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Doyle's TV talk is a bore draw

PEOPLE in my line of work are forever casting around for new words to describe hackneyed things.

We're always on the lookout for those little turns of phrase to freshen up a tired review of the lazy and predictable.

In some cases, the simplest, bluntest, no-nonsense word is the best you can use.

Today that word is -- and I apologise in advance to anybody offended by mild bad language -- sh*te.

Craig Doyle Live is sh*te. There's no other way to describe it.

Now that I think of it, there are many ways to describe it. You could call it smug, vulgar, witless, pointless, self-indulgent, tedious and a scandalous waste of licence-payers' money. But who can be bothered when sh*te does the job just as well?

RTE clearly can't be bothered; if they were, they wouldn't be throwing this muck in our faces in the hope that some of it will stick to our eyeballs.

Doyle has had his shot already and didn't score. His previous RTE2 show, The Social, was a disaster that swilled down the ratings drain. By way of a reward, RTE gave him another show.

I've nothing against Mr Doyle. He seems, on screen, to be a nice guy and I'd guess he's probably great company over a few pints. But this review column is about the quality (or absence of it) of television and never, I hope, about specific individuals (unless the specific individual is Jeremy Kyle).

By that measure, last night's show, hitching on the bandwagon of Euro 2012, was awful. There two really good guests: Richie Sadlier and Phil Babb, great football men both who I'd happily have listened to for the full half hour.

Unfortunately, trailing in their wake came Natasha Giggs -- famous for having sex with her more famous footballer brother-in-law -- and Nicola McLean -- famous for being on I'm a Celebrity and sharing her puppies with the readers of The Sun.

And let's skip as lightly as possible over Jennifer Maguire, who's embedded in Poznan and seems to think the words f*ck and bollocks are funny.

Walk away, Craig, you don't need this.

Summer is the silly season on television, the reason being that, since all of us are presumed to be outside capering around in the Mediterranean-style weather this country traditionally enjoys at this time of year, nobody is going to want to sit indoors watching the box.

Unless it's for Euro 2012, of course, which has been fabulous so far, barring one painful and obvious disappointment.

Consequently, none of the channels bother putting out anything that would seriously threaten the dominance of the football on RTE2.

It's for this reason that today's Last Night's TV column has morphed, just for today and just for the next few paragraphs, into Yesterday Morning's TV column.

I've been watching Ireland AM (and since you ask, no, I DON'T have a life), where the silly season seems to last all year long. I'm feeling desperately sorry for Mark Cagney.

Cagney has had an interesting life and career; if you don't believe me, check out his Wikipedia page.

He's also proved himself over the years to be quite a fine broadcaster.

Yesterday, though, when he had to listen to a woman, described in the caption as a "soapwatcher", drivelling on about what's coming up in this week's Coronation Street and Emmerdale, Cagney looked like a man who's had a hole torn in his soul.

But at least he was spared the next item, a celebrity lookalike competition hosted by Anna Daly. There was a "Kim Kardashian", a "Mick McCarthy" and a "Michael O'Leary".

"Kim" looked more like Mick than "Mick" did, while "Michael" bore as striking a resemblance to Michael as I do to Brad Pitt.

Ireland AM has been on air since 1998. It still looks like a group of people in search of a light bulb to change.

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