England's tour of the US is over, and with it the opportunity to belittle the Americans' unique approach to commentating on the round- ball game. Of course, the brave boys on the BBC could not resist replaying Michael Owen's goals with the US commentary. 'Great hustle,' an incredulous Ian Wright repeated in the studio. Terrible cardigan, said the British public in the living room.

Was the BBC's commentary any better? John Motson is an institution, granted, but most institutions in Britain were closed down in the 1980s. All the clichs came out: a mere nine minutes passed before Rene Higuita's Wembley scorpion kick merited a mention, a respectful 20 before the murder of Andres Escobar " he of the World Cup own goal. But when the unpredicted occurs, Motty, er, seems to, er, have lost the ability to watch and commentate at the same time.

Anyway, as Wrighty said at half-time, it was a 'muggy two-bob game'.

Of far greater import is the Poker Million tournament on Sky, with fast- moving opening credits of lit-up London looking nothing like Vegas, despite the trick of maxing out the contrast. It's the craze sweeping the nation through the day-time schedules and on the internet. Put 'poker + TV' into British Google and you get more than a million results. 'Darts + TV' finds just 211,000 results, though intriguingly the first three feature Justin Hawkins from The Darkness wanting to front a darts programme. Surely the poker producers have missed a trick: can they not hire the spangly one, if only for the theme tune, 'I believe in a thing called luck'?

Poker's no real sport, but it features real sports people. The Poker Million champion is Donnacha O'Dea, who swam for Ireland in the 1968 Olympics and held nine national records. Soccer AM's Helen Chamberlain is through to this year's final, and provides the glamour, while the circuit has always been littered with ex- football, snooker and cricket pros.

The star this week was Mike Fairclough, a former cricketer from Blackpool, now a traffic warden, so out of his depth that his heart rate hit 206 practically before the cards had been dealt.

Yet Fairclaw, as the American commentator Jesse May called him (take that, Lineker), should have felt at home around a poker table where the players line up like a slip cordon " albeit one so deadpan James Anderson could be bowling " and some even wear Ashley Giles' sunglasses.