OK, so it was Ryan Giggs, the man with too much money and solicitors who were willing to sue 70,000 individual Twitter users, the man who rather than deny having a dalliance with some reality TV bint tried to keep his name out of the press by means of the English legal system, and then watched it all backfire in a most spectacular way.
And why would an individual do that, well maybe this press clipping might offer a suggestion…
“Giggs, a married father-of-two, is seen as one of the finest modern-day role models for his sport.
In a career lasting more than two decades, the 37-year-old has won countless admirers for the way he has handled fame and the pressures of top-flight football with professionalism and dignity.
In 2007 he was awarded the OBE, and two years later was crowned PFA Player of the Year and BBC Sports Personality of the Year.
There have even been calls from politicians for him to receive a knighthood. Sir Alex Ferguson wrote in his foreword to Giggs’s autobiography: “How I would love to adorn my team sheet with the words ‘Sir Ryan Giggs’.”
Giggs is widely seen as a family man, having married his long-time partner Stacey Cooke in 2007.
On Sunday afternoon the player paraded their two children on the Old Trafford pitch after Giggs collected a record 12th Premier League winners’ medal.”
Ryan Giggs is one of my “Big Daft Lads”, sportsmen who prove my Rule of Sportsmen, the rule that states that professional sportsmen are not endowed of the same brain power as you or I, indeed they do not require the same level of comprehension, social skills, or common sense that you or I require to survive in our daily lives, they do not need to interact in any sort of social environment, they don’t need to get on with the boss or speak to people that they would rather not be seen with but have to be seen with because their mortgage depends on getting paid at the end of the week.
Put simply my Rule of Sportsmen states that at every school in the land there exists in each year at least one young lad who would even admit to himself as being “a bit thick”, the sort of young lad who is “big for his age”, the lad who doesn’t quite fit his legs underneath the desk and looks like his mum introduced him to the follow-on milk perhaps six months too early, these are the lads who are good at sport at school but nothing else.
These big daft lads know everything about every football league back four, every team, right down into the Quick-e-Mart Fourth Division, they know just how many games each team has to win lose or draw to avoid relegation, they are the lads who actually do cut-out-and-keep those FA Cup progress ladders that come free in The Sun and they religiously fill in the scores and the next round draws right the way from the preliminary rounds as if its important, as indeed it is important, to them.
The Big Daft Lads excel only at sport and only in one sport and only in one position in that sport, they are the lads who, as all their friends simply run around a field following the ball, position themselves in a specific place on the field and declare “I am the outside half, you have to pass the ball to my feet for I cannot leave this position to run after it”, they know who they are and they know what they want from an early age, mainly driven by their father who is a former Big Daft Lad.
The Big Daft Lads go on to be the professional sportsmen who are paid an average man’s annual salary every day to do their sports thing in front of people who will pay to watch them, but they remain Big Daft Lads – there is nothing in a professional sportsmans training regime that teaches them anything at all about common sense, or going down the shops for a pint of milk, or just saying “no thank you” when some publicity seeking tart who’s five minutes of fame have passed offers you sex in order to gain another five minutes on the front page of a random tabloid, not even if you are hailed as a role model to all the Big Daft Lads who are currently struggling with Janet and John books in their GCSE year, but are good at sports…