What about that then, the judges shocking the world by giving the verdict to the underdog when everyone seemed to have thought it was a foregone conclusion.

Enough though of X Factor, and onto David v Goliath, battles of biblical proportions, slingshot, giant references and everything else that Sky threw into the mix to hype up the clash between Haye and Valuev.

But for once the expectations pummelled the hype on a fantastic weekend of pugilism, starting on Friday night with Sky crossing the Irish Sea armed to the teeth with Oirish clichés, although the diddly-dee music seemed to have been held at customs.

Other things of note, Dave Clark pronouncing Magherafelt properly, no mean feat, although the much easier Dungiven proved a tongue twist too far for MC John McDonald, but with Martin McGuinness looking over your shoulder, you can forgive him for being a tad jumpy.

Other points of note from Paul McCloskey's great win (available on subtitles for those of you south of Glengormley) was that he ran a Spar shop — well he would, but it was not that near so far for Rogie at the Odyssey.

He come out swinging like an angry windmill, had a great round five, staggered about like someone usually seen in the car park in the wee small hours of a Saturday and then we had a break and came back to see him sitting like someone flu-ridden, head bowed and covered in a towel.

“Lads, come on, wrap it up,” he barked at some punters in the post-bout chat, as usual all friendly cuddles after weeks of threatening to rip the other's favourite pet's limbs off and hit them with the sticky ends.

No similar fate for Haye, although you would have thought that with Dave, Johnny Nelson and Glenn McCrory safely returned from the Emerald Isle (ah, begorrah), and with all that pay per view dosh burning a hole in their shorts, they could have shipped them out to Nuremburg, with the fat Aled Jones, sorry, Nicky Piper.

Still room for a few clichés about trials, Ian Darke telling us the arena was built on the site of Hitler's former stomping ground, but there was still room for an angry little man, in the shape of Jim Watt, who, at no stage, thought Haye had won.

For me, the fight was a draw but what do I know, I was more concerned as to why Valuev, the beast from the East (not Julian Simmons it turns out), had Willie Carson training him, and whether his head would stay on after being cuffed around the bake near the end.

He was wobbling about like the big puppets on It's A Knockout and I half expected Stuart Hall to turn up laughing manically about the Russians being in trouble, but the real reason for Haye's victory soon became clear — he's a Millwall fan.

He fights Danny Baker in his first defence, I would use the joker in that one.