Truly perturbing scenes at the Olympics after a female Italian boxer quit forty-six seconds into her bout after being whacked in the face.

That must have come as a shock to women all over Italy who generally brave that shit out for forty-six years.

That punch in the kisser was always when Mike Tyson said the best-laid plans went out of the window. For la bella signora, it was her lifetime of preparation and training.

Mamma Mia! Here we go again.

Notwithstanding the fact that her opponent allegedly has a schlong that would prompt a sharp intake of breath from John Holmes, surely a sturdy dig in the chops is water off a duck’s back for a purposeful pugilist?

But I suppose a slice of clarity is required on the cucumber conundrum.

I’m not suggesting that they send  Phillip Schofield into the locker room to sniff out cock, but there are ways and means to unleash the beast, namely the hard, throbbing truth.

The old ruler and cough trick would probably not work on the Taiwanese entrant, though, so they’d probably have to work with a swab of precum and a petri dish.

There are however some clues in the names of the protagonists: the Algerian, Imane Khelif, has a forename that appears to have a dude inside it screaming to get out.

Lin Yu-ting could possibly have some ting hidden in her trunks, but that would be pure speculation.

Thank the Lord her name isn’t Wang.

Hey, look – I’m joking. They’re obviously birds. I should know – I have myself been pegged by chicks with bigger hands.

At the end of the day, the whole shebang about hormone levels is nothing new. If a female athlete’s testosterone rises higher than a Lioness’s erection, she gets blackballed faster than Macaulay Culkin.

The IOC, or whatever august organ arbitrated on this guff, made their call and concluded that there were no other august organs tucked up, taped, or otherwise secreted.

But this isn’t really about men versus women, trannies, or any other form of androgenous dangler-wranglers.

The real issue is that women, who have gatecrashed the noble art in the name of equality, can’t take a good ol’ punch in the face.

Just like they can’t kick a ball in a straight line. Just don’t comment on it, or you’ll end up with cops zipwiring into your drum and hey-prestoing a trumped-up hate crime ticket.

If you can’t stand the heat, get back in the kitchen.