Peter Corrigan: Pushed off the pedestal? Some like to jump

We must be grateful to Gérard Houllier for pointing out another of the deficiencies that have been holding us back for centuries. Only by listening to objective criticisms from our friends will we ever learn. On this occasion, however, I am not sure whether the Liverpool manager has got it right. Au contraire, he might be so wrong as to deserve correction.

Ruffled, indignant even, at revelations of the extent of the gambling habits of his England striker Michael Owen, Houllier said that ruining a player's reputation was a "national sport" in England.

"It's common practice," he said, "that when you have a player doing well for the national team you want to ruin his career..." If that was the case, we would have run out of practice years ago. Houllier is not the first to promote the idea that we take a delight in the downfall of the mighty, but it is an irritating slur. We might take a consuming interest in the few heroes that come our way, but that is surely understandable. Furthermore, many years of observation lead me to say that most of those we have placed on a pedestal have jumped off of their own volition.

We have been reminded of one spectacular incidence of this in the past week or so by the sad sight of Paul Gascoigne hawking what's left of his extraordinary talent around China with, as yet, no takers. It would be hard to blame the media for that long and tortured saga. All we did was relate it.

Houllier may feel extra touchy because he has had a bad time himself recently because of Liverpool's prolonged period of disappointing play, and it is natural he should try to defend his players.

He accuses the press because it was a Sunday newspaper that revealed that Owen had suffered heavy gambling losses, and the rest of the papers followed up what was a very good story with an avalanche of comment from columnists who delighted in the opportunity to relate their own football gambling stories. But apart from a rare suggestion that Owen's sponsors might feel his image had suffered, the flavour was of sympathy and understanding, with maybe a touch of sarcasm about having more money than sense. There was not the remotest sense of his reputation being ruined.

Houllier might have a found a better target in those whose failure to keep a confidence led to the original story, which wasn't challenged apart from the size of the losses involved. The paper said he had gambled more than £2 million in three years and lost £130,000; Owen said his losses amounted to £40,000.

It's not a trifling sum, but neither is the amount he earns. "He doesn't drink, take drugs or go out at night," said Houllier. Instead of hitting out in all directions, Houllier should be happy that Owen's excesses are confined to an activity that not only is legal but is regarded as commonplace by so many of us.

A further excuse for Owen's extravagant optimism is that he is genuinely interested in horses, owns several and plans to own more. I can vouch from bitter experience that he is likely to lose more being an owner than he is from being a punter, even the unsuccessful one he appears to be. Football clubs generally find it difficult to accept that you cannot occupy such a prominent place in society – and this has applied to any society in history – without exciting ferocious curiosity. Footballers' astronomic earnings would be impossible otherwise.

Clubs pump out so much personal information about their players – favourite car, Ferrari; favourite food, steak and chips; favourite singer, Britney Spears; favourite film, Gladiator – that surely they can't believe the interest will stop there.

Apparently they do, and are becoming increasingly ambitious in their attempts to control the media. It is a forlorn hope. They would be better off controlling themselves. I'm sure no harm has befallen Michael Owen. Indeed, as part of the general ruination programme we're alleged to be putting him through comes a wealth of sound advice. Mine would be to find a more discreet bookmaker – for that sort of turnover many would volunteer to have their lips sewn together.

The real Delia

One of the few heartening stories to come out of football lately was last week's decision of television cook Delia Smith to put her culinary career on the back-burner in order to devote more time to Norwich City FC. Among the game's many needs at the moment is the love of a good woman.

We get many, men mainly, who fasten themselves to football clubs with the most selfish of motives not always unconnected with supermarkets, blocks of luxury flats and fat salaries for so-called executive services. Delia has far more constructive reasons for devoting herself to the Canaries at the age of 60 and after 30 years instructing the nation how to prepare the edibles. I include myself in that number, and am indebted for the half-decent goose she helped me cook at Christmas.

I am even more impressed with her football persona. For a start, this is not a passing fad. She has been a regular Norwich supporter for over 30 years and became a director 10 years ago. She has taken charge of the club's catering, introduced a restaurant and generally improved the facilities at Carrow Road, where they have a full house more often than not.

As a multi-millionaire, Delia is in a position to help the club financially and may well have done. More importantly, she has helped them in a genuinely imaginative way and draws enormous fun in the process. I was very impressed with her reaction when she accompanied Norwich to their First Division play-off against Birmingham City at the Millennium Stadium last year. She described it as the best day of her life. Imagine how much she would have enjoyed it had they won.

Her crossover to a full-time role in football coincided with news that the Football Association are considering the introduction of a "fit and proper person" test for club directors and owners.

To someone who has long campaigned for the FA to maintain a closer surveillance of whose hands are on the club tillers, this is a welcome move. Delia may be an exceptional example but she provides a preferable template of the sort of person the game needs to many who manage to wheedle their way into power.

It's good to see the FA tackling the difficult areas, but we will soon find out if they have such a power over the clubs or whether it was thrown out with the Crozier water.

Irrational rations

I saw my first American football match 25 years ago. It was the Orange Bowl encounter in Miami between college teams Arkansas and Oklahoma, and I understood little of what was going on.

Seven years later, however, I covered the 1985 Super Bowl and I was far better acquainted with the game thanks to Channel 4's weekly coverage, which was painstakingly thorough. Washington Redskins had become our favourite team and their heroes, Joe Thysman and John Riggins, had become our heroes.

But that Super Bowl I attended was between San Fransisco 49ers and Miami Dolphins, and the battle of the quarterbacks was won in devastating fashion by 49ers' Joe Montana over Dan Marino. That was Super Bowl XIX. Tonight's match between Tampa and Oakland is Super Bowl XXXVII – how quickly those XVIII years have flown – and I have completely lost touch with the game.

The television column below deals with the disappearance of the game from terrestrial screens, and I'm sure there will be many like me who will watch Channel 5's coverage late tonight with nothing like the knowledgeable enthusiasm we once possessed.

It proves how much we are at the mercy of the few who issue our sports rations. It is not the first time they have introduced us to a game, courted our interest and then dropped us like an old sock.