THE noise which has come roaring out of Holyrood in the wake of our game’s many sickening scandals has been deafening.

And what I mean by that is I must have gone deaf because I’ve heard nothing at all.

It’s a touch strange because politicians from all sides love to mouth off whenever one of our sporting stars gets into a spot of bother.

We can all remember the “Old Firm Shame Game” in 2011 when the Scottish Government came to a shuddering halt because two middle-aged men, Neil Lennon and Ally McCoist, had a brief verbal encounter which got sorted out over a beer no more than half an hour later.

These harrowing scenes at Celtic Park were later discussed in the Scottish Parliament. Thankfully, the NHS, roads, poverty and child illiteracy were all sorted by then so there was time to debate a ten-a-penny touchline tete-a-tete.

And, yet, a strange silence has descended in recent weeks despite our political giants having had plenty of scope for a passionate soundbite.

There have been sordid stories of alleged drug use, quite definite tales of appalling drunken behaviour and, worst of all, an incident which saw two players arrested and charged with sexual assault, the case was settled through something called an “alternative to prosecution (direct measure)” which means it never went to court because, most likely a fine was paid.

So why no outrage? Why no hastily written press statements? Where was the badly briefed politician calling for the birch to be brought back?
It’s simple, really. The scandal-riddled game in question isn’t football. It’s rugby.

For those who have missed what has being going on in the sport for men with odd-shaped balls, please allow me a quick recap of events.
Howe of Fife rugby club had a total 16 players and officials banned last week for various lengths of time after an initiation ceremony in September went very wrong.

A new player was forced to run up and down the team bus with an unopened beer bottle stuck up his anus.

He had to be rushed to hospital with internal injuries.

For the life of me, I have no idea why anyone would find this acceptable in the first place or how the coaches did little if anything 
to intervene. But then, of course, I never went to private school.

Scotland has a rugby league team – who knew – and they have been taking part in the World Cup in New Zealand. It has not gone well.

Three players, captain Danny Brough, Sam Brooks and the appropriately named Johnny Walker, were sent home because they got so drunk, and given how big these guys are we are talking a serious amount of bevvy here, none were allowed to board a plane which was supposed to take them to Brisbane where they were to play their final game.

Keith Hogg, the Chairman of Scotland Rugby League, said: “They clearly had been drinking in an inappropriate fashion.”

Ah, so if they had been fashionably pissed that would be all right.
And then we have a real star of rugby union, John Hardie, who has been suspended by club, Edinburgh in his case, and country for the alleged use of cocaine. 

He has not failed a drugs test it must be said, but has been, and I quote, “suspended pending an inquiry after a concerned individual got in touch with Murrayfield to report his alleged behaviour.”

Imagine if a new Celtic signing had ended up in hospital in the manner of that poor kid at Howe of Fife. Or if three of the Scotland players this week were too hungover to play Holland.

You wouldn’t be able to move for a politician few had heard of before standing in front of a camera to tell you how awful everything is. The establishment has and always will look down on the working man’s game unless there is something in it for them.

It seems to me having an opinion on football is seen as a possible vote-winner.

And you know what they say about opinions. It’s the same as bottoms, everyone has one. Except most don’t have a bottle stuck up theirs.

AND ANOTHER THING

BEFORE falling out with them, Sir Alex Ferguson was keen to talk up the hardness of two of his now former favourites.

“Mark Hughes and Roy Keane, no matter the weather, not once did I ever seem them in training and not wearing shorts.”

And as for a woollen hat . . . don’t dare even going there.

That’s how Kieran Tierney rolls to work every day. Not a hat, long sleeve nor tracksuit in sight.

If Celtic were drawn to play the South Pole select, this lad wouldn’t even put on a pair of gloves.

Tierney earned his new six-year contract alone for being an old school footballer and a proper bloke.