The domestic news bulletins devoted an unprecedented chunk of air time to American sports personalities last week, an aberration caused by the retirement of Michael Jordan and the latest episode in the depressing spectacle of Mike Tyson's decline. As usual, both stories were presented with the amused air broadcasters around these parts reserve for US sports stories, a look which suggests that if the Yanks are on screen, wackiness is never too far away.

If the Japanese headlines ("Jordan retires. Shock felt around the world") are true, then we in Ireland must have been among the few to experience only the faintest reverberations.

On Wednesday, one hour (local time) after Jordan officially bowed out in Chicago's United Centre, RTE and TV3 predictably led with the story that Steve Collins is to fight Roy Jones - in his own mind, anyway.

In fairness, both stations proceeded to run quite comprehensive reports on Jordan's departure - it is a safe enough bet to say that we won't be seeing NCAA college footage on either station again this year - but like the BBC they seemed keen on rushing through the sporting accolades to explain by precisely how much the ball player's salary exceeds the average industrial wage.

The Sky news centre had access to Jordan's final moments on his home court and stayed long enough to hear his statement but cut to studio before we could hear what was probably a fascinating Q&A session - in order to talk about his megabucks.

What clips were aired showed Jordan smiling farewell with the customary grace and detached eloquence which have been the hallmark of his stunning re-invention of a sport.

This contrasted directly with an interview on the same day with Mike Tyson, broadcast initially on an American cable channel and, most probably subsequently around the world (Ireland included!).

Unhappy at the line of questioning concerning the suitability of his inherent "rage" to boxing, Tyson issued a few expletives in the direction of his questioner, a typically plastic looking US TV guy.

The conversation deteriorated after that, culminating with Tyson suggesting that if his host didn't like his style, he could switch the station off.

Spying the high moral ground and smelling ratings, the smarmy studio guy asked Tyson why he spoke like that and having attained the "F*** off" he was hoping for, he signed off with a measured, "you're a class act, buddy".

Of course, the wisdom of allowing Tyson to box has been heavily debated but on Sky Sports boxing special, Ian Darke pointed out that we, the public "have always wanted him to be this seat-ring savage" while Barry McGuigan opined that no matter how unsavoury his behaviour, Tyson is still boxing's most precious financial commodity, by a long way.

The most instructive part of Tyson's latest PR faux pas was not the content of the dialogue but the look on the boxer's face when the interviewer breezily ended the conversation. He was in alien territory and looked incredibly vulnerable, close to frightened. If there was anything to be shocked at, it was the callous, exploitative wise-ass nature of the interviewer.

Comparing Tyson's outburst with the ultra-smooth if funereal atmosphere in which Jordan's exit was conducted is irrelevant in itself but it is nonetheless interesting that the star's of both athletes should cross on that particular day.

Both black, both talented and both responsible for re-defining our interpretations of their sports (in very different ways), they are also two of the most media-scrutinised sports stars of this or any time.

Both athletes rained on the American national consciousness at roughly the same time, 1986. That year Tyson beat Trevor Berbick to become world heavyweight champion at 21 was the same year that Jordan signalled his unearthly potential by swooping for 63 points in a play-off game in the Boston Garden against the last great Celtics team.

Since that seminal year, the world has watched Jordan's preternatural ascent and Tyson's horrifying dive via the tube.

While Jordan's singular brilliance and incomprehensible commercial appeal (the Nike swoosh sign will always be the patent of his game now, no matter how many logos they plaster on Tiger Woods) have thrust him into the surreal role of Earth's biggest celebrity, Tyson has come to embody the dark aspect of sport, his name a catch-cry for those who would finish the noble art.

While Jordan flew, we watched Tyson's career flower briefly before crashing with a globally publicised rape case which led to a three-year stretch in prison, we recoiled as he gnashed on Evander Holyfield's ear and raised our eyes as we heard how he attacked a couple of seniors after a minor car accident.

Jordan and Tyson matured under the glare of TV lights in a way few other athletes can have experienced. Both were invaluable consumer oddities - Jordan for his athletic wonder, Tyson ultimately for salacious misdemeanours.

On Wednesday, we saw how their decade in the blaze has left them - Jordan (middle-class, college educated, groomed, articulate) unscathed, assured of immortality and smiling, Tyson (Brownsville delinquent, broken home, regularly beaten, little formal education) unloved and untrustworthy, snarling and uncertain, a freak show for TV land.

The only thing Jordan and Tyson have in common - besides their colour, which Jordan somehow reduced to a non-issue - is their genuine love for their sport.

BBC have in their vaults a wonderful feature on Tyson going through his films of old boxing greats and it is one of the few times we ever catch a glimpse of his humanity, that we ever see him relax.

But through his words and actions, he seems to have tarnished the fight game indelibly, left a lot of people questioning its worth. Jordan, meanwhile, heightened the concept of basketball. And because his entire career was traceable through television, not a single move is left to memory and those ceaseless rolls of celluloid can only heighten his claim for iconic status.

How history will come to portray Mike Tyson is a different, sadder matter.