Damian Lanigan is based in New York, but he's home in England for the month of June. That's also the month in which Euro 2000 takes over the British TV schedules. Coincidence?

The first thing I noticed about being back in Europe is the silence. Not on the streets, although the suburbs of South Manchester are somewhat less noisy than those of Manhattan where I usually hang out, but in the sports commentary.

In my time in the States I've become accustomed to commentators who fill every conceivable second of air time with comment, analysis, 'calling it the way it is', in-jokes, speculation, self-boosterism, corporate sloganeering and plugs for upcoming mini-series.

Thus far, Euro 2000 commentators on both UK terrestrial channels still seem to have the ability to let the action speak for itself when that's the best thing to do. Better than that, they have not yet succumbed to the blight that ravages all American sports coverage: statistics.

The big three U.S. sports are covered by TV as if they are a corporation's annual accounts. (Which they are of course in some ways).

Commentary is drenched in a stream of indigestible figures, as if all their viewers process numerical information like a mainframe. ESPN runs at all times at the bottom of its screen a constant stream of numbers that resembles nothing other than a stock ticker. You regret dropping calculus before you went to college.

Mark McGwire's on course to hit over 60 homers again this season. I'll concede that is an interesting comment on his stature as a player. But to be told that he bats .276 in Cincinnati against lefty relievers when there are men on base in fact looks as if it might tell us a lot but in fact tells us nothing at all.

In contrast, in England, most sport is assessed with well-chosen words rather than recitations of logarithmic tables.

Why the difference?

It is tempting perhaps to draw the conclusion that America views sport as being more of a science than an art. All that matters is the final result, and how that can be compared to previous performances, and how as a consequence any give performance can be ranked against all time lists. Maybe the thinking goes that the only way you can really do this is by totting it all up and feeding it into the database.

Interesting also that this affection for the most piffling type of accounting comes from the States, which is also the home of some of the finest sports writing in the world. Whether on baseball, boxing, basketball or golf American writers such as John Feinstein, David Remnick and David Halberstam do it best. They are especially adept at understanding the stories, characters, drama and cultural implications that a box score so blandly conceals.

Such people, and the respect and high status they are accorded is proof that passion for the genuine complexity of sport is not just a Rest of the World phenomenon.

So why so many bloody stats then?

Terrified of the zapper which sits so snugly in viewers' hands, American TV constantly stimulates you with trivia. The idea presumably is that in this state of stupor you'll be too shagged out to check out how the Mets are doing/ whether Ross is still boffing Rachel/ whether the janitor from Boise has won his $250,000. The sensory overload is often so total that three hours of watching basketball is more draining than actually playing it.

One of the joys of football, and one of the reasons it's still essentially an un-American activity, is that it breaks only once in ninety minutes. The networks abhor such a commercial vacuum. Whereas football is fluid, the big three American sports are sliced into innumerable segments, perfect for advertiser intrusion. The Time Out is the networks' favourite part of the game: an opportunity to tell you things you don't need to know, and sell you things you don't need to buy.

My suggestion to American TV is one day a year of nationally declared stat amnesty: one day when all the networks drop the percentages, the averages, the hype, the ads, the b.s. and tell the commentators to speak only when they can tell the audience something they can't see with their own eyes.

One measly day won't upset the big money game, and people will be given the opportunity to watch sports as they were meant to be watched: with the actual game at the centre of it all. They might even want to schedule a couple of soccer games, leaving space only for the only two important stats:

Our score, and theirs.

Beckhamania

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