KEY POINTS:
Forty-five years ago this month, at Lancaster Park, a small boy - oh, all right then, me - politely asked England's opening batsman David Sheppard for his autograph.
Politeness got me nowhere. There was no fleeting half-smile or regretful shake of the head; the future bishop and member of the House of Lords rebuffed me with the hauteur of a maharajah brushing off a beggar.
Although I was mightily peeved at the time, I came to thank Sheppard for teaching me a valuable lesson: that the public image and the private individual aren't necessarily one and the same. Or to put it another way: being exceptional in a given field of endeavour doesn't necessarily make you an exceptional human being.
F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote that the very rich "are different from you and me" to which Ernest Hemingway replied: "Yes, they have more money." Likewise, outstanding sportspeople are different from you and me only - in most cases - insofar as they are much better at sport. My autograph book went in the rubbish bin. I haven't asked for an autograph since.
In those days cricket - particularly in England - had an ingrained booze culture. Perhaps Reverend Sheppard restricted himself to the occasional sherry but team-mates, such as the great fast bowler Fred Trueman and the supremely elegant batsman Tom Graveney, were renowned for being partial to a pint or eight.
Jesse Ryder has a long way to go before he warrants comparison with those two on any criteria other than thirst and, frankly, I doubt that he possesses the talent or the constitution that enabled Sir Ian Botham to stay up till all hours drinking cognac the night before scoring a blazing century against India.
Yes, Ryder made an absolute goat of himself and vindicated those sceptics who questioned whether the leopard had changed his spots but did his misdemeanours really warrant such a public humiliation?
Why, for instance, was the proposed mentoring from reformed bad boy Norm Hewitt, who now seems to be to wayward sportsmen what Red Adair was to burning oil wells, a running news story as opposed to a private discussion?
And was New Zealand Cricket boss Justin Vaughan wise to give a hostage to fortune by indicating that Ryder is now one indiscretion away from being consigned to cricketing limbo?
I suspect the public is less exercised by Ryder's lapse than the NZC and the media, regarding the self-inflicted injury that has stalled his promising career as rough justice. I suspect too that Ryder's Animal House persona has as much to do with his burgeoning folk hero status as his ability to hit a cricket ball.
The enduring popularity of rogues such as Botham and Shane Warne is a reminder that the public reserves its deepest affection for flawed rather than squeaky-clean sporting heroes and will forgive their periodic falls from grace as long as they perform on the field.
A sense of perspective is useful. Young men with a few too many under their belts have been behaving insufferably since the year dot.
Of course, there are responsibilities associated with representing your country but this has been a particularly dizzying rise to stardom: before Christmas Ryder could turn out for his club at Karori Park without attracting a second glance.
His sins certainly pale in comparison with those of Australian rugby player Matt Henjak, finally and reluctantly cast adrift by the Western Force after breaking a teammate's jaw.
You might wonder why Henjak has been able to go around hitting people - he'd previously assaulted a club official, his boss' son and members of the public - without attracting the attention of the police.
At least one of his victims was paid off; the others presumably chose not to press charges. The moral of the story would seem to be that if you're a public figure looking for a fight, pick on someone who'll be equally keen to hush it up afterwards.
Speaking of victimless crimes, real and otherwise, another Australian rugby player, Wendell Sailor, this week compared himself to a caged lion as he prepares to resume his career when his two-year ban for cocaine use expires next month.
And speaking of cocaine, one of our greatest Olympians, Mark Todd, has announced he's getting back in the saddle after eight years in retirement. Shortly before the 2000 Olympics, Todd was the victim of an English tabloid hidden camera sting that purported to show him taking cocaine.
The eventing selectors sensibly chose to turn a blind eye. Displaying a worldliness rare among sporting administrators, one of them declared: "If he did take it, it was probably a one-off thing. I don't give a hoot."
