Ken Jones: Rivaldo's fun revolution unlikely to spread in our grim world

A few days ago, just as the aircraft in which I was travelling began to butt through turbulence on its descent into Gatwick airport, my nervous attention was diverted by a large photograph in an Italian newspaper of the Brazilian footballer Rivaldo, who was smiling broadly beneath a headline announcing his switch from Barcelona to Milan.

Intrigued by Rivaldo's obvious good humour, but unable to translate his comments fully, I politely sought the assistance of a fellow sitting alongside me. After glancing at the text he said that Rivaldo expects to have a great deal of fun in Milan's colours.

Since fun, in the accepted sense of the word, is not something we have come to associate with Italian football, indeed the game anywhere these days, what did Rivaldo really mean? More millions, a title or two? "No," I was told. "It's quite clear what he means. He means enjoying himself on the field in the company of outstanding footballers."

In a city where football has long been the subject of intense public curiosity, it is not likely that everyone connected with Milan will bow to Rivaldo's expectation and say amen. Even so, there are compelling reasons to believe that football, sport generally, would benefit from a more relaxed attitude. This is to say that I think there's a growing danger in the urge to put success above every other consideration.

Over the past couple of days I have been catching up with the Commonwealth Games which, as you can probably imagine, does not command a great deal of attention in other European sectors. Despite being vastly overplayed here on television and some newspapers ("mostly substandard" is how one authority describes the track and field performances), there is an undeniable sense of people enjoying themselves. Frankly, I would not cross the street to watch some of the events. However, there are more smiling faces than you normally get at international sporting festivals.

We hear and read so much about the scale of modern sport that it might not be a bad idea to think about what we might fairly hope to gain from it and what we should not deceive ourselves into expecting. For example, a friend who has been watching football for more than 50 years imagines a time when it was not unusual to see players smiling. Personally, I remember scowls and dark promises, but I know what he means. In most sports you can think of today, the smiling face is at a premium.

It is why remarks passed by Lee Trevino on television the other night sounded timely. Seven times a major winner, Trevino was paired with Sergio Garcia against Jack Nicklaus and Tiger Woods in a game that raised more than $2m (£1.27m) for charity. As in his great days, Trevino chattered throughout the round, a characteristic some of his old foes used to find irritating. "Nothing changes," an interviewer said. "I was out there enjoying myself," Trevino replied. "I've always taken golf seriously but never myself. If it was a major or just a game with the boys I was having fun. Now I see players not exchanging a word. Their faces are grim as though they find it impossible to relax. They've got coaches, psychologists. I never worked with a teacher because I never found one who could beat me."

You could say, and I am sure people do, that Trevino was playing up to his reputation as one of golf's great characters, that his beaming enthusiasm, his patter, is an act long since perfected for public consumption. But where is his like today? Why do nearly all the best stories told at corporate lunches and testimonial dinners come out of sporting history?

I am telling you this with the blank air of a veteran who finds relief in the occasional introduction of a fresh anecdote, proof that there are still people in sport who naturally do and say funny things.

It is not necessarily characters (mostly pests) we are looking for, simply people who make sport better because they make it obvious that they actually enjoy being out there.

Rivaldo's intention to have fun in a step in the right direction. Trouble is, of course, that it may not survive his introduction to Milan's coaching staff, the blunt question: "What do you think you're in this game for – amusement?"