FREE THE ZIMBABWE ONE!

Ah, the stench of corruption. The vile pus of chicanery seeping from all sides. The machinations of evil men, as they worm their way to the heart of this once noble sport, buying and selling people and then casting them aside like dogs, all in desperate pursuit of filthy lucre, all in homage to the grisly forces of Mammon.

Yes, George Foreman is the new Heavyweight Champion of the World.

The incredibly old and fat Foreman laid out the defending champion Michael Moorer with a punch that was felt throughout the world of boxing, a punch that meant one thing above all others: when Mike Tyson gets out of jail, he and the 75-year-old Foreman will be put in a boxing ring together with a view to generating zillions of dollars for themselves, but principally for grand old types like Don King and Bob Arum.

George is probably old enough and ugly enough to keep some of his money, but it will be interesting to see how Iron Mike is divested of his wad the second time around.

This stuff is now beyond circus or pantomime: it is strictly farce, of an extremely low nature.

The convicted rapist versus the auld fella. At least in the world of professional wrestling, this kind of thing is transparently fraudulent. At this stage heavyweight boxing does not even possess the absurd theatricality of wrestling, with demented old women clattering the likes of Mick MacManus or Big Daddy with their handbags.

Meanwhile, Bruce Grobbelar has been accused by The Sun of fixing a few football matches. I mean, who gives a shit about such nickel-and-dime stuff?

Before I examine this issue further, I would like to point out that Bruce is “the clown prince of football,” and that goalkeepers are mad. I just want to get this out of the way now, so it need not trouble us again, for as long as we may live.

So what is the Foul Play verdict on Brucie, in the light of the alleged crisis of confidence in the Premier League, with Big Ron, Little Ossie, Mournful Mike and Gerry Francis cashing their managerial chips, and El Tel apparently raising money from non-existent public houses?

I have a feeling that The Sun’s vengeful pursuit of Grobbelar looks a lot more incriminating than it might, in actuality, have been.

My initial reaction was that the Jungle Man is as guilty as fuck, as guilty as Guilty Jack McGuilty, winner of the Guiltiest Man of the Year competition .

And then I put myself in the position of Paddy McEntee, the world’s greatest defence lawyer, and decided that, compared to some of Paddy’s more ambitious efforts, this one sounds, not exactly like a piece of piss, but certainly with excellent prospects for successful urination.

It seems clear that Bruce has some rather unsavoury associates, and that, in such circles, the idea of money changing hands in unorthodox circumstances would be a pretty accepted norm.

But there was also the possibility that he was just bullshitting, plain and simple. We know not the exact nature of his relationship with the business partner, Mr. Chris Hutchins, who shopped him to the hounds of Wapping, but it is fair to assume that it might involve one or the other of them lying through his teeth from time to time.

So Bruce tells this guy that he stitched up the Newcastle game, and that he would sort out another little bonanza this season, when Southampton visited Liverpool. He is seen accepting a bundle of money, believed to be £2,000.

All I can say is that if Bruce and his associates are supposed to be speculating in this way, then they must be the most mug-like of all the mug punters that ever darkened the portals of an S.P. Office.

With 22 players on the field, and only one of them bought and paid for, this mysterious syndicate was basically pissing away its money. Do they sound like men who piss away money for no good reason? I think not.

So Bruce allegedly made a couple of blinding saves against Manchester United by mistake. Are we just talking about a completely mad bastard here, or is there a simpler explanation? Then he selects a game against Liverpool for his next killing. Of all the fixtures he could have picked, this is surely the one in which most attention could be focused on him. He is bitter about the leaving of Liverpool, and yet he apparently decides to let in a few soft goals against them.

How mad of a mad bastard is this man?

The only questionable act of goalkeeping in this entire business was the one he let in against Coventry. But the result apparently went against him anyway, as any sane person might reasonably have speculated.

Anyone can approach a goalkeeper with £40,000, and ask him to perform certain services. It does not make him guilty of anything, but it looks bad if he doesn’t immediately show them the door.

Basically, this looks bad, but it doesn’t mean that Grobbelar did anything on a football pitch which might be construed as a fix. The weight of evidence would tend to the contrary.

If you are scared shitless of the person offering you a bribe, it would be understandable that you might shoot them a line or two for a quiet life.

As was said of Frank Sinatra and The Mafia, if a guy who you know has killed 20 people puts his arm around you and calls you his buddy, you will probably smile for the camera.

It looks bad. Anything else remains to be proven.