Let's be honest, John

Sportsmen cannot possibly be morally perfect and picking and choosing which moral failings we will tolerate is a dangerous road to go down.

Pop quiz: which of the following statements is true? √ John Terry's most "juicy secret" is that he used to wear pyjamas branded with the England football team logo. √ John Terry's wife and two children will always come first in his life. √ John Terry wants all the England squad players to be honest with each other.

√ John Terry's favourite golfer is Tiger Woods. The answer, according to "JT" himself, is that all four of them are true. That is, if you believe a fawning magazine interview which currently sits, with exquisite irony, alongside screaming tabloid newspaper headlines which paint a very different picture of the Chelsea and England captain. Those newspaper reports would have us believe that Terry's most juicy secret is his extramarital affair with French lingerie model Vanesssa Perroncel, the former partner of his England teammate Wayne Bridge.

They would suggest that Terry's family only come first after he has popped in to see Mademoiselle Perroncel on the way home. And they would claim that Terry's policy of honesty among the England squad does not extend to telling Bridge about these liaisons dangereuses. As for the bit about him looking up to Woods, that rings pretty true either way. It seems they have quite a lot in common. With the benefit of hindsight, it is easy to dismiss the magazine interview as another piece of vacuous image management from Terry's propaganda machine. Probably the same propaganda machine responsible for that suspiciously professional-looking crowd banner at Stamford Bridge which reads: "John Terry, Captain, Leader, Legover." Sorry, I mean "Legend." But as the debate rages whether JT should be stripped of the England captaincy for his indiscretions, I cannot help but prefer the glossy spin of the magazine hagiology to the cold hard truth of the dailies.

Having qualified for the World Cup and found themselves in a relatively easy qualifying group, English football should be preparing for battle and dreaming of victory. Instead, we furrow our brows and fret about the moral fibre of our captain. Is there another country in the world which would so readily cut off its nose to spite its face? Would the Italians or the French care about the state of their players' marriages? Would the Brazilians? The English should first learn to win, then worry about winning with honour.

As for those who argue that Terry's crime was to betray not his wife but his teammate Bridge, I find their hypocrisy worse than Terry's. It seems utterly twisted to condone a society in which cheating on your spouse is considered less serious than dishonesty toward a work colleague. To pick and choose which moral failings we will tolerate in our sportsmen is a dangerous road to take - and not just because we cannot risk losing Ashley Cole, seasoned love rat that he is, at left back.

Sportsmen cannot possibly be morally perfect. Let's face it, most of us mere mortals have our moments of weakness and we are propositioned by French lingerie models far less frequently than your average Premier League footballer. So let's stop demanding such absurdly high standards from our athletes - and then recoiling in horror when they fail to meet them.

Rugby union fans, be still your beating hearts. With just days left until your highlight of 2010 kicks off, I can already hear the roar of the crowd, the satisfying thud of boot against ball, the crunch of stale popcorn beneath my feet. That's right. I am not talking about the Six Nations tournament, which begins on Saturday but promises little in the way of excitement en route to a French victory. England are plodding, Ireland lack power up front, Wales are beset by injuries to key players and Scotland are ... well, Scotland. (Yes, I know I have ignored Italy in that list. When it comes to rugby, everyone does.) No, the rugby thrill I have in mind comes via Hollywood in the form of Invictus. The movie tells the story of how South Africa became the harmonious racial melting pot we all know and love on a single day in 1995, when they won the Rugby World Cup and Nelson Mandela wore a Springbok shirt.

OK, so he wore it with the top button fastened - 27 years in prison did not crush his spirit but it certainly hampered his fashion sense - but the gesture came to symbolise a thawing of relations between black and white South Africans. Naturally, because there are only 50 million actual South Africans dotted around the planet, they had to find some Americans to play the key roles in the film. Morgan Freeman plays Mandela, which must have been a quick day's work for the casting agent. "Bill Cosby?" "Nah, too fat. Call Morgan instead." Francois Pienaar, meanwhile, is played by the terminally bland Matt Damon, who will no doubt score the winning touchdown in the final minute. Still, it will be nice to enjoy a rugby match in which the only mashed up bones and gouged eyeballs will be those in the hot dogs. Will Batchelor is a writer, broad-caster and self confessed cynical sports fan. [e-mail]