There was something deeply depressing about last week's Late Late Show when Sunday Times journalist David Walsh appeared alongside Stephen Roche to discuss allegations that the former cyclist had used the performance enhancing substance EPO during his career. Not depressing because the honesty of another Irish sporting legend was being called in to question, but depressing because, yet again, the messenger was being riddled with bullets (fired by some members of the audience and the majority of those who rang the RTE switchboard) and, most wearisome of all, was being dismissed as a "begrudger".

Of course, the journalists at the forefront of the investigation into the Michelle de Bruin affair - Walsh, Paul Kimmage (Sunday Independent), Paul Howard (Sunday Tribune) and Tom Humphries (The Irish Times) - were begrudgers too, because they asked questions. Those who didn't were patriots.

When the answer finally came in Lausanne last year they were flooded with hate mail from people who were angry that the questions had been asked in the first place. The same people who believe only the Chinese and Russians cheat in sport and that De Bruin was the victim of a conspiracy.

After all, the Irish never cheat, they're pure as the driven snow, as our recent tribunals have taught us.

For those prepared to listen to the evidence against Roche - roughly, that his name appeared in the files of a Prof Francesco Conconi which detailed extensive use of the drug by a number of top athletes under his care - and to listen to his own defence with an open mind, it's difficult not to wonder about the tactics of those who have rallied to his side. "He (Walsh) may well rue the day he legitimised the case of the man from the (Sunday) Times, bastion of the Rupert Murdoch empire where Paddies are generally regarded as thick," wrote one journalist last week, one who chose to introduce the green card to a debate where, clearly, it had no place.

With friends like that, Stephen, your enemies must be a sight to behold. And if they are so sure of their case, why do they feel the need to personalise the whole affair, play that green card and not stick to the facts?

Interestingly, this journalist, the sports editor of a Sunday newspaper, claimed that Roche "won easily on points against the lightweight journalist", but went on to add that he "should never have appeared on the Late Late to protest his innocence against allegations of drug abuse - and he may well live to regret it . . . (he) may well now discover that anything he said will be taken down and used in evidence against him". Work that one out.

I know I can sleep at night, I know in my heart and mind nothing can come back to haunt me because nothing is there, no one can produce anything," Roche said when first confronted with the allegations. It's hard to imagine that there isn't a man, woman or child in this country who doesn't want to believe him and doesn't want to discover that there exists a perfectly innocent explanation to prove that the allegations against him are groundless.

Because, after all, Roche's 1987 Tour de France victory, never mind his Giro d'Italia and World Championship triumphs of the same year, was, probably, the most thrilling, stirring and greatest single sporting achievement by any Irish man or woman.

And to those screaming "begrudger", no one delighted in Roche's success more, or wrote about it with as much joy or so eloquently, than David Walsh. Work that one out.

So painful is the prospect that that achievement might now be tarnished, the classic "Sure, weren't they all at it?" line is being offered by those uncomfortable with the Conconi files.

And it's always a tempting line, one that was used ad nauseum during the De Bruin investigation. But then you reread Paul Kimmage's book, A Rough Ride, first published in 1990, and you remember why it is so important that we never take refuge in the" Sure, weren't they all at it?" argument.

You can usually dismiss the blurbs on the back of books as hyperbole, but, in this case, "an eye-opening expose and a heartbreaking lament, it is a book that anyone interested in sport should read" underplays just how valuable it is.

No summary could do it justice, so apologies in advance: a kid dreams all his life of becoming a professional cyclist, makes it, goes into the sport with a head full of dreams, only to be confronted with the bald fact that he probably won't make it anywhere close to the top unless, like most of his fellow pros, he sticks a syringe in his arm. Kimmage told the story, so he was the bad guy, the begrudger, the loser.

Hear no evil, see no evil. Don't ask any questions and there's a good chance you'll get no answers. And remember, if you care enough about sport to ask the questions, you're nothing but a begrudger.