At approximately nine o'clock last Saturday night, Eugene Robinson pulled his rented Ford Taurus over to the curb on Biscayne Boulevard in Miami and invited a fetching young lady to climb into the front seat beside him. During the process of the negotiation which shortly ensued, Robinson offered the lady in question $40 to perform on him an act one Monica Lewinsky is said to have performed, free of charge, on the President of the United States.

Seconds later, Eugene Robinson was wearing handcuffs. The lady, it seems, was no lady at all, but an undercover policewoman working the street as a vice squad decoy.

Twenty-five other men were apprehended that night in Miami for approximately the same offence, including one who was wanted for three murders in Pennsylvania, but not all of them put together created the furore Robinson's arrest did.

For one thing, Eugene Robinson is the acknowledged leader of the Atlanta Falcons' defence, and was scheduled to start at strong safety against the Denver Broncos in Super Bowl XXXIII less than 24 hours later.

On the very morning of his arrest, Robinson had attended a "Prayer Breakfast", where he had received the Bart Starr Award for "high moral character" from Athletes in Action, an organisation of prominent Christian sporting figures.

And, almost predictably, Robinson ensured that his place in Super Bowl history would remain forever secure the following evening when he became the unchallenged goat of the game.

Just after Atlanta's usually-reliable Danish place-kicker Morten Andersen had missed a field goal that would have made the score 10-6, Robinson bungled his coverage of Denver wide receiver Rod Smith. When John Elway found Smith with a pass, the play turned into an 80-yard foot-race between the two men, which Robinson lost. The touchdown made it 17-3 and the Broncos never looked back.

Now, not only was Robinson guilty of creating what every big-game coach tries to avoid - the dreaded Super Bowl distraction - but also of inflating the market on Biscayne Boulevard, where his offer served to jack up the price of the act in question by a good $15 for the rest of the weekend.

If nothing else, Robinson supplied fodder for America's late-night talk-show hosts. Three days later the monologues of Jay Leno and David Letterman were still dominated by Eugene jokes.

Atlanta coach Dan Reeves, himself a born-again Christian, announced that he "loved Eugene unconditionally" and forgave him his transgression. The forgiveness of his team-mates may be longer in coming. Although he apologised to the Falcons players before and after the game, Robinson also admitted that he had not slept a wink the night before the game, a circumstance which may have contributed to his confusion on the pivotal touchdown play.

Moreover, younger Atlanta players who had looked to Robinson for leadership could not help but feel a certain resentment. It had taken the Atlanta team 32 years just to reach the Super Bowl. Robinson had played in the last two with the Green Bay Packers. A team-mate who allowed himself to think "he's already got his ring, and he just cost me my chance to get mine" may not have been far wrong.

Robinson's transgression was complicated by the fact that he was accompanied in Miami by his wife and two young children. Predictably, he claimed that he had been framed.

"I will be found innocent, but not righteous, in this deal," he said after the game. "But what I want to do now is apologise to my Lord Jesus Christ, secondly to my wife and kids, and thirdly to my team-mates and the entire Atlanta Falcons organisation."

At the same time, Robinson claimed the episode had not affected his performance in the Super Bowl.

"I was extremely focused on the game," he insisted. "It didn't affect my play because it was pretty much therapeutic."

This, of course, is pure balderdash. Robinson said later that a friend had reminded him that "confession is good for the soul, but bad for the reputation".

"Reputation, I can deal with that," he vowed.

Perhaps, perhaps not. A Miami police spokesman said this week that Robinson, whose previous record is spotless, may escape charges by entering a diversion programme for first offenders, but if he genuinely believes that all of this will go away the instant the arrest is expunged from the record, he's nuts.

Robinson has ensured that if Super Bowls are played 100 years from now his name will still come up in conversation. With one thoughtless act he has joined the pantheon of heroes, villains, and distraction-creators whose names arise every year when the NFL winnows the field down to its final two teams:

Max McGee, the fun-loving Green Bay back-up receiver who became the unlikely hero of Super Bowl I when he was unexpectedly pressed into service after spending the night carousing in the company of a young lady. (McGee, fortunately, was a bachelor; Robinson could be one again soon enough.)

Joe Namath, the New York Jets's quarterback who brashly "guaranteed" victory for his 17-point underdog team in Super Bowl III - and then delivered.

Thomas (Hollywood) Henderson, the fun-loving Dallas linebacker who said of Pittsburgh quarterback Terry Bradshaw: "Bradshaw is so dumb he couldn't spell `cat' if you spotted him the `c' and the `t'. (Bradshaw proved to be so dumb that he won four Super Bowls, including both meetings with Hollywood's Cowboys.)

Stanley Wilson, the Cincinnati fullback and reformed drug addict who relapsed on the eve of Super Bowl XXIII and didn't turn up again until two days after the game in a crack-induced stupor. Wilson, ironically enough, slipped off the wagon on Biscayne Boulevard in Miami. He bought the pipe-load of crack that started his downfall 10 years ago not two blocks from where Robinson stopped his car last Saturday night.

If Robinson prays long and hard enough, the Lord may, as he so earnestly believes, forgive him. His wife and children might eventually forgive him, too. Even the law may eventually let him off the hook. But if he thinks his name isn't going to come up every January as long as Super Bowls are played, he is plainly deluding himself.