Ability to be a role model does not form part of a footballer's job description

The truth is, too, that we had a bit of medical history between us. Once when I was suffering from a severe bout of depression – it followed, coincidentally, the sports editor's Christmas message to staff – he asked me if I was considering "doing anything stupid". Yes, I replied, I am going to do a £100 tricast on the Grand National.

My most recent visit was the statutory one to ensure I was still alive. It is sometimes difficult to tell and he needs to keep his files up to date. My blood pressure was slightly high, but that was entirely attributable to the excitement over league reconstruction.

He advised me to watch my weight. Did not want to stray into his territory, but he was slightly miffed when I said I might be better lowering my weight. "Do more swimming," he suggested. "It doesn't seem to work for whales," I replied, blubbering.

The meeting thus broke up with all the bonhomie of a John Brown press conference.

The reference to the whale also suggested one has to consider carefully before choosing one's role models. The aftermath of an, er, exuberant player of the year function has led to a veritable outcry against the morals and mores of fitba' players. The anguished cry comes from every quarter that footballers are not proper role models. Firstly, some of them are. Secondly, they are not supposed to be role models.

The wails about standards of behaviour are never convincing. Football fans want their players to score or prevent goals. They want someone who kicks the ball very hard and accurately into a net from distances of up to 30 yards. If said performer manages to break sweat on every occasion he pulls on the jersey, then so much the better.

But surely one does not look to a young, adrenalin-packed athlete as holding the key to existence. Looking to footballers as the paradigm for serenity is as daft as asking the Dalai Lama to take a penalty kick at 1-1 in the World Cup final.

Footballers have their life lessons. Ryan Giggs, for example, looks as if he will be playing at the top level at an age when his non-football contemporaries will be attached to a drip. But no-one is going to ask him for marriage advice.

Similarly, Joey Barton sums up all that is best about Twitter in that he is verbally violent, horribly judgmental and regularly funny, sometimes intentionally so. But nobody is going to sit at his feet and drink of his philosophy of life.

Footballers exist to frustrate, irritate and entertain us. Some of them are well-rounded human beings (insert Wayne Rooney joke in here) but most are just young men who have lived their life to regular acclaim.

They have all been praised highly from primary school onwards and some of them have gone on to earn salaries that would make a banker blush. The players' unions, both north and south of the border, understand these realities and have good, edifying programmes to help their members cope with fame and fortunes. But the big problem with footballers is what we expect of them or, rather, what we say we expect of them.

This assumed attitude allows us to groan and whine about the antics of a select group. Here's the real deal. This is a land where a culture of heavy drinking exists and plans to curb it are routinely opposed. This is a world where men can behave badly. Some footballers may both drink heavily and behave badly but most do not.

The pointing of fingers at the antics of men who kick a ball for a living conceals a more difficult truth. The derision of professional players for their poor example blurs a responsibility that we all hold.

A basketball player who had just returned from drugs rehab was once accosted verbally by a fan who screamed: "What kind of role model are you providing for my son?"

The player replied: "Why don't you just let me play basketball and you be the role model for your son?"

It was the response of a sober, rational man. I must remember that feeling of equanimity when the doc next takes out his rubber glove.