Sport on TV : Unsporting guest and limited torque show

There is tough competition for the title of Most Annoying Entity in Televised Sport. A strong case can be made for Terry Wogan in his latest simpering incarnation fronting Auntie's Sporting Bloomers. Bellowing John McCririck should have the racing vote pretty well sewn up, and Charles Colvile will be similarly unopposed in the cricket category. But one character gets further up the nose than any of his rivals. For sheer boot-through- the-screen irritation-value, Kriss Akabusi is your man.

What is it about Kriss that is so uniquely unappealing? Is it his multi- decibel laugh? Is it that whacking-an-imaginary-punchbag gesture that he does whenever he's pleased with himself? Or is it the fact that he is pleased with himself all the time?

The latest programme to be blighted by the Akabusi effect was A Question of Sport (BBC1), and he is not the kind of passenger that the wheezy old bus needs aboard. Presumably a misguided producer thought that Akabusi might introduce some much-needed energy into a show that has started to look like the place people go when they are too old to appear on They Think It's All Over.

Certainly, joining a line-up that comprised Bill Beaumont, Ian Botham, Sue Barker, Peter Scudamore and Mick Channon, Akabusi added an element of relative youth. But the programme's charm has always rested on its civilised, all-good-chums atmosphere, and Akabusi and gentility are about as synonymous as Michael Schumacher and modesty.

Things got off to a bad start when he warmly applauded his own introduction. They got worse when he leapt from his seat and kissed David Coleman on his shining pate, and deteriorated further when he got into an unpleasant taunting contest with Ian Botham over the identity of the athlete Phyllis Smith. "I'll kick you all the way upstairs in a minute" Botham muttered. Now that would make popular television.

Akabusi patently thinks he is tremendously good value, sweet, appealing and above all killingly funny. He is none of these things, and the time is ripe for a concentrated campaign to get Akabusi to turn down his personal volume control. T-shirt slogans will read "Kris=Crass", and "Don't Get Cross, Switch Off Kriss", and they should sell like hot cakes.

Top Gear Motor Sport (BBC2) is back, and remains as compelling as a recently rag-rolled wall. The producers have clearly searched far and wide for presenters to match the established Tiff Needell, a man whose on-screen style is best described by attaching an S to the front of his name. And they have succeeded. Amanda Campbell, who compiled a report about Touring Cars, demonstrated a seeming inability to change gear, which is as much of a handicap in a commentator as it is in a racing driver. Her range of imagery was pretty limited, too: racing was naturally about "agonies and ecstasies", drivers faced the "white heat" of competition, while team managers were up against "furnaces". In the next breath one of the aforementioned managers described himself as a Mother Hen figure: presumably by the end of a day's racing he's chicken fricasee.

Penny Mallory took over the wheel for a Formula Three report and was similarly lacking in horsepower. For instance, the young British hotshoe, Jonny Kane, keen to make a good impression at Silverstone, stalled his car on the grid and then had the back end of it comprehensively swiped off by a rapid but myopic Argentine. Mallory's verdict: "A disappointing start for Kane."

Tiff's report was cunningly scheduled after his colleagues', so that by comparison he came over like Murray Walker on acid. He was aided further by describing Eurocars, a kind of high-speed demolition derby in which most of the drivers seemed to be well past the first flush of youth.

There is none of the faffing about for a couple of days to decide grid positions that you get in grand prix racing. Eurocar drivers pick their grid positions out of a bin-bag before the race. Not that they make too much difference: if you're stuck behind a Eurocar and you want to be in front of it, you don't have to bother going round the long way, you just drive straight through it. It all looked quite good fun, and if the meeting hadn't been held in the middle of a field in Wales a decent crowd might have shown up. As it was, the cameramen appeared to outnumber the spectators.

Sportsnight (BBC1) addressed the issue of the England coach's job, and confirmed Glenn Hoddle's fitness as a replacement for Terry Venables by replaying a clip of Hoddle on Top of the Pops with Chris Waddle singing "Diamond Lights". One smooth crooner swapped for another. But one issue of national importance remained. What would Jimmy Hill's advice to the new man be? "Well," Jimmy began, "if I were his wife ..." If Glenn were married to Jimmy he'd have a lot more to keep him awake at night than the state of England's midfield.