RIP Ricky Hatton – any death is sad, but it’s all the more a tragedy when the person passing still has so much life to live.

Cue a minute’s applause at the Etihad. They just can’t help themselves, can they?

I’d wager we’d all rather be laying to rest the cancer of virtue signalling and performative mourning by a generation of self-interested zillionaire sociopaths than a sporting legend, but that’s going to be too much to ask.

I wonder how many of those dicktards participating in the laughable posturing at the Manchester derby had spared a minute’s thought for the dearly departed pugilist in the years since his retirement, when fronting his greatest battles? Indeed, how many of the happy-clappy cock cabal had even heard of him?

I think we know the answer on both counts.

What a vacant and transparent spectacle that was yesterday. That won’t however stop the scum media reporting the throwaway soundbites from high-profile figures as ‘classy’ tributes.

That is after all what Premier League clubs get for their quid pro quo press carve-ups with the client media.

Yet however it’s dolled up, there’s really nothing classy about not giving a shit forever and then milking the ensuing debacle for droplets of diluted kudos.

Life is for the living as care and compassion should be. You just don’t see very much of any of it when there’s nothing to be gained.

What a beautiful game.