No Doubt about it, there are two great tear-jerkers: love and sport. And while the first is a messily irrational dog-fight with regard for neither fair play nor rules, the second should be so clear-cut: first past the post wins and, post-mortems aside, the losers are also heroes.
It may once have been so, but it is all very different now. Even Shakespeare would be left wondering at the excesses which sport inspires and indulges. Sportsmanship is a forgotten courtesy. Not only do most of the competitors appear to hate each other almost as much as they hate themselves, they seem to dislike their chosen sport which is merely another way of going to the office. Are professional footballers really angry and tormented, or is it just an act? The most idiotically romantic of fans would have to concede that, what with commercialism, professionalism, agents, petulant superstars and urine samples, most sports have long since lost their innocence. Who would have thought there would come a time when sportsmen would appear on TV defending the correctness of their urine? Yet random glimmers of pure emotion remain.
Kissed the screen
When Steffi Graf won this year's French Open tennis championship, I was in Weimar, shouting and cheering with a group of natives, two of whom kissed the TV screen while others punched the air. Beethoven's Ode to Joy was sung as it has never been sung before. Even the TV newsreaders looked triumphant. The heroic Graf, seven times Wimbledon champion, has had her share of grief - little of which, such as her father's tax evasion and a demented fan's stabbing of rival Monica Seles, was of her own making. But her comeback from injury was the stuff of Hollywood. Just a month later, how different it all was: the story ended as Graf, at 30 the beaten Wimbledon finalist, watched Lindsay Davenport hold that famous silver salver aloft.
In another life Graf could have been a tremendous 800 metres runner. If, if, if - the world of sport is full of ifs. She will be missed. More than ever, we need quality champions like her.
Sport stories used to be about great performances. It was always exciting when a new world record was announced on the evening news. Remember the glory days of Sebastian Coe and his revision of the middle-distance world records? When his 16-year-old 800 metres record was finally bettered in August 1997, my throat tightened at the memory of Coe at his greatest. The image of the three Brits - Coe, Cram and Ovett - on the back straight in the Los Angeles 1,500 metres final remains frozen in time. Coe was the first man to retain an Olympic 1,500 metres title - a feat glorious enough to earn forgiveness for his spell as a Tory MP.
Lost glamour
Now world records have lost their glamour. Track and field - one of the truly great sports - has entered a sick twilight zone thanks to the Grand Prix circus and drugs. The recent allegations surrounding Linford Christie are so bizarre. Why would a sprinter who has collected Olympic, World, European and Commonwealth 100 metres titles bother messing about with drugs after he has retired? What really happens in these drug testing labs? How long are samples kept? Surely if he had that level of chemicals in his body, the more interesting question is not how fast he was running, but the fact that he was still alive? Why didn't he explode? Why risk your life when there is nothing left to prove? Why risk your life, full stop? Of course there is a mistake. He must have been tested 100 times, as was another veteran sprinter, the regal Jamaican Merlene Ottey, whose preferred facial expression is invariably one of righteous disdain for the world at large. She failed a test in July. While it is conceivable that both of these physically vain 39-year-old perfect specimens may well be searching for the secret of eternal youth, it is difficult to accept that either of them knowingly took drugs.
Considering the unknown number of drug cheats who have won gold medals and set world records and eluded detection, who nowadays remembers the tragedy of the 16-year-old US swimmer Rick de Mont, who took the Olympic men's 1,500 metres freestyle in Munich in 1972 in a world record time, only to be disqualified because the banned substance ephedrine was in his asthma medication. Whereas we used to speculate about the outcome of finals, now a queasy unease lurks about whose urine sample we will be discussing next. How much longer can the international sports authorities delay introducing blood tests?
Moments of grandeur
Yet for all the scandals, the World Athletics Championships in Seville had their moments of grandeur, the most magnificent of which had to be Michael Johnson's 400-metre world record - surpassing the figure set by Butch Reynolds in 1988 who himself failed a drug test and spent years and millions professing his innocence.
Ciaran McDonagh, the long-jumper from Athboy whose 10th place should be celebrated as a major achievement, confirmed that there is still a place for individuals who battle without state assistance. But as for the real hero of the championships, it must be Ludmila Engquist, the Russian 100-metres hurdler and Olympic champion, who competes for Sweden. Her bronze medal this time beats everything. Thanks to her, Johnson, Maurice Greene, Jackson, Hicham El Guerrouj, Haile Gebrselassie and others, the battered but still magnificent sport of athletics last week regained traces of its former grandeur.