WITTINGLY or not, Ben Cousins was always a role model. Now he is an example, too. Not so long ago, Cousins stood as the ideal of an AFL footballer — good-looking, fit, talented, highly accomplished, with the world at his feet.

Inescapably, many aped him, took their cues from him, looked up to him. As much as Chris Judd might argue that footballers do not choose to be models, it is the way of the world.

Then, ignoring warnings even from police, Cousins began to dabble in the shadow world of gangsters and drugs. This made him a dangerous force in the football community. He was still popular. His brushes with the law were celebrated. His edgy lifestyle was mythologised. He remained glamorous. Many — most — still looked up to him.

Then came the fall. Episode by episode, an ugly truth was laid bare.

Today, Cousins is a footballer without a reputation, a club, an income and a registration to play the game for at least a year. Moreover — and more to the point — he is a drug addict, as he admitted in so many words for the first time yesterday. Today, no-one looks up to Cousins. At him, yes — some sympathetically, some scornfully. Up to him, no.

Perversely, it is in this humiliating new role that Cousins may yet achieve his greatest good.

All can see now that a footballer's invincibility is only ever an illusion. All can see that the erring footballer will pay a heavy price if caught. All can see that the drugs path is ruinous; for Cousins, it led to a recent day when he was curled up on the floor of flat in Los Angeles, lost, sick and scared. All can see the truth of the aphorism that ultimately, a man has only his reputation.

Prima facie, Cousins appears to grasp this new reality, that in the effort to redeem his own health and image, he might act as a cautionary tale to others.

Previously, Cousins was careful not to admit to illicit drug use, insouciant in manner and dress when appearing publicly — in court, on television — and only as sorry as others asked him to be.

Yesterday, he wore a new and expensive suit. Reportedly, he surprised commissioners in a long and gruelling hearing with his frankness. After it — unbidden — he addressed the media en-masse for the first time since this whole wretched business began. Cousins apologised, and this time appeared to mean it.

Attitude, attire and apology are all semantics, of course; for all can be dressed up. But they pointed yesterday to a sense of a man chastened to find himself in his new and lowly circumstances and determined to do something about it.

Of course, insolence and hubris would have gained Cousins nothing yesterday. But it is only fair now to take him at his word. AFL chief executive Andrew Demetriou said he would.

Cousins has taught the AFL a lesson, too. If it was innocent or naive about drugs previously, it never will be again. It meets again in December to review its drugs policy, and Cousins will exercise its minds vigorously.

A tightening from the three strikes to two remains possible.

Commission chairman Mike Fitzpatrick said he thought long and hard about whether the Cousins case had damaged the game and concluded that he had not.

This appeared to contradict the finding that he has brought the game into disrepute. But Fitzpatrick said the Cousins case also had strengthened the game's understanding and resolve to deal not only with drugs, but all anti-social behaviour.

In the end, the verdict was finely weighed.

The AFL was right also to leave the door open for Cousins, but right to stand four-square on threshold, rule book in hand.

Cousins might play football again one day, but will not walk back into the game as if nothing had happened. Apart from the stringent conditions he must meet, he will be 30 when his suspension expires. It's up to him. It always was.