Sky, ITV and my daughter all agree: Barcelona are quite good

When the pundits had run out of superlatives, at least there was Adrian Chiles to bring Barça back down to earth

Javier Mascherano, who was interviewed on Sky after the Champions League final, judged the mood of the British football follower perfectly, dedicating Barcelona's victory to Liverpool's fans, who he thought may enjoy it. Schadenfreude, as he did not quite get round to saying, was about the only Freude left to us after seeing England's champions thoroughly shredded.

Over on ITV, presenter Adrian Chiles was full of it; Schadenfreude, that is, with a touch of Angst and a sprinkling of Weltschmerz thrown in. Over shots of joyous Spaniards pouring out of Wembley Stadium after the post-match celebrations, he observed, in that dry, slightly mournful, West Midlands way: "They'll have a two-hour wait at Wembley Park station. That'll take the gloss off it."

Having battled with the vagaries of Britain's public transport system myself earlier in the day, I am afraid any chuckles from this quarter were pretty hollow. What, our football isn't up to snuff, and neither are our trains? No, doesn't work for me, Adrian. Having said that, Chiles seems more comfortable in ITV's presenter's chair of late. His everyman schtick can be tiresome, but after entrusting its footy to safe pairs of hands like those of Jim Rosenthal and Steve Rider, it is quite fun that ITV now has someone who looks like he might drop the cup. But he is good company, and for that you can forgive a lot.

You can see what Chiles is trying to achieve through his man-on-the- terraces questions. "What's Sir Alex like, 'cause I've never met him and he scares the life out of me?" he chuckled to Roy Keane, one of his experts on Saturday, clearly hoping the casually tossed-in remark might bring forth more insight than carefully formulated interrogation. Some hope. Once these guys don the pundit's suit, anything indiscreet or even mildly critical of fellow members of the Managers' Union is jettisoned. Keane's most interesting comment was about Pep Guardiola: "His players seem to like him, which I don't understand," said Roy, from which I gathered Keano is in no immediate danger of being chaired shoulder-high around the streets of Sunderland or Ipswich.

Sky did slightly better on the pundits' front, having enlisted Gary Neville, who at least is a recent colleague of the Manchester United players, but unfortunately is too bright to be drawn into a detailed critique of his old team-mates' or manager's failings. In truth, the only punditry that mattered came from my own sofa and my youngest child, who observed: "Their players are better than ours."

I had almost failed to make it for her trenchant analysis, after all trains north from King's Cross on Saturday afternoon were cancelled. It meant joining the legions of lost and bewildered bound for everywhere from Grantham up to Edinburgh, at what a woman bellowing down her mobile phone insisted on calling St Pancreas. Having found a square foot of floor space on which to squat, on a train rumoured to have a better than even chance of making it as far as Sheffield, it was amusing to listen to the guard's sermon on the penalties of holding the wrong ticket which, as we regulars know, involves either giving up a kidney or paying the "full, non‑discounted" price, for which money we could probably have stayed in London and bought a seat next to Michel Platini at Wembley.

I had been hoping to get home to host a little 3D party, having lured my daughter back from university to see the new telly, about which she was very excited, and her father (less so), but, having arrived late, spoiled the evening further by flipping between Sky and ITV to get a flavour of what the two‑dimensional nation was watching. Nor did I endear myself to a Manchester United-supporting son by saying: "It'll be OK to flip now, Barcelona will have the ball for the next 20 minutes." Forgive the personal anecdotage, but be assured I will not go as far as Eurosport's Chris Bradman, commentator at the French Open, who warned of the dangers of Novak Djokovic's gluten‑free diet. "The way is research, find out about it, especially women," said Bradman, who then told us about his daughter's "self-image problems and everything else".

Mostly, though, Eurosport's coverage is a boon for us tennis lovers, being comprehensive and featuring a useful round-up at the end of the day in Game, Set and Mats featuring Mats Wilander, who I suspect was not necessarily the best pundit but is perfectly named for the show. Annabel Croft also appears, shot for some reason at a variety of wacky angles, which I should say is a crime with no victims.

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