It's a case of Danny boy, not man for Cipriani
There's stupid. Then stupider. And then there's Danny Cipriani ...
Most men would have thought they'd hit the jackpot winning the affections of Kelly Brook, perhaps the No 1 pin-up model in the country.
But, alas, alack, the world is never enough for some men. No, not when you can buy a secret mobile phone and sext starlets who – quite frankly for all their obvious physical charms – don't seem a patch on Kelly.
(Indeed, in an ironical way, the fact that even somebody as lovely as Ms Brook can get cheated on will give many women a much needed morale boost. If it can happen to her, it can happen to anyone.)
Now, you could respect a man who had just had enough in a relationship. Say, for example, if Cipriani had thought they weren't compatible. and wanted to move on. If he'd felt the spark had gone, that they were moving down two diverging roads. To the outside world, his decision would have still looked bizarre but, hey, the heart wants what it wants.
A real man would have called it a day. But Danny's not a real man for all his macho rugby credentials. What does he do when discovered? He wimps out and goes "into therapy", allegedly confessing that he faces "deep personal issues" and banding about words like "addiction". He needs to seek "professional help", say friends.
Just like Ashley, just like Tiger, just like Kanye. It would almost be a relief if a celeb caught with his phone down his trousers was at least honest and said: "Yes. I did it. I enjoyed it. And the only problem was getting caught by 'er indoors."
It's strange how the road to rehab always begins not with a bout of self-recognition but with being rumbled. Yet poor old Danny's even lost out on that score with a recent report suggesting that there's no such thing as "sex addiction" – you're either just a randy old goat or you're not. In other words, you can't recover from an addiction that doesn't exist.
Which kind of makes it awkward for the Dannys of this world. Imagine being responsible for your own actions – that would never do. No, it's easier to look watery-eyed and take a quick scan under 'T' for Therapists in the Yellow Pages than face the fact that you're really a lecherous bounder and a cad.
Better a heartless reprobate than a quivering self-pitying blob of jelly attempting to look like a victim.
It doesn't fool anybody, Danny.