Everywhere, sport has fallen into ruin.
Or so the doomsayers reckon.
Spear-tackles, drugs, thuggery, drugs, ball tampering, drugs, diving, sister-sledging, head-butting, drugs. That's without even mentioning boxing (does anyone mention boxing any more?).
So what's new?
An English sports writer, a very good one, implied this week that there were
people on this planet who thought cricket was the last sanctuary of decent sporting conduct, until the Pakistan cricketers and an Aussie umpire put up their dukes at The Oval.
Excuse me.
Didn't W.G. Grace refuse to walk by using the best excuse in history, that the crowd had come to see him? Cheat.
Underarm bowling, underhand betting, ball enhancing substances, a South African cricket captain who tried to talk players out - his own players that is. Ha, ha, ha. The last sanctuary of decent sporting behaviour and all that.
Then there were the two famous Australian cricketers who bet on England, during a test in which they were playing. They wanted a bob both ways, and Both cleaned them up. Then they cleaned up again, at the betting shop.
The funny thing about the sporting "tragedy" going on now is that the crowds keep turning up, and the viewers keep turning the telly on. Talkback runs hot. The stars still earn a fortune, and the public can't get enough.
But here's the good news - there is someone who is really clean.
Tiger Woods.
The trouble is, St Tiger is so squeaky that he finds the middle of the fairway much easier than the front pages.
Jack Nicklaus may still hold golf's most prized record, but when Tiger plays to his best, maybe no one, not even Nicklaus, compares.
Tiger does the lot. Take those occasions when his ball is buried in the beach, and he hits it like the thing was sitting on a castle.
Tiger has just moved into second place on the majors list and he's hauling in the record like a man possessed. Which he is. Sports lovers are charging with Tiger towards a date with history. Or are they?
Because the world kind of yawned, politely, after the PGA on Monday morning. Where are the drugs? Where are the betting slips? Why hasn't he whacked Steve Williams around the chops with a five iron?
For sure, Tiger needs more serious competition, which unfortunately he ain't going to get.
But get with it, Tiger. It's hard drumming up stories all the time about a guy who doesn't arm himself with bourbon and chase waitresses. Clean up your act, pal. Where's the dirt?
