Whatever you think of the GAA's deal with Sky, one thing is guaranteed: this clash of cultures will make for some mighty comedy. Indeed it's almost too easy a satirical target, but that doesn't mean it won't be funny.
Which brings us to 'Gift Grub' on The Ian Dempsey Breakfast Show (Today FM, Mon-Fri 7am).
I'm not the biggest fan of Mario Rosenstock's comedy slot, but I must say, his skit about the breathless, hyped-up Sky team reporting from GAA grounds had me literally snorting coffee out my nose. Don't worry, the pleasure more than made up for the pain.
I'm still chuckling at memories of Paul Merson babbling that it was all about to "kick off" at Nowlan Park, Phil Thompson's Liverpool accent which sounded like he was choking to death on pound of phlegm, and abortive attempts to pronounce Mícheál ó Muircheartaigh.
Yeah, these likeable eejits are fish in a barrel. So what? This was very funny, and once you get past all that 'holding a mirror up to society' self-aggrandisement, funny is what comedy's all about.
Not so funny – actually quite depressing, considering it took place an inconceivable 23 years ago – was Sinéad Gleeson's essay on seeing Nirvana's now-legendary gig in Dun Laoghaire on Sunday Miscellany, (Radio 1, Sun 9am).
Kurt Cobain's 20th anniversary is today. This affectionate, wryly humorous piece was a fitting tribute.
As she recalled, Nirvana barely registered on the music radar: little did she, they or anyone else know what lay in store. Or that a new song they played, 'Smells Like Teen Spirit', would be an anthem for a generation.
Nobody would have believed it. And I still can't believe that gig was almost a quarter-century ago.
A brief mention to the just-ended Crossing The Lines (Radio 1, Sat 6.30pm), which was erudite, articulate and distinctly high-brow, to use a much-maligned term, in the best possible way.
Each week poet and presenter Mary O'Donnell discussed modern European poetry in translation – Finnish, Hungarian, Greek, Polish, German – with experts.
Sounds off-putting, a bit dry? You'd be wrong. This was nothing less than language, the glory of human consciousness, lovingly explored in all its beauty and richness.