KEY POINTS:
Tempting though it is to dismiss the Andrew Johns drugs story as a bad boy caught with his hand in the ecstasy jar; another I'm-bigger-than-the-world leaguie with more cash than common sense; it is starting to look as though he had a genuine problem.
Sure, he's got a
book coming out and sales will no doubt be enhanced by all this but even the most cynical perspective couldn't maintain that he walked about London with ecstasy in his pocket just to boost sales.
No, in the TV interview, Johns wore the look of a man who wanted to get caught. He even called it "playing Russian roulette" and seemed surprised he hadn't been caught during his playing career.
In addition, he was pinched while boarding a train in London with no ticket, having been "buzzed through" by a woman.
This was during the Notting Hill carnival - a mixture of music, culture, food and street crime which attracts about a million people and which sees London police turn out in force. A friend of a friend was once robbed in a telephone booth at the carnival. They took his watch and shoes. The carnival can be great fun but is no place for the faint-hearted.
Johns' attempt to skirt the train ticket was either the arrogance of an over-paid leaguie or, maybe, a cry for help; another subconscious attempt to get caught. Whatever the truth, Johns' reputation has suffered a big dent. So has rugby league which, it now appears, was a tacit accomplice.
It was an open secret that Johns was a drinker and a user. His brother Matthew said, when the phone call came from London, that he thought it was to tell him of Andrew's death, given his "reckless behaviour".
Matthew Johns also said: "A lot of that stuff ... rightfully or wrongfully, we kept to ourselves - his ups and downs and what not.
"I probably didn't have the guts to act. I take certain responsibility in there as well."
Funny how people seem to take responsibility after the event, isn't it? Funny how lots of them say they knew but did nothing. What the hell were Matthew, the Johns family, the NRL and his Newcastle Knights team-mates (who apparently knew about his habits) thinking?
But the biggest piece of crud pie in this nasty-taste-in-the-mouth episode belongs to the NRL. Chief executive David Gallop admitted he had heard rumours of Johns' drug taking. Huh?
Johns had been tested 17 times and never returned a positive test. He had, Johns said, played on the Friday, taken the drugs after the game and it was out of his system by Monday. So you could drive a transcontinental oil tanker through the NRL's drug-testing system then.
Who are they kidding? It defies belief that someone as well known as Johns and with habits similarly well known, apparently, can emerge unscathed and undetected from such a long career.
None of this is intended to deflect blame from Johns. If you're smart enough to elude detection in a drugs test, you are smart enough to seek help for any problem.
Some will have it that sports stars should be treated the same way as ordinary folk when it comes to recreational drugs (ie no big deal). But they are not ordinary folk.
They sign a contract with club and country. They earn a lot of money in a short period. They owe it to team, coach and fans to be at their peak - not leaching ecstasy out of their system.
They have an unwritten contract with us, if you like, to perform.
Johns' confession has also dropped his sport in a nasty, smelly mess. The game, as well as Johns himself, is seen to be paying the merest of lip service to one of the biggest blights facing sport.
The Tour de France stands as the biggest indictment of performance-enhancing drugs ruining a sport. Johns' drugs were not performance-enhancing and maybe he does have a genuine problem instead of being just another meathead.
But he has cheated us all over that period. Couldn't handle the pressure? Bunkum, not if you watched him win games in intense pressure situations. What could he have done if he'd been drugs-free? What might we have seen then?
About four months ago, I wrote a column in the Listener on how Andrew Johns should be admitted to the Australian rugby league hall of Immortals.
After extolling the way Johns had changed the game and how he was such an ambassador for his sport, I ended with the line: "If he's not an Immortal then, to borrow an Australian friend's expression, my backside is a pineapple."
Fruit salad, anyone?