Once cornered, the stalwart family man tried to put a little lipstick on this particular pig by explaining that at the time of his infidelities, his wife's disease was in remission. At least his paramour was an adult.

Edwards was outed by The National Enquirer -- the sleazy tabloid that may be the nation's most credible news outlet when it comes to coverage of political scandal. The paper's lurid fascination with the scatological may speak poorly of its readership, but the crap it publishes about the private lives of public figures is usually accurate.

In his obligatory public mea culpa, Edwards expressed the usual regrets and explained that the limelight of notoriety had made him "increasingly egocentric and narcissistic." His fabled $400 haircut might have been a tip-off in that regard, but he certainly holds no patent on egocentric narcissism.

In St. Louis, the Rams' star running back, Steven Jackson (right), has refused to report to training camp. He's in the final year of his contract and -- you won't believe this -- he wants more money. The team refuses to negotiate until he reports and he refuses to report until negotiations are complete. A typical Mexican standoff, NFL-style. The first 14 days of his holdout cost him $211,624 in fines and the penalties continue to accrue at the rate of $15,000+ a day.

Normally, the Jackson story would be unremarkable -- just another labor dispute between the millionaire players and the billionaire owners -- but he's the guy who berated local fans last year for disloyalty to the team.

As the Rams staggered through a miserable 3-13 campaign, many ticket-holders turned to the internet for relief. There, they brokered their locally worthless ducats to fans of opposing teams, thus making the atmosphere of the final home games in 2007 hard to distinguish from those played on the road.

Jackson lambasted the turncoats and, as a season ticket-holder who did not sell his seats, I wasn't wholly unsympathetic to his commentary. However, now that Steven's wallet has been opened, the situation seems to have changed.

When the proletarian minions sought to recoup a few of their squandered bucks in the weeks before Christmas, he cried treason. But when he skips preseason practice and, with it, the installation of a desperately needed new offensive scheme for his floundering team, it's just a business decision.

If Steven is feeling insufficiently adulated, the fault lies not with his performance but with the feckless fans. If he no longer likes the contract he signed, blame the team. The victim here is obviously Steven.

Of course, when it comes to unrequited narcissism, few can hold a candle to Brett Favre (right). Compared to this erstwhile darling of the frozen tundra, Jackson looks like Gandhi.

Last year's football season in Green Bay concluded in what had become an almost formulaic fashion: Favre threw a critical interception, the Packers were eliminated from the play-offs and Favre threatened to retire.

Possibly auditioning for the title role in some sort of cheese-head production of Hamlet, Favre has ended the past several seasons with a public announcement that he was thinking about retirement. While the fans howled and an adoring press breathlessly recounted details of his glorious career, Favre went home and contemplated. "To play or not to play..." Finally, when the suspense became unbearable, Favre would reluctantly concede that he'd decided to return for another season.

Well, every soap opera needs a plot twist to hold its audience, so this year Favre actually retired. During a March press conference that featured a sobbing, gushing farewell laced with enough saccharine to gag a maggot, he expressed the hope that members of the Packers' family would recognize that he'd earned "every penny" they'd paid him. The victim then retired -- presumably to lick his wounds and await future induction into the Hall of Fame.

Oddly enough, team management elected not to disband the storied franchise despite the loss of its star-crossed quarterback. Instead, they installed back-up Aaron Rodgers as the starter and began to design a new offense around him.

Apparently feeling inadequately mourned, Favre returned to life in June by announcing his intention to un-retire. The team begged him to reconsider and eventually offered him a deal worth $20 million to stay dead, but Favre was adamant about his resurrection and he was subsequently traded to the New York Jets.

"Mr. Packer" thus became "Brett-the-Jet." It doesn't quite ring like "Broadway Joe," but given his newly acquired proximity to the Theater District, this drama queen ought to enjoy the neighborhood.

The short-lived but excellent ESPN series, Playmakers, depicted the behind-the-scenes exploits of a fictional professional football team. A scene from one episode summarizes rather succinctly the eternal tension between individual celebrity and collective obligation.

An exasperated head coach concludes a lecture to one of his malcontented super-stars by resorting to the old saw that there's no "I" in "team". As his disgruntled ward shifts his glance and turns away, he grumbles, "Ain't no 'we' in it, neither." Indeed, there isn't.

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