The changing face of British sports broadcasting was starkly illustrated on Saturday. It was a day of nostalgia at the BBC, with Steve Rider hosting a special edition of Grandstand to celebrate 40 years of the programme.

All the old faces made an appearance and, without actually breaking into a chorus of Old Friends, they each offered fairly wistful reminiscences on the glory days. And there were a fair few gems from the archives. A young David Coleman interviewed the Beatles and heard how they met Cassius Clay in America just before he fought Sonny Liston.

Paul McCartney recounted being asked who he thought would win and whispering Sonny's name for fear of offending Cassius. "I was a coward, I just whispered Liston," he laughed. "Lis-ton, do-do-do, do you want to know a secret?" sang Lennon in a flash.

And there was the legendary shot of John Motson standing miserably in the midst of a snow storm, visible only by way of his horrendous sheepskin coat. Frank Bough came in and remembered the day he informed the English public that a number of players had "pissed a late fatness test." Des Lynam ran a comb through the 'tache and reminded everyone of the April Fools' Saturday when he spoke glowingly of Grandstand's underlying professional ethos while two back-room lads hammered the bejaysus out of one another directly behind him.

It was all unashamedly indulgent, sentimental stuff but utterly seamless, the sort of formal irreverence that seems to flow naturally from Beeb presenters like Lynam and Rider. But each of the interviewees acknowledged that the flagship sports magazine was suffering from a lack of events now, a point highlighted as the show ran decade-by-decade reviews of great Grandstand moments.

Few of the truly memorable ones were attributable to the 1990s files. The 1960s and 1970s seem to have been the halcyon years for the programme, although there were a few questionable entries, such as the footage on "gyro-wheel racing", a dubious kind of sport which involved competitors racing each other in, well, gyroscopes. It was the kind of codology that can only have originated in the north-east.

And behind all the fizz and laughter, there was a sense that unless more money is invested in the programme, viewers loyal to the station could well be in for protracted coverage of the gyro-racing season. It just wouldn't become Steve Rider.

For even as he conducted ceremonies for the Beeb, the lads at Sky were busy presenting the main sporting event of the weekend, Eng-er-land at home to Bulgaria. Richard Keys was the man in the middle and he got the show on the road by formally introducing his two analysts, "Captain Marvel" and "Psycho". If Bryan Robson took umbrage at been alluded to as a sort of Bcomicstrip hero, he masked it well.

As for the redoubtable Psycho, well, England has to be one of the few countries where an affectionate nickname can spring from a term used to describe violent mental imbalance. No wonder Stuart Pearce looked subdued.

And, in fairness, England gave him much to be subdued about. The home boys flared prettily in the opening minutes, prompting Martin Tyler to observe that the visiting coach was giving his lads "a right good rollicking in Bulgarian." Geoff Hurst was at Wembley for the occasion, giving Keys the opportunity to remember Hurst's exploits in 1966 and to wonder if England could, ever again, touch such celestial heights. Captain Marvel winced and shifted awkwardly. Psycho stared balefully back at Keys. By the second half, their downbeat mood seemed to have pervaded the entire stadium. Jamie, Graham and the rest looked as though they would rather be back home with their Gameboys. The crowd were restless and old Glenn seemed to be considering the merits of throwing Eileen Drewery in on the wing. It was dull enough to provoke idle dreams of a world besotted with the sadly-doomed gyro-racing game, of a gyro Premiership.

Bravely, Tyler reminded everyone that the likes of Alan Shearer and Michael Owen just needed a glimpse of a chance to score. Caught up in the retrospective mood of the afternoon, he recalled the conversation he had with old (sometime) England striker Alan Smith. "He used to love the chess-like battles with international defenders," he revealed.

"Aye, well, I always had a more draughts-like mentality meself," chuckled Andy Gray.

It was becoming painful. On the other side, the Scots flirted with national catastrophe at home to the Estonians, much to the chagrin of Charlie Nicholas, who took time out from the sun beds to deliver his verdict on a controversial decision.

"I think it's a P K," he asserted with a vigorous flourish of a pen which never actually touched paper over the 90 minutes.

Back at Wembley, it finished scoreless, forcing Keys to prune his expectations from foreseeable World Cup triumph to imminent victory over Luxembourg. He got the nod from his experts. Overall, it was a better day at the BBC, which, on the business front, had to content itself with a staple diet of racing.

At the start of the programme, Rider spoke with Peter Dimmock, the very first Grandstand presenter.

"Eventually, I was forced to get Sky," Dimmock said at one point. "I was slightly sad, of course, that BBC couldn't have been King Canute a little longer." It's not difficult to know why.