There was a fascinating line in Mohammad Amir’s confessional in The Times. The young Pakistani cricketer, jailed for spot-fixing, said: “I knew it was unfair to cricket as a sport. Because it is cheating; no matter how minute the deed is, at the end of the day it is cheating.”
That is a fascinating insight into the confused mind of someone who will now routinely be branded a cheat. And it takes us into a debate about why we turn a blind eye to some cheats and have a deep-seated moral indignation, almost a blood lust, regards others.
From outside of cricket Amir’s crime looks mild. He bowled two no balls. Of course, this damaged the credibility and integrity of the sport, as a whole, but it did not actually affect the result of a particular match.
Drugs in athletics are another issue that inspires wholesale condemnation, with the only caveat being about how long people should be banned for. Dwain Chambers is waiting to see whether the Court of Arbitration for Sport will allow him to run at the Olympics. If it does there will be an avalanche of righteousness pointing out his decade-old wrongdoings.
Yet you could argue that a form of cheating that more clearly and categorically affects the outcome of a sporting event, and hence is more heinous, is the diving footballer. Last week I watched Didier Drogba hit the deck holding his face. TV replays clearly showed no contact had been made with his face at all. Yet this got a passing reference in the papers, a sort of nod and wink to the offence tempered by the widespread acceptance of such cheating.
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Now Drogba was merely buying time, or perhaps faintly hoping he might get an opponent undeservedly sent off, but players do this inside the penalty area and thus get penalties. Often these are scored. Matches are routinely won by the spoils of cheating. Nobody cares, other than a bit of post-match bluster. It all evens itself out and all that tosh.
There will be cheats at the Olympic Games because it is human nature to try to make life easier. Depressing? Perhaps, but play a game with a child and see if they are morally upstanding or downright dirty cheats.
Most people quash that instinct as they grow older, but it is worth remembering that Chambers cheated, not because he wanted an unfair advantage, but because he wanted a level playing field and was told his rivals were on drugs. A cursory look at the history of the 100 metres suggests those telling him that had a point. It does not make it right or any less wrong, but it adds context.
We must try to eradicate cheating, but of course we never will. So we can argue about life bans and four year bans and Chambers and Amir, but the truth is cheating is here to stay.
Chambers knew he was putting his life at risk but it did not stop him. Cheats are united in the belief that they will never be caught, by officials or ailing health. That is why the fight must go on because, much as we would like to believe London 2012 will be a festival of innocence, people will always be happy to cheat themselves.