Sideline Cut: If George "Dubya" Bush had, in the end, shuffled off this mortal coil after tongue wrestling with a pretzel, sports fans all round the globe would have sighed in sympathy and silently admitted that it was a hell of a way to go.

"W", after all, was merely indulging in a Homeresque vision of Utopia that has global resonance; Sunday evening on cushions, watching sport with tasty treats close at hand.

Imagine the scene at Pennsylvania Avenue. After an exhausting week dominated by foreign bombs and economic scandal, Dubya slouches into the presidential slumber quarters and, picking up the remote control, flicks on Sunday Night Football. Baltimore Ravens, the NFL defending champions, are playing the Miami Dolphins, perennial losers when it comes to the play-offs. Dubya sighs at the sheer bliss of the hours ahead, kicks off the deck shoes and orders a range of tasty yet reasonably low-cal finger foods.

Spot and Barney, the unassuming witnesses of the evening's drama, waggle perkily into the presidential chambers, choose a cosy spot at the feet of the world leader and stare blankly at the wide screen television, utterly incapable of understanding the rules of American football.

The first lady peeps into the bedroom and is naturally heartened by this scene of modern American family harmony. She wanders off through the ample corridors of the White House knowing that Dubya is perfectly safe and quite happy. But as W himself said in Brentonville, Arkansas, " They misunderestimated me."

W is, famously, primarily a baseball fan but as the game starts he gradually gets sucked into the flow and subconsciously develops an affection for one or other of the teams and finds himself, in true Dubya fashion, "rooting" for them.

Anyone who spends time watching sports on TV knows that this is a natural human impulse. During the World Cup this summer, we will all spend vast amounts of time watching games between countries to which we had hitherto given absolutely zero consideration and find ourselves suddenly and inexplicably deeply involved in the fate of the nation for the 90 minutes that the game is played out.

So if George Junior found himself getting a bit excited, well, he wasn't alone. Hundreds of thousands of American sports fans were watching the same game, possibly dipping into the same brand of pretzels, just as over here, thousands were glued to Arsenal v Liverpool, all of them immersed in the action, agitated on their cushions and, more likely than not, shouting at the television.

Be honest. There are few regular sports fans that have not had that frightening out-of-body sensation of one minute sitting peacefully on the couch only seconds later to be down on both knees and communicating wildly and urgently with the commentator or player on the TV, both of whom talk and play on regardless.

Some people experience this just once in a lifetime, others go through it 10 to 15 times a week. But it is probable that W was stricken by the same condition, moved to a sudden burst of violent pleading or protest at some aspect of the Miami v Baltimore game, completely forgetting that he had just popped a particularly generous-sized pretzel.

Of course, we will never know what aspect of the game transformed the American President from pacified sports fan to man wrestling with mortality. It wasn't a close game, with Baltimore winning 20-3. The only reported moment of drama was when Miami, in a rare mood of adventure, opted to throw a long pass only for the ball to bounce off the neck of James McKnight, the intended recipient.

Another potential explanation is that the President might have choked while attempting, for the benefit of his pets, to pronounce the name of the Baltimore quarterback, Elvis Grbac. It is, unquestionably, a name that provides a challenge even for those with a clear palate.

Only Spot and Barney will ever truly know what happened and they are, of course, in no position to offer their stories. It was touching to hear that after he returned to consciousness, W observed that both dogs were demonstrating "a lot of concern" at the events they had just witnessed.

Their empathy is commendable but the reality is that the dogs probably looked on in astonishment as W's life flashed before his eyes, jumped back in alarm as he "hit the deck" and then wandered over to lick the pretzel crumbs from his cheeks.

In all, the event may not do much to convince Dubya sceptics that he is the right man to be leading the free world, but it will do his sports credentials no harm. Back in 1989, when he was part owner of the Texas Rangers, W declared that "he wanted folks to see me sitting in the same kind of seats as them, eating the same popcorn, peeing in the same urinal".

While we all could have done without the third vista, W's vision endeared him to the common man and this latest sporting mishap can but consolidate his place in the hearts of the ordinary sports fan.

There are times when all of us, reliving the unbearable tension and excitement of a sports event, become so lost for words that we shake our heads and just say, "I couldn't watch, I almost passed out," or "I nearly died." Never again can such sentiments be aired without a due nod to Dubya.

"We are inclined that if we watch a football game or a baseball game, we have taken part in it," remarked John F Kennedy in 1961.

And wasn't that so true of Mr Bush, sitting in the White House on Sunday evening, bruised and battered, doctors running attendance, Spot and Barney watching on with heroic stoicism? It seems unlikely that any of the Miami team - or even the aforementioned hero Grbac - invested half as much effort in the game as George Junior.

Time will tell if the Pretzel incident will prove one of the great publicity stunts of modern politics. It was certainly a truly great moment for the sports fan everywhere.

It is tempting to believe that Sunday night football will never be the same again for the President but he is no fatalist. Like all sports fans, he knows that there is always another game, another chance to lose yourself in the passion of the moment. As he has noted himself, " the past is gone". We must salute him.