Sex, Drugs and Bat 'n Ball

So Herschelle Gibbs has revealed it’s not really such a gentleman’s game after all.

Not the greatest of contradictions – it is a ghostwritten autobiography, I believe.

How does that work exactly? You want to big yourself up and prove you’re not just a dumb jock, but everyone knows someone else wrote the thing, so really you’re just showing some insecurity or need for recognition.

Or is it because the writer is just lazy and doesn’t want to do any research so he says, Hey!, I’ll just transcribe whatever you say and structure it into some chapter format? A kind of glorified secretary.

I haven’t read ‘The Herschelle Diaries’ or whatever they’re calling it because, well, I don’t really give a shit, but apparently it’s ‘Trainspotting’ meets ‘Shaving Ryan’s Privates ’ meets the ‘Hansie’ movie – sex, drugs and bat ‘n ball!

I have to admit I wasn’t that surprised. Professional cricketers are kind of schoolboy jocks who never had to grow up. I don’t think anyone will disagree with me that playing sport for a living isn’t really a real-real job.

But parents are anxiously biting their toenails, puffing their cheeks out, terrified that their little Southern Suburbs boytjie is going to be negatively influenced by such a prominent ‘role model’.

It’s not like growing a mullet and dangling the new kid feet first off the boarding house balcony has anything to do with their parenting – it’s just teenage antics – and picking up prozzies while smoking a fatty is good fun for a grown up but something you just don’t talk about.

I don’t quite understand why professional sportsmen are considered such great role models in the first place. They spend the greater part of their existence playing a relatively insignificant game – a nice life, I guess, but not really a vocation that adds anything meaningful to society.

I can understand the benefits of exercising outdoors, being part of a team, and slapping your mate’s arse with a wet towel after you’ve showered together, but surely that’s better as a hobby than as a career.

I’d rather my kids idolised someone like Nelson Mandela, the Dalai Lama or even Julius Malema – at least he’s open about what he believes in and not afraid to speak his mind.

Or fictional characters like Atticus Finch who fought racism in the American South, Tyler Durden who turned a generation of disillusioned men against a materialistic society, or Green Lantern who incinerated a planet in order to collect enough power rings so he could unravel reality and recreate it as a much nicer place.

Do we want our children to grow up as brawny meatheads who hit a ball or run fast for a living? Seems ridiculous, but what do I know?

I can only imagine that Herschelle Gibbs – not the not the sharpest shiruken in the ninja utility belt, and ugly as a parking lot – had the pressing need to brag about his sexual exploits and tell everyone how much beer he drank the other night.

Just like every other jock needs to.