Somewhere in one of the bigger European leagues is a gay footballer: a wonderfully gifted player, popular with his club's supporters, an international who has appeared in World Cups and is at an age when the best years of his career almost certainly still lie ahead of him. But, of course, his sexuality remains a secret to the world at large.

Not, however, to team‑mates past and present. And although at the moment he seems to be functioning effectively in a civilised environment, at one of his previous clubs he became the object of sly dressing-room homophobia dressed up as laddish wit. In public, too, aspersions were cast on his ability to fit in with the way the team went about their business; the remarks were in a sort of code, although probably none of those involved meant any real harm. Like Joey Barton's obscene gesture to Fernando Torres at the weekend, which in its ignorance and stupidity recalled Robbie Fowler's altercation with Graeme Le Saux almost a dozen years ago, they were the horrible product of an age-old dressing-room culture of empty machismo.

The player concerned – and you will have to take it from me that he really does exist – has it in his power to change all this. His prominence means that were he to speak publicly about his sexuality, notice would be taken around the world. And we would all, I believe, be surprised by the results.

It is almost exactly a year since Gareth Thomas – the first Welsh rugby union player to win 100 international caps, the second highest try scorer in the country's history, and a former British and Irish Lions captain – took the massive step of declaring his homosexuality. Driven by the agony of deception, Thomas clearly believed that the potential reward, or at least the relief, was worth the great risk, and how magnificently he was rewarded.

As far as one can see, his decision has brought him nothing but acceptance and admiration from the outside world. On the field, having made his rugby league debut for Crusaders last March, he went on to help Wales qualify for next year's Rugby League Four Nations tournament.

Football's most famous coming-out involved Justin Fashanu, the former Norwich City and Nottingham Forest forward who suffered the scorn of a belatedly repentant Brian Clough. The sad chaos of Fashanu's life, which ended by his own hand in 1998 at the age of 37, can be gauged by the list of clubs attached to his name. There were 22 in 19 years as his career spiralled out of control. Now there is an organisation called the Justin Campaign, which campaigns against the game's institutionalised homophobia.

Twenty years after Fashanu admitted his sexuality (in the Sun, of all places), and more than half a century since the Wolfenden Report recommended that homosexual behaviour between consenting adults in private should no longer be treated as a criminal act, attitudes have changed. Many, probably most, of us work in environments where gay people feel entirely at ease. We have gay television stars, civil partnerships, and ministers of the crown whose open homosexuality causes not a ripple on the waters of public life.

The special prominence of football in global culture gives it an unusual degree of influence. Currently it remains one of the last significant bastions of prejudice against gays, and were the footballer I mentioned earlier to decide to declare himself, no doubt he would need quite as much courage as Gareth Thomas showed. The consequences, however, would earn him a place in the game's culture exceeding even those occupied by George Eastham, who undermined the iniquitous retain and transfer system 50 years ago, and Jean‑Marc Bosman, whose judicial challenge 35 years later cast off the last remaining shackles of the old feudalism.

Eastham and Bosman liberated footballers in one, purely material sense. They remain, however, prisoners of less tangible bonds. Freeing themselves from the fear of gays would earn them no extra salary or bonuses, but it would bring them into step with the rest of the world around them. And all it would take is one man's courage.

It's good to talk, even in Formula One



Millions of Formula One fans, it is claimed, are outraged by the decision to remove Article 39.1 – the law banning the use of team orders – from the sport's regulations. Others will be relieved that the governing body has finally come to its senses.

Grand prix racing is a team sport. That is why the groups of people who enter the races are called "teams". And in team sports, there tends to be co-operation between the team‑mates. When such co-operation leads to problems, as it did when Ferrari invited Felipe Massa to let Fernando Alonso past to win the race in Germany this year, that is a problem for the team management to deal with.

Similar things happen in bicycle racing, where domestiques serve the leader. Formula One's higher visibility, and the preponderance of recently converted fans, means it has recently been judged by inapplicable standards. Whatever others may tell you, a blow for good sense was struck in Paris this week.

Export ban is wrong



The desire to copy the All Blacks' modus operandi is understandable enough, but the Rugby Football Union's insistence on copying New Zealand in prohibiting players earning their living in foreign leagues from England selection after next year's World Cup is surely a mistake.

Wales damaged no interests more than their own when they omitted Dwayne Peel from their plans after his move to Sale Sharks two years ago, and it seems unlikely they will take the same attitude to James Hook should the Osprey accept a huge offer from Perpignan. Money aside, Hook may feel the best place to showcase and develop his talent is in Europe's strongest league.

Sooner or later the RFU will have to accept reality and make up its mind to benefit from the exposure of its players to the highest level of competition. If it means rethinking the way the England manager and his team go about their preparations, so be it.

Allardyce a sitting duck



Sam Allardyce must be wondering if he has stumbled into some parallel football universe. Sacked first by a football ignoramus and then by an Indian poultry company, he will be asking what happened to the days when English football clubs were run by local businessmen who did not entertain the "wider ambitions" mentioned yesterday by Blackburn Rovers' new owners as they put the noose around his neck.