Armchair viewers watching the post-match analysis of Sunday's Clydesdale Bank Premier League match at Easter Road had a devilish glint in their eyes when Tony Mowbray, the Celtic manager, was planted in front of a television camera and asked to defend an alleged dive by Aiden McGeady against Hibernian.
Surely, when Mowbray was confronted by the evidence, which proved conclusively that there had been no contact, he would have to admit that the player had cheated.
Well, not quite. Mowbray, who had seen the incident unfold right in front of his dugout, refused to watch it again, partly out of self-preservation, but also as a matter of principle. For what would the exercise have proved? That there was no foul? Definitely. That McGeady should not have gone to ground? Possibly. That he was cold-bloodedly seeking to deceive the referee? Not in a million years, as Mowbray put it.
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There is cheating and there is cheating. While some of the more sordid episodes can be reduced to black and white, others occupy only the grey areas. Establishing deception in its many forms is not like determining whether all of the ball has crossed the line.
Just as Uefa's decision to charge Eduardo da Silva, of Arsenal, after last week's Champions League play-off round match against Celtic has given hostage to fortune, so Dougie McDonald's decision to dismiss McGeady during the second half of Celtic's 1-0 victory on Sunday has invited problems down the line.
Cheating is not easily separated from the catalogue of minor crimes and misdemeanours committed by tired and emotional footballers in the heat of battle. There also has to be intent, which only the accused is in a position to confirm, if he has been lucky enough to enjoy clarity of thought.
There is such as thing as cheating a little bit, trying your luck, pushing back the boundaries of gamesmanship. If nothing else, supporters want their footballers be competitive, passionate and allergic to defeat, so it's hardly a shock when the fine line is crossed.
Arsène Wenger, the Arsenal manager, admitted that a penalty had been harsh on Celtic at the Emirates Stadium last week, which was not, he said, good reason to brand Eduardo a cheat. Mowbray pointed out that any number of factors might have contributed to McGeady's fall, like momentum, fatigue or loss of balance. Flying wingers are a target for tackles, an injury waiting to happen. Remaining upright can be more dangerous than going to ground.
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McGeady wasn't touched. Of that there is no doubt. And maybe he was at it, which isn't big or clever. The campaign by Gordon Smith, the SFA chief executive, to root out simulation has instilled in the game's followers a keen sense of right and wrong. There is no getting away from it: diving falls, you might say, into the former category.
But come on. Worse things happen at sea. A split-second decision taken on the halfway line by an exhausted player, seeking to gain the advantage demanded by his team's supporters, is hardly up there with match-fixing, career-threatening tackles or even the dreaded spitting. Had McDonald kept his card in his pocket and waved play on, the incident might have disappeared into a sea of other transgressions, from pulled shirts and penalty-box shoves to the haranguing of referees. Attempts to influence the man in charge do not begin and end with simulation.
Divers, though, have become a fashionable target, the means by which those in power can occupy a moral high ground. As McGeady is subjected to a torrent of abuse, referees are surely wondering where it is all going to end. Have they not enough to do in this thankless business of theirs without having to read a player's mind? As Mowbray put it the other evening, there will soon be nobody left on the pitch. With the game's governing bodies now retrospectively charging players with the offence - an action hitherto reserved for violent conduct - is it really worth all the trouble?
Sure, there have been some disturbing cases, but with high-profile players now under microscopic scrutiny, there is growing potential for the most serious offenders to police themselves.
When Kyle Lafferty collapsed in a ridiculous heap at Ibrox last season, an act of deception that persuaded Stuart Dougal to send off Aberdeen's Charlie Mulgrew, the Rangers striker was universally condemned. The SFA subsequently handed him a two-match ban, but his new-found reputation as a kind of village idiot will trouble him more.
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Maybe there is a lesson in that. Let the public be judge and jury. Adopting the laissez-faire approach could mean that a few minor indiscretions go unpunished, but with a blind eye turned to so many already, why not let officials concentrate on the broader picture? Football, at home and abroad, has some pretty serious problems that need addressing, most of them off the pitch. Aiden McGeady is not one of them.