I don’t shed a tear for Wayne Rooney and his marital problems right now. That’s because I don’t bloody care.
I don’t care that he had sex with prostitutes while his wife was four months pregnant.
I don’t care that Rooney didn’t give a thought to sleeping with a woman whose business it is to sell intimate moments: both her own and now, obviously, those of one of the most famous footballers in the world.
I don’t care that his philandering mimics several of his teammates — including John Terry screwing over his best mate, Wayne Bridge… as well as the cheating Ashley Cole (lovely fellow), Peter Crouch and David Beckham.
I don’t care that these are players whose fame and wealth allow them to do whatever they want… to pretty much whoever they want.
I don’t care that some of their marriages now hang in tatters and that they’ve been forced to pay for expensive divorces… or at least to pay out hush money.
I don’t care that these guys are being called out as failed role models.
I DO care that sports reporting has become OJ’ed, just like the mainstream news: less handle, more scandal.
I DO care that players are worried about publicly humiliated for something other than their match day performance.
And I DO care that the media might be causing turmoil in the England camp, by seizing on a personal scandal, just to sell papers.
For chrissakes, just watch the #%^&ing game…