THESE days, it takes me a while before I’m able to work much enthusiasm for global sporting occasions. Partly that’s because of the sheer corporate power on display. Events like the World Cup, and even more so the Olympics Games, can feel like a giant marketing extravaganza.

Rio’s top sponsors include companies like Coca Cola, McDonald’s, Samsung, Visa and ATOS, none of whose connection with sport I can quite figure out.

Then there’s the doping scandals that seem to multiply with every event. When mandatory testing was first introduced in 1968, one athlete had sanctions imposed after testing positive for drugs. At the London Olympics in 2012, there were 39. And these are just the ones who were caught.

It’s also hard to get into the Olympic spirit when you know that poor communities have been cleared from their homes to allow the spectacle to get underway. Whether it be in the east end of Glasgow for the Commonwealth Games or in the favelas of Rio for the Olympics, compulsory evictions to make way for sport leaves me uncomfortable.

Despite all of that, once the events get underway, I get slowly reeled in. I just can’t help but be impressed by these exhibitions of almost superhuman athleticism.

But the politics are never far away. When I tuned into the diving, I couldn’t help but be aerated by the male competitors’ trunks. They might as well have been wearing strips of Elastoplast. It was perplexing to see one diver after another tucking in their tackle before launching themselves from the diving boards. And I couldn’t help giggling as they emerged from the pool tugging up their trunks to protect their modesty. Surely, in these days of hi-tech sports fabrics, something a bit more robust and reliable is available.

What was most interesting however was the studied silence from the commentators and columnists. Surely, heterosexual women up and down the country were getting hot and bothered at such overt displays of male flesh? And even more surely, had these been female competitors, would we not have been deluged with complaints from male commentators about the distracting influence of skimpy clothing?

Women athletes, including runners and beach volleyball players, have been accused of trivialising sport by underdressing. Yet the trunks these men were wearing are the smallest of outfits I’ve seen on any athlete. Only complete nakedness could trump the trunks for minimalism.

Women, if they wear crop tops and shorts to run, or bikinis to play beach volleyball, are accused of being sexually provocative. Boris Johnson, talking about women’s beach volleyball at the London Olympics, described women as “glistening like wet otters”. Gabby Douglas, an American gymnast, generated more column inches over her hair than over the two gold medals she won in London.

And if a Muslim woman dares to defy convention by playing in long sleeves, joggers and a hijab, she’s wearing “oppressive attire”. Female athletes might pick up medals by the score, but they can never win.

Then we have to endure trite, everyday sexism, such as the observation from NBC commentator Dan Hicks following Katinka Hosszu’s world-record breaking swim in the 400 metre individual medley. “And there’s the man responsible,” he told his worldwide audience as the camera focused on Katinka’s husband and coach. Another female medallist, Corey Cogdell-Unrein, was headlined in the Chicago Tribune as the “wife of a Bears’ lineman”. No woman could possibly succeed without a man at her back, imparting his greater wisdom.

Thanks to the power of social media, these incidents might have attracted some attention, but they’re not aberrations. A study published by Cambridge University press showed that men are talked about for their sport three times more than their female counterparts. Men are “strong, big, real, great or fast”. Women are “aged, pregnant or unmarried”.

The amazing Shelly-Ann Fraser-Pryce is routinely described as the “female Usain Bolt”, while the tremendous Kate Ledecky is the “female Michael Phelps” – and her gold medal is attributed to her “swimming like a man”. Men, of course, are never described as the male version of anything. And no commentator would dream of suggesting that Usain Bolt’s success is down to him running like a woman.

JESSICA Ennis Hill’s Olympics boiled down to her “bidding to become the third new mum to retain Olympic Gold”. You’re not likely to see any headlines about the ambition of the thousandth new dad.

Behind that, there is a tale we should be telling. As for women in any profession, there’s a price to be paid for ensuring the continued survival of the human race – what’s known as the motherhood penalty.

For women in general, careers stall and hourly pay can plummet by up to 32 per cent compared to childless women. Despite some experts insisting that pregnancy can be of physical and psychological benefit to female athletes, it is extremely rare for women to repeat their success after childbirth.

Only two “new mums” have ever retained their gold medal. So, what happens to all the rest? It seems that even female elite athletes bear an unequal burden in the parenting department.

Contrast that with men. Their fatherhood is only worth noticing if they get a bit emotional in a photo-op with their baby, or if they’ve been particularly prolific at reproducing with more than one woman. Male athletes can become fathers and grow their families as large as they like without fearing the slightest damage to their careers.

I had a bit of a rant about the men’s trunks and, I have to confess, a right good laugh. But sexism in sport is a serious issue.

Let this Olympics be the last where we only talk about women in relation to their outfits, their hair, their relationship status and their fertility. Come the next one, can we talk about their strength, skill, and dedication – and instead of trying to work out which male sage is responsible for their success, credit them for their own achievements?