Among all the guff that erupted last week in the wake of Mario Balotelli’s shirt-swap, Barnay Ronay in The Guardian summed it up best: “Funny things, football shirts. It is apparently OK to reinvent, redesign and aggressively retail your club’s shirt from season to season. Or to cover it with adverts and market it as an object of desire at a price that is beyond the sensible reach of most fans. This is to respect and value and cherish the shirt. On the other hand taking the shirt off at half-time in order to conduct an ill-timed exchange: this is entirely unacceptable, a debasing of the hallowed fibres, a knee to the guts of the hard-working fan, and a crime to be punished at the earliest opportunity by a convenient post-match public shaming.”

On to Sunday: another game, another shirt taken off, another public shaming – this time, Robin van Persie drawing scorn from Louis van Gaal for receiving a yellow card for removing his shirt in the aftermath of scoring a dramatic injury-time equaliser for Manchester United against Chelsea.

Is there a more ridiculous rule in football? Possibly, but there can’t be any that is more symbolic of the grip that commerce has on The Beautiful Game. Scoring a goal is an emotional thing – just ask Temuri Ketsbaia. Lost in that emotion, a shirt might get ripped off. Equally, a shirt might be removed to reveal a heartfelt message to a loved one. But no, footballers aren’t people – they are adverts. It can’t be long before a player kisses the sponsor’s logo.

Having said that,  LVG was right in his post-match interview to call RVP “stupid.” Whisper it, but much more stupid than Balotelli. Why? Because, at a time when the smallest margins are said to count, van Persie’s yellow card could have repercussions. Accrue enough bookings and he could be suspended. Some yellow cards are worth it. The kind of clever, tactical foul that Gilberto Silva was the unsung master of certainly fits the bill. As a sometime Derby fan, I know only too well after last season’s play-off final that even a red card can sometimes be worth it. But a booking for celebrating a goal? When you know the rules? Put it like that, and stupidity covers it.

So well done to van Gaal for telling it how it is. And well done, too, to Garry Monk, who apparently dishes out fines to his Swansea players if they dive in training. In the spirit of Brian Clough, why shouldn’t managers set the moral compass for their players? I will never forget our manager sitting us all down at training the day before our first ever game as Cambridge Crusaders Under 10s. The message was clear: anyone who swears at the referee will never play for this team again.

It is a shame then that Brendan Rodgers found the need to divert from his (team’s) shortcomings by making a scapegoat of Balotelli. Patience with him may well be wearing thin, but should not be affected by the simple act of swapping a shirt at half-time – a simple act that would have been the non-story it should still be had he waited a few seconds to be out of camera shot. Liverpool’s problems – the departure of Luis Suarez, Daniel Sturridge’s injury, the over-reliance on Raheem Sterling’s tired shoulders, continued defensive weakness and Simon Mignolet’s meekness – are deeper than such superficiality.

Jay Landsman: “It’s not Jimmy’s fault.”

Bill Rawls: “No?”

Jay Landsman: “No. Jimmy is an addict, sir.”

Bill Rawls: “What’s he addicted to?”

Jay Landsman: “Himself.”

Apologies if you haven’t seen The Wire (where have you been? It’s to television what the 2005 Ashes is to cricket – it really is that good), but I would like to put forward Kevin Pietersen as the Jimmy McNulty of English cricket.

It’s not only the perceived self-regard, as evinced in the above dialogue. Just as McNulty is “good police” (and fans will know how to pronounce po-leece), there has never been much doubt as to KP’s ability as a batsman. Equally, the two share a lack of respect for those in authority – the “chain of command.”  While admirable in many ways, this insubordination will only ever lead to one winner. At heart, The Wire is about the individual’s impotence in the face of the institution. Both McNulty and KP were fated to end their careers somewhat tragically. As Lester Freemon puts it in The Wire, “You put fire to everything you touch, McNulty, then walk away while it burns.”

The accuracy of this analogy has not been disabused this week, with the publication of KP: The Autobiography. “What the f*** did I do?” is perhaps the most famous McNulty quote, and I would suggest it would make an apt subtitle for KP’s book.

That’s not to say that KP is entirely to blame. Andy Bull, reviewing the book for The Guardian, writes that “the balance, the sense of mutual culpability in what went wrong, is lost, because the wounds are too raw, and the anger too strong.” As that “mutual culpability” line suggests, there are many sides to this story.

As ever, sport reflects society, and this whole sorry saga is no different. Consider the PR machines on both sides, the role of social media. Consider, too, those two sides. On one, a self-entitled man-child; on the other, an institution that has little regard for the players and the fans. Should ring a few bells with fans of The Wire, perhaps the greatest mirror ever held up to society.

Cricket, by being subjected to this very public and increasingly juvenile squabble, is Way Down In The Hole.