King of the Thesbians Daniel Day Lewis

once went mad. He was playing Hamlet in Cardiff, for what company I forget, probably the RSC, and he was so engrossed in the Oedipally conflicted Dane's character that he started to freak out and have real time conversations with hallucinations of his real father during the interval. He was carted off and sectioned, and the poor understudy had to fill his boots for the remaining acts.

Similarly Gazza, who with every recent photo was looking more and more like a wide eyed worshiper of Pan, has become so engrossed with playing the part of the troubled genius that he too has been taken out of circulation by the men in white coats, thereby firming his place in the pantheon of archetypal tabloid favourites, along with all the world's other troubled geniuses, unlikely heroes, plucky underdogs, and fallen idols. The poor bastard. While hard facts of exactly what transpired are thin on the ground in the mainstream press rumour has it that Gazza was so far gone he had actually lost his sense of self, and believed he was the reincarnation of George Best. Paul has some way to go to beat George Best however- a man so reliant on the mental props offered by alcohol that he destroyed not one, but TWO, livers in his lifetime. A nefariously remarkable achievement in anyone's book.

Having had first and second hand experience of mental anguish football is not my god football overdose joins Frank Bruno and every single pundit in offering deepest sympathy and respect. Get well soon Paul.

The whole situation is evidence that all the talent and enthusiasm in the world, and Gazza was blessed with oodles of both, is not sufficient to survive in a world like this. If emotional stability and an innate sense of reassurance are missing the rest can run amok, or whatever, no matter how lucky you are.

Forgive my bad latin- but Deus Volt Perdere Dementat* . Innit. Those the gods wish to destroy they first drive mad.

*just because I speak a smattering of Latin does not mean I went to posh school.