Even as a pleasingly unpredictable and well-poised NRL finals series heads for a gripping conclusion, the tale of this season has been as much about the way the game is portrayed as how it is played.

Swamped by the usual confected hysteria about refereeing and the other perennial "crisis", NRL chief executive Todd Greenberg tweeted his rallying cry for fans to #talkthegameup.

In response, the "crisis merchants" in Greenberg's crosshairs claimed they were being censored by a sensitive administration trying to deflect attention from the game's various crimes and misdemeanours.

Never mind that it was the fans who were being asked to walk on the sunnier side of NRL St, not the reporters.

Inevitably, when the powerful forces of administration and media lock horns, it ends in tears.

'Bad boy' image hard to shake for athletes

The surprising thing is that those tears were shed by Cronulla's human billboard Josh Dugan, who broke down at a press conference this week while reflecting on his attempts to shed his "bad boy" image.

Dugan pleaded that he had been trying to change the negative perceptions of his behaviour for five years.

Greenberg walked a tightrope with media this season. ( AAP: Dan Himbrechts )

Ever since he climbed down from a Canberra roof top where he had sipped Barcadi Breezers with Raiders teammate Blake Ferguson rather than attend a training session, prompting his well-justified sacking.

The game is a fishbowl, the unexpectedly emotional Dugan said. "And because of my past, I'm an easy target."

Dugan blamed the media for appending his Wikipedia Page indiscretions to every mention of his name, while failing to acknowledge his attempts to clear the slate.

The degree in community and social work he had worked hard to attain. The $15,000 he helped raise for a child with a terminal illness.

The laudable acts that athletes traditionally say "I don't do for the publicity". But which, in Dugan's case, might have provided a somewhat more sympathetic picture of his off-field persona if the club media officer had picked up the phone.

And Dugan is right. A story about his social work might have balanced, for example, the criticism he received for a recent podcast in which he attacked media figures in the kind of manner he now hopes to be immune from; or the late night drinking that informs public opinion about his commitment to the game.

How can the public know the truth?

So is Josh Dugan the stereotypical NRL troublemaker blaming the media for his own shortcomings? Or the reformed and caring character who wants to put his past as far behind him as a chasing tackler?

The Sharks' Josh Dugan finds it difficult to shake his bad boy image. ( AAP: Steve Christo )

Therein lays the dilemma of contemporary sports media: How can the public really know?

The disconnection between those who would blithely talk up the game no matter what, and those who benefit from reporting it warts-and-that-is-all, is often so great that everyone, and every issue, is either black or white but never grey.

The tearful Dugan led with his chin by suggesting he was a victim of the old dictum that "bad news sells".

This prompted a predictable recitation of "positive" NRL stories about the game's daily minutiae by reporters eager to show the game was, indeed, being "talked up".

But where "news value" was once measured by public interest, it is now merely rated by the amount of interest it can generate amongst the tweeting, facebooking public.

Clickability versus gravity

That means there will often be collateral damage because the exposure given to a story, and its alleged villains, no longer accurately reflects its gravity, but merely its clickability.

Take the recent case of the tawdry Canterbury Bulldogs post-season function where the crass misbehaviour of cavorting players under the noses of club officials warranted strong media coverage. But did it merit the enormous exposure (no pun intended) it was given?

"Man moons teammate" is now afforded the front page treatment that "Man walks on the Moon" once received.

This is often justified by the catch-all excuse that high-profile athletes take on added responsibility for their behaviour as role models the moment they bank their first cheque. Which is true — but only if you apply a reasonable standard to the behaviour expected.

Instead we bemoan the "lack of personality" and "cliched answers" of athletes while simultaneously constraining them with the tightest of behavioural bonds and critiquing their every move.

But if some athletes are misunderstood and poorly characterised in the media, they can also blame the "on-message" obsession of media minders and club officials who, in their own way, are every bit as responsible for creating a false perception of athletes as the media.

The relationship between coaches and players, and the media, is a complicated one. ( AAP: Jono Searle )

From experience, the figures most to blame for suppressing the free expression of athletes are those who complain most when their stars are wrongly portrayed: Paranoid coaches who fear a loose-lipped response or ego-inflating profile story.

The distance between overzealous media officials and coaches, and an increasingly distant and unsympathetic media, means that empathy is lost, the void filled by mutual suspicion and contempt.

What intimacy reporters do enjoy with athletes now, often comes at a price. Push my agenda, sell my product, plug my new business.

Inevitably, athletes feel unable to project their own version of themselves, the media feels shut out and the fans — remember them? — are left wondering whether they really know any more about a star player than what they see on the field.