THERE is something about television that brings out the worst in people. I'm not talking experienced, or reasonably experienced commentators here, although some can be as toe-curlingly embarrassing as the clowns whom Channel 4 pundit John McCririck seems to tow around the racecourses.

The gulf between professional presenters and "pseudos" is made glaringly obvious by the fact that television can be a searingly destructive media, stripping bare anyone unprepared for its all-consuming exposure.

Michael Parkinson, Jeremy Paxman, Sir David Frost, Trevor McDonald, Esther Rantzen, Carol Vorderman, were born to it. Even McCririck, whose on-air eccentricities mask a razor-sharp mind and meticulously-prepared statistics, took to the medium like a duck to water.

Like many in television, particularly those who control it, "Big Mac", as McCririck is labelled, knows the majority of viewers are watching in the hope of being "entertained". They don't necessarily want to "think". Consequently much of what is served up is dross; a mixture of soaps, game shows and dreadful "reality TV". The appalling Big Brother, for example, and Blind Date, whose contestants seem to be chosen for their willingness to embarrass and humiliate themselves, and others, before an audience of millions.

I believe a weakness lies in promoting former sporting legends to anchor or perform similarly important roles in the media. Being a gifted sportsperson doesn't necessarily equate to being a first class television presenter.

Former soccer player Garth Crooks, who has somehow managed to obtain and keep a job with the Beeb as a roving interviewer in its football programmes, must have graduated with honours from the Sarah Cox/Zoe Ball Academy of Utter Banality.

And how has Ian Wright been elevated from goal predator on the football field to chat and game show host? Whatever the reason, he is now a "TV personality".

His attempt to turn the BBC's World Cup panel of experts into a vaudeville act was strangely at odds with Alan Hansen and Martin O'Neill who, though plainly ill at ease with each other, did their best to make half-time and post-match comments informative and lucid. Pity "Wrighty" couldn't take the same route -- but then he does have an image to maintain.

And whose idea was it to pick Paul Gascoigne as an armchair critic? When inevitably his studio contributions descended into chaos, Gazza was sent on a walkabout which was so bad it was almost good. Whoever signed him up should be marched out and summarily executed.

I mentioned earlier the impact John McCririck has on racegoers. Week after week, legions of idiots jostle to wave and grin at the camera or make obscene gestures, which they consider hilariously funny.

I can imagine what a passing extra terrestrial would make of Big Mac, his OTT clothes and the morons who crowd around him. "If this is earth, beam me up Scotty" -- or whoever is driving the inter galactic lorry!

To be honest, there are times when I would cheerfully hitch a ride with them if ever Bromley Cross was targeted for a fact-finding mission. I can't believe they'd have anyone as sad as Big Mac's camp followers, Blind Date contestants or Big Brother "inmates" on the Planet Zog.