IF ONE of the side-effects of performance-enhancing drugs is excessive chest hair, then it is about time some authorities turned their swabs and specimen bottles on themselves.
The sporting world is locked into a perverse cycle, whereby each new revelation about drugs prompts officials and politicians to beat their chests and rattle their test tubes as if they were so many sabres.
When Channel Seven airs claims about two players at a Melbourne club, the AFL deplores the violation of privacy, says it is not proof that drug abuse among footballers is more widespread than previously believed — and then announces that it will double its testing anyway.
When rugby league legend Andrew Johns confesses to career-long drug abuse, a Manly player is told by an Australian Sports Anti-Doping Authority tester: "You guys don't know what you're in for."
Meantime, federal Sports Minister George Brandis foreshadows yet another crackdown on drugs in sport, going to ASADA to ask how it might be achieved. The Federal Government knows that crackdowns work: look, there it is, on page one again.
One of the troubles with the drugs-in-sport debate is that it is not a debate: either you agree with every new and ever more stringent testing regime — more and more tests, less and less slack — or you are soft on drugs.
Life is rarely so simple. For a start, no matter how assiduous the several testing agencies are, there always will be cracks.
Johns says he played Russian roulette with the system for 10 years, and won. National Rugby League chief David Gallop says that under an even tighter regime introduced only in August, he would have been caught. But that is a guess.
Drug-testing works well for swimmers and athletes because their community in Australia is small and easily covered by testers. The football community, by comparison, is vast.
Moreover, according to most research, the incidence of drug abuse among footballers is lower than in the wider community, making the foolish and the cheats small targets indeed.
At roughly $1000 a pop, and since a year is still 365 days long, authorities cannot redouble the number of tests endlessly, much as they would like to give that impression. The cost would be prohibitive.
The argument about the appropriate number of strikes — three in the AFL, two in the NRL — is semantic. Fewer strikes would "out" more players, and satisfy more tub-thumpers, but give no clearer indication of the scale of the problem.
Tub-thumpers say that outing and suspending offending players would make an example of them. It's all about "sending the right message", a phrase used by authorities and government alike. Sportsfolk must live up to their obligation as role models, or else.
It is a sentiment that resonates like the beating of fists on a chest.
But the concept of example is problematic.
Reportedly, many close to Johns knew of his addiction. But to the wider world, it came as a shock. Hitherto, Johns was a fine example. Overnight, he became a wretched example. If only example mattered, it would have been best for him to say nothing.
Sportsmen and women do have a higher duty to their publics. Overwhelmingly, they accept it.
Several years ago, AFL players agreed to a stricter drugs code than required by any agency at the time.
Since, their goodwill in making that agreement has been sorely tested, but they have not backed down. This week, rugby league players have said they would tolerate a testing blitz, uncomfortable as it might be, if it meant a cleaner code.
So this latest rush to test sportspeople in their every waking moment smacks of something other than good governance. It smacks of an expedient exercise to devolve all responsibility for the drug scourge in society onto the shoulders of sporting heroes. It smacks of turning a hobgoblin into a witch and then — triumphantly — hunting it.
There is too much convenience here. Authorities rail against drugs because it is easy to rail against drugs.
There is no concurrent call for extra zealous testing of sportsfolk for alcohol. Alcohol, unlike drugs, is not illegal, but abuse of it is. But that idea might be too close to some homes for comfort.
Ideally, sport would be drug-free. Soccer in Australia has that aim, and good for it. Practically, most footballers already are conforming to a higher standard of vigilance and sanction than any others in the community, their paymasters included.
They are setting an example already.
If Johns had been caught for a drug offence as a footballer, hardliners would have had him strung up instantly.
But when he was caught for a drug offence as a citizen, he was given a caution and a chance. He used it to come clean.
