So where, dear reader, are you watching Euro 2000? Personally speaking, Foul Play tends to plump for the creature comforts of a private screening in O Brien Towers these days.

I am eschewing the pub option during this tournament, having not forgotten what nearly happened to me in a city-centre hostelry during England v Spain at Euro 96, when a typically well-chosen bon mot almost landed me the beating of a lifetime.
The International Bar is, of course, always an alternative. But even that fine establishment tends to be crawling with English people during the summer. Nothing wrong with that, except that it makes the espousal of Portuguese or German allegiance an unnecessarily provocative venture.
So a private screening it is, with a bag of junk food lying by my feet, and a newspaper or two within reach in case the game is a full-blooded stinker.
Indeed, for that crucial opening-night encounter between Belgium and Sweden, Foul Play kept plenty of reading material close to hand: the business and property sections of the Indo, the last three issues of VIP and a copy of the Irish Times left open at Kevin Myers Irishman s Diary.
The drawing-room of O Brien Towers also has a nice soft armchair-rest that you can thump with your fist when things go wrong. As opposed to the International, where the hard unyielding marble of the bar counter bore the brunt of my knuckles (and vice versa) when Paul Ince scored that late equaliser for Liverpool against Man United last year.
Recently, my ostensibly private screenings of matches have often been doubled in attendance, due to the presence of a close associate, a GAA-type person from Leitrim.
In spite of his race, this creature is sometimes useful to have around the place during big games.
He acts, in his own crude way, as a counter-balance to my own excesses, laughing like a drain as I attempt to explain away United s defensive failings against the likes of Real Madrid and Fiorentina, and helpfully distracting me whenever I start swearing uncontrollably at the TV by ordering me to fetch him another beer from the fridge.
Moreover, due to his general indifference as to who wins (he doesn t support any team in particular), his studied air of sang froid during the proceedings always makes me feel like an immature, partisan, tribally-minded prick, as I roar on my heroes, or whoever is facing Ingerland.
I didn t bother inviting this guy around for the Germany game on Saturday night.
Once you are comfortably ensconced in your armchair, with your junk food and your Times Square With Brendan Glacken at the ready, it is time for the serious business of deciding which channel to watch the games on.
Over the past couple of years, many people have come up to Foul Play on the street and explained how their choice of match coverage encompasses watching the game itself on ITV, before switching back to RTE for the half-time and full-time punditry.
This is no reflection on the quality of George Hamilton s commentaries (especially when he has the peerless John Giles beside him). Rather, it displays a desire to be treated to the wit and wisdom of Ron Atkinson on ITV.
Big Ron was the man who summed up Egypt s defensive obduracy against Ireland at Italia 90 with the words: Yeah, they re holding out very well. You d expect a team of their sort of nationality to lie down easily. Strangely, no fatwa ensued.
Of the studio pundits, Dunphy is as compelling as ever. Holding court in his seat next to Liam Brady, who clearly can t stand him, he has been on top form since Euro 2000 got underway, shamelessly feeding his pathological addiction to charged language.
In one five-minute spell immediately after England v Germany, he likened Kevin Keegan to Forrest Gump, informed us that I never grew up wanting to be Nick Barmby (riiiiiiiight), and proclaimed that this country needs more slums and right-wing dictatorships to help with the creation of a decent Irish XI (don t ask).
The man is a national treasure, of sorts, even if his disturbing resemblance to Samuel Beckett is growing more pronounced by the week. Now, if only he would stop giving us the dreary details of the bets he s placing on each game
As for the anchormen, if you find Lynam too self-consciously droll and Lineker too nicey-nicey, then Bill O Herlihy is your only man.
O Herlihy couldn t look any more avuncular if he was smoking a pipe while Jim Reeves greatest hits echoed through the studio, and as ever, he has been the epitome of genial unflappability while guiding us through the wastelands of games like Spain v Norway, Slovenia v Norway, and Yugoslavia v Norway.
His often mindless patter ( And I think it s fair to say, John Giles, that if the ball goes between the posts, and under the bar surely that s a goal! Would I be right in saying that? ) grates slightly at times. But RTE would be well advised to keep him in the saddle for as long as his health allows for all sorts of reasons.
One of those reasons is immaculately groomed, speaks in a Dort accent, presents a lot of RTE s rugby coverage, and is probably next in line to O Herlihy s throne.
I suppose you could say that he Ryles me.