Jeez, I'm just glad I didn't grow up in the playground Joe grew up in, I never saw anything like that," Colm protested. "Dungiven must have been a dreadful place altogether."

Meanwhile, over at the Gaelic Grounds, Marty Morrissey, who'd spent the night before at The Point, was maintaining the theme. "Here we go, another round, we'll ring the bell and away we go," he said as Limerick and Tipperary set off on yet another journey in to extra-time.

Marty's partner in the commentary box, Anthony Daly, was forecasting that the Munster hurling championship would probably still be undecided at the end of August. "All those wides, they're going to add up in the end. If there is an end," he sighed.

But there was an end, our confident prediction that Tipp would prevail in extra-time somewhat undermined by the fact that they didn't.

We sprinted back to Croke Park to see the Dubs and Offaly produce a masterclass in missing chances. "I shouldn't laugh," laughed Brolly. "Offaly were absolutely dreadful, Iarnród Eireann carry less passengers than there were there today," said Colm, so we didn't miss much.

Colm happened to have been at The Point on Saturday night - and in a sportingly ecumenical gesture Dunne happened to be at Croke Park yesterday - and assured us the spectacle he witnessed there was a touch more competitive.

Not being fully au fait with Norwegian boxing when we heard Bernard was fighting The Viking, we thought he was taking on darts legend Andy Fordham, leaving us puzzled as to how Andy qualified for the super-bantamweight category when he weighs just 30 stones.

But Reidar Walstad, all five feet five and eight and a bit stones of him, was The Viking in question. "He most definitely won't remember this fight, he must watch it on TV afterwards because he's going down," he said in his pre-bout forecast on RTÉ, but considering he looked as menacing as a choir boy we just couldn't bring ourselves to fear for Bernard.

As it proved, though, he was a fiery little pocket rocket. As Bernard told Marty after the fight, "he's a hardy little hoo-er." And he had the scars to prove it: "I've more lumps in my head now than a camel."

Incidentally, Jimmy Magee introduced the post-fight interview thus: "Marty Morrissey's in the ring and he's ready to issue a challenge to Bernard Dunne", leaving us hollering "nooooo, Marty, nooooo, don't do it!" at the screen, our head filled with a terrible image of Marty chucking down the gauntlet by ripping off his shirt and raising his RTÉ microphone-wielding fists to Bernard's face.

Mercifully, Marty kept his pugilistic yearnings suppressed, so the European super-bantamweight belt never made it to the Gaelic Grounds yesterday.

Jimmy did, though, provide the undisputed highlight of the night, with his less than entirely enthusiastic commentary on the first women's professional bout ever held in Dublin.

Did he, we wonder, ever think he'd see the day when he'd utter the immortal line: "The bell saves Angel McKenzie, the Londoner Russian in pink?""