The myth of mad maestros

Contrary to popular belief, there is no link between genius and insanity.

The world is crawling with mad idiots, while the majority of truly brilliant and accomplished people are dull, pleasant workaholics who play squash every morning and iron their underpants.

But we're all suckers for the ancient tragic narrative that requires a bold, creative soul to be more or less doomed by dark impulses. No poet, artist or rock star is deemed complete or credible without a built-in panel of demons and should ideally assume room temperature at age 27 in a Manhattan hotel bath.

In the arts, this recurring tale is loosely based on a kernel of recurring truth and many damaged, self-destructive greats have indeed been creatively superior to their square rivals. Even the ghost of Amy Winehouse could sing the knickers off Adele. But for every Winehouse, there are 10000 junky singers with zero talent.

The demon theory applies even less in football, which is not an art. Nonetheless, we all tend to upgrade the stature of those exceptional footballers who happened to be crazy sons of bitches - and downgrade the stature of similarly gifted contemporaries who went to bed early and kept their noses clean.

So we rank Diego Maradona above Pele, George Best above Bobby Charlton, Paul Gascoigne above Matt le Tissier, Jabu Mahlangu above Siyabonga Nomvete. In each comparison you could make a valid football argument in favour of either, but our bias is usually towards the lovable rogues.

The problem is that the said rogues are not always so lovable when they're right here, right now, screwing up their team's title ambitions. Romanticisation can flip instantly to vilification, as Mario Balotelli found out this week. But the Italian is not a bad person, or remotely as mad as the press want him to be. He's just a bit thick in the self-centred way that many overpaid 21-year-olds are.

And that shocking studs-up attack on Alex Song is repeated every fortnight somewhere in the trenches of the English Premier League, a competition whose relentless, often thoughtless emotion inspires violence in many otherwise decent human beings. Assaults like Balotelli's on Sunday can happen before conscience even gets a chance to raise its voice.

There's a case to be made that both Balotelli and Luis Suarez should vacate sharpish to Spain, Italy or France, where the emotional temperature of the game is set a couple of degrees lower. Both stars are basically too foolish to work in the English madhouse.

Of course, the same could be said of many English players with a similarly fong-kong temperament - Joey Barton, Karl Henry and Lee Cattermole spring to mind - but unfortunately they ain't going nowhere.

The model now for Balotelli should be Wayne Rooney: at the Italian's age, Rooney was just as petulant, reckless and egotistical. Nowadays, you'd almost trust him to look after your granny.

Balotelli shouldn't have to lose his "madness" even if that were possible. But he should lose the notion that it has much to do with his ability.