Death threats, gang rape,

'dogging', it sounds like an episode of NYPD Blue. Only we're not dealing with the immoral and depraved activities of some hapless case in an inner-city slum. We are talking about Premiership footballers, the pride and

joy of the English game, individuals blessed with

talent and wealth, caught up in a lifestyle that continues

to bring shame and embarrassment to football.

It has been quite a week in the sordid life of the Premiership. They said it couldn't get any worse after a spate of alleged assaults involving

top-flight players before Christmas. But it has. Former England striker and Radio Five Live pundit Stan Collymore is back in The Priory, seeking help for a sordid sexual addiction, while three Leicester City players were yesterday remanded in custody in Spain, accused of 'sexual aggression'.

While Matt Elliott, James Scowcroft and Lilian Nalis were released on bail pending further investigations, the Scotland internationalist Paul Dickov, Frank Sinclair and Keith Gillespie returned to their cells, accused of assaulting three German tourists in the Hyatt Regency hotel in the early hours of Monday morning. The charge carries

a maximum sentence of 12 years' imprisonment.

So much for the morale-boosting exercise that was City's training camp in La Manga. Second-bottom of the Premiership without a league or cup win in nearly three months, Mickey Adams believed his struggling squad would benefit from a bonding session on the Costa Blanca. Now with half his first XI on bail or behind bars, he will

do well to get a team together for next week's game against Birmingham City.

Gone are the days of 'what goes on tour, stays on

tour', when squads could

misbehave in peace, their anonymity ensured by discreet and well-paid hosts. Exposing high profile sportsmen as drunken, philandering oiks is now big business. Tabloids pay considerable money for personal accounts, the more lurid and offensive the better. So-called 'victims' can earn a pretty packet.

That is not to suggest every allegation of misconduct is without foundation. The modern game has spawned a generation of 'untouchables', wealthy young men who believe their anti-social behaviour is beyond reproach. Such individuals should be named and shamed. Collymore was caught red-handed. Unknowingly, he accompanied two undercover journalists to car parks where he admitted to having sex with strangers, a practice known as 'dogging'. But increasingly of late, cases have been dropped against players because of insufficient evidence. Several Premiership players, accused of assaulting a young girl in a London hotel last year, have had the charges against them dropped. The Leeds United midfielder,

Jody Morris, will not face prosecution despite being accused of raping a woman

in a Yorkshire lay-by.

But the damage has been done. Damning headlines have not only tarnished the reputations of the accused, but also the clubs that pay their considerable wages.

Pity the poor chap standing outside the Walkers Stadium yesterday, a spokesperson

for 'Foxes Against Racism'. ''This is a family club,'' he

kept repeating. ''We have worked so hard to improve our image.''

All that endeavour, destroyed by a bunch of allegedly drunken louts, throwing their weight around a Spanish hostelry. What hope for the thousands of English supporters who will flood into Portugal this summer, their attitude and behaviour influenced by these so-called role models? If the professionals, with a responsibility to club and supporters, are found to be incapable of exercising restraint, what hope the England fan, touched by the sun and fuelled by alcohol.

Poor Mickey Adams. A young manager, in a pressurised job, he has always given the impression he is on the ball, one step ahead of his motley crew. On New Year's Eve, he placed a ban on alcohol. Just to make sure

no-one disobeyed orders, he breathalysed each and every one of the squad as they turned up for training the next day. This time they appear to have got the better of him, undermining his position, questioning his authority. One wonders what Paul Sturrock would have made of such an incident. Not afraid to send his overpaid and pampered charges down a mineshaft or on top of a four-storey roof, the new Southampton manager has arrived in the Premiership at just the right time. Beware the Saint who turns up for training with a shoddy attitude. Sturrock

will have him cleaning boots in no time.

Like Walter Smith, invited by Sir Alex Ferguson to share some of the coaching responsibilities at Old Trafford, Sturrock is a man of principle. He has a very clear notion of what is right and wrong, and leaving Plymouth Argyle, albeit sitting on top of the Second Division, caused him genuine heartache.

He cried when he said his farewells. His wife and children, happily ensconced in the West Country, are still not talking to him. Let us hope Southampton come to appreciate that sort of loyalty.

When quizzed on the appointment of Sturrock, chairman Rupert Lowe dismissed the suggestion he had 'poached' the Scot in the same way Tottenham had 'poached' Glenn Hoddle three years earlier, much to Lowe's fury. ''It is an entirely different situation,'' said an indignant Lowe. What rubbish. And what alarming double standards.

As Leicester City hastily pointed out last night, this is not the first time the football industry has found itself portrayed in a negative light. You can say that again. There was a time when a death threat, received by Liverpool manager Gerard Houllier, would have been met with incredulity and outrage. This week Michael Owen suggested it was commonplace. He

gets them all the time. The Beautiful Game indeed.