That heavenly few weeks between the end of one football (soccer) season and the start of the next has just about evaporated this year, or been submerged in the flood waters of a thousand tabloid headlines. So no precious month or two's respite for those who loathe kissball or simply support Middlesbrough FC (just me, then?).
If having Euro 2012 plastered all over the media wasn't enough to make you go and stand out in the garden in the pouring rain, then the trial of one John Terry, Chelsea and England stalwart, for alleged racial abuse against Anton Ferdinand, was enough to make you wonder whether walking across hot barbecue charcoal was a more pleasant option. If only the blessed rain would cease.
That the finest players in the Premier League cannot set a good example to the rest of football, in particular, and the sporting world in general is an absolute shame. Racism does not have a place anywhere, end of. For it to remain on the field of play in the national game is pathetic. For it to be present in the stands, it requires the rest of us to take a long, hard look at ourselves.
But the trial of Mr Terry in a Magistrates' Court will also be remembered for another painful fact. The level of banter between players has not really left the playground, and a particularly foul-mouthed playground at that.
I appreciate that these guys are where they are because their brains are hard-wired to their feet (and in JT's case, possibly another region of his anatomy, the tabloid press would have us believe). But surely they can rise above the cringe-makingly awful examples that were unearthed during this case?
Witty banter? Don't make me laugh.
Acid sarcasm? Give over.
If only their wits were as quick as the desire to foul, feign injury and cheat. Do you recall a football match without shirt-pulling or cynical fouls or shouted obscenities or a keenness to have the other guy sent off? Not for decades, I'd wager.
So, JT may be a gifted centre back and innocent of the charge of hurling racial abuse, but...
Is he able to deliver a humorous put-down. No, he's cack.
Can he deliver a killer one-liner? Nope, too blunt.
And there you have it, two words to describe our sporting hero... cack, blunt.
Who would have thought it?