Comedian Dave Chappelle has a riff about the late Anthony Bourdain, the man who, in Chappelle's opinion, had "the greatest job that show business ever produced". He "flew around the world, and ate delicious meals, with outstanding people".
And that man, with that job, "hung himself in a luxury suite in France".
Chappelle then proceeds to describe the very different life of a childhood friend for whom everything had gone outrageously wrong, but who seemed happily unaware that there was even such a thing as suicide.
Despite abundant evidence to the contrary, we still find it hard to comprehend that mental health problems can affect people who, by all outward appearances, seem to be doing fine.
So when Cesare Prandelli stepped down last week as manager of Fiorentina, making a beautifully eloquent statement about going through "a period of profound distress which is preventing me from being who I really am", it was hard not to start rationalising it on his behalf.
I mean, he's been manager of the club that plays in the glorious city of Florence, in fabulous Tuscany, where no doubt, like Anthony Bourdain, he has partaken of "delicious meals, with outstanding people".
As a player he was with Juventus for six seasons, making this a career which, on the whole, would probably seem to most men like an impossible dream.
Yet this talented and well-respected man is telling us that "over the last few months a dark cloud has developed inside of me, changing the way I see things".
"The world I've been a part of for my whole life probably isn't right for me any more… I believe the time has come for me to stop being swept along, stop for a while and rediscover my true self once again."
I guess you have to take into account, too, that this is football, where there was no such thing until quite recently as 'mental health'.
Indeed, the nearest they came to it was probably the old line that 'you don't have to be mad to be a goalkeeper, but it helps'.
It was regarded a bit like homosexuality, in the sense that a kind of…eccentricity… was allowed, but really you were expected to keep such things to yourself, for the good of the game.
The idea was that all that stuff just stopped at the dressing room door, because always in sport there is this sense that we are free from the usual forms of "profound distress", that on this higher ground no distress is so profound it can't be helped by winning the next game.
But Prandelli speaks more like an existentialist novelist than a football man, because not even football can do it for him any more.
Last week we learned of the death of Peter Lorimer - team-mate and personal friend of John Giles, who has often spoken of Lorimer's exceptional ability to stay away from the kind of tunnel vision which can bring a person to such dark places.
Giles describes the devastation of the Leeds team of 1972 on the bus home from the last match of the season against Wolves, where they had been denied the Double.
They had won the FA Cup at Wembley two days before that, and a homecoming celebration had been prepared in a Leeds hotel in anticipation of them bringing home the two trophies. But now none of them felt like going there.
None except Lorimer, who was offended to the core of his being by the idea of them winning the FA Cup, and not celebrating at all.
When he announced he was going into the hotel, Giles alone decided to join him, the two men ending the night drinking Bacardi and Coke and whiskey in the deserted banqueting hall.
Later, Giles came to fully realise how right Lorimer had been, on that night and all through the years when he refused to let even a bad football result get him down.
But that gift which Lorimer possessed is such a precious and indefinable thing; we can only admire it and regard it as proof that, yes, it can be done.
Another member of that team is profiled in the documentary film Finding Jack Charlton, which is on Virgin One tonight, and which also takes us into places where we wouldn't normally be going with a football story. Jack suffered from dementia towards the end, as have several of his team-mates who won the 1966 World Cup.
It is thought that this was partly caused by heading the heavier footballs, and there's a cultural lesson, too.
Long after they retired, the football men of that time were averse to any kind of complaining about such things, acutely aware as they were, of how enviable their lives must have seemed to their own people.
They were stoical to a degree that has turned out to be self-destructive, they were obeying a code of conduct which ultimately betrayed them.
Last week Cesare Prandelli decided to stop obeying all those rules by which he had lived, and it was perhaps the best thing that he ever did.
James Browne, Minister of State for Law Reform, briefed the Cabinet last week on "progress" that had been made towards the establishment of a Gambling Regulator.
They are now "targeting some definite milestones in the year ahead", and say there is "a clear path towards the gambling regulator being operational in early 2023".
Interestingly, it was reported in 2020 that "the long delayed gambling regulator could be in place by the summer" - the milestone that James Browne was targeting then was in 2021.
Now they're looking at 2023. Not 2021. Working with legislation that was drafted in 2013.
Then again, it's not as if there's any urgency about this gambling thing.
Sure, it's only a bit of fun.
'I was looking at the face of an alien..." Yes, this is what we want to hear them telling Joe, at this difficult time. Paddy, this Liveline caller who in 1959 saw a glowing blood-red disc about 60 feet in diameter, hovering above a low hill in Co Meath, spoke for many of us when he described "strange incidents that have dogged me throughout my life".
In Paddy's case this involved other sightings of actual aliens, who looked remarkably like Telly Savalas, but with faces that were longer and narrower than that of the beloved Kojak.
Their faces were also "North African mahogany brown", they were staring blankly, wearing a black hat and black clothes, two of them in a black American limousine, on a road near Trim.
And how, Joe enquired, did Paddy know they were aliens?
Soon there were others calling Joe, who was by now high on the improbability of it all. The air was full of triangular craft 100 feet in the air above Kilkenny; and a UFO on Spike Island just like in the movies; and a silver tube turning into a spinning sphere, going puff and vanishing over Cavan; and a big orange ball flashing across the top of the car on the road near Navan.
In future times they will probably identify this as the moment we finally just got tired of this world, and let ourselves go.
Yet even in this moment of liberation, we must exercise caution - Joe was taking these calls in the light of Trump's former intelligence director John Ratcliffe's recent claim that there have been many more close encounters of the third kind than the authorities have been willing to share.
So it seems the Trumpists are determined to take the good out of the flying saucers, just as they took the good out of the grand old game of conspiracy theories. Soon we will no doubt be hearing that George Soros and Bill Gates were behind the lads who came to Meath who looked like Kojak; that members of the Deep State are in league with these forces of the paranormal.
I hate to say it, but it looks like this game is gone too.