Which trail will we follow?

It's a crossroads at which we find ourselves more and more it seems. It feels.

We spend our time, our money, our thoughts on the sports we love, the players we adore and the games we can't live without.

But then we get a peak at the dirty lifestyles some on our playing fields lead, the reckless decisions they make, and we look inside ourselves to try to understand why we care so much.

This sports climate doesn't appear to be the one we fell in love with. No, for that one we have to search, we have to till through this rocky stretch of problems to remember the glorious reasons we opened our hearts to these games in the first place.

Only it's tough to do right now.

The current crop of troublemakers has made a mockery of our favorite diversions--making them anything but.

Barry Bonds is on the cusp of breaking the all-time home run record--a mark made all the more special because of the man who established it--despite clear clues that he cheated on his journey to this milestone. The result will have a dirty player, a player who in my view obviously took steroids, holding two of the most sacred records in sports--the single-season and career home run crowns.

Michael Vick, the face of the Atlanta Falcons and one of the most popular players in the NFL, is accused of playing a major role in an underground dogfighting ring. The former Madden NFL cover boy was indicted last week on charges that he and several accomplices killed pit bulls at his Surry County home by some of the most gruesome means possible--electrocution, hanging, drowning and slamming at least one dog to the ground.

Former NBA referee Tim Donaghy is accused of gambling on games he officiated and making calls that affected the point spread he and his associates wagered thousands on over the past two seasons. If that's not shocking enough, Donaghy may reportedly name other officials who were in on the act.

Unfortunately, they're not alone in disgracing our sports landscape. The problems engulf the professional and the amateur, the domestic and international.

Oklahoma's football program recently vacated all of its wins from the '05 season because players were receiving payment for no-show jobs. This year's Tour de France is again swamped in doping allegations on a daily basis. Just last summer, the soccer world was rocked by the Italian match-fixing scandal.

And the list can go on and on. It grows regularly because, as Frank Deford reminded us, too many within sports feel entitled.

Yeah, you should feel outraged by these jerks. And you needn't worry about this noise of innocence until proven guilty. This isn't a court of law. You have the right to believe as you will. A high-priced lawyer might be able to acquit Bonds and Vick and Donaghy of the legal charges levied against them. But if even a quarter of the allegations against them are true, I don't want anything to do with any of them.

Because I want to cleanse my mind with the good stories that still exist in sports today. That's right, some good guys are still out there. They are why sports still matter, why you mustn't turn away, why they're still worth your energy.

Let Jon Lester lead the way. The 23-year-old cancer survivor returned to the mound Tuesday 11 months after being diagnosed with lymphoma.

Last August, the Red Sox lefty was enjoying a fine rookie season only to see the cancer rip it away from him. But there he was, six chemotherapy sessions later, back on the hill, mowing down the Indians over six innings, earning the win and bringing some of the Cleveland faithful to their feet.

Let Ken Girffey Jr., enjoying one of his finest seasons this decade, bring you back to when "The Kid" roamed Seattle's Kingdome and dropped your jaw with his athleticism in the outfield and that oh-so-sweet swing at the plate. Junior is 13 homers away from 600--and becoming the first untainted player to eclipse the plateau since another kid, "The Say Hey Kid," surpassed the milestone in '69.

Let Roger Federer, fresh of a fifth straight Wimbledon crown, remind you that not all athletes are stuck on themselves. The No. 1-ranked player in the world respects the craft he's perfected and treats the little people like gold.

Watch closely as Federer goes for his fourth straight U.S. Open title later this summer and you'll see him actually handing ball boys and girls his towel rather than just dropping it on the court for them to retrieve. Notice how he directs loose balls their way instead of watching the youngsters sprint for them. As if that weren't enough, he throws them pizza parties--and joins them for the chow.

Yes, there are indeed great sports stories and figures out there.

Like Joe Paterno, sick of his Nittany Lions' off-the-field problems, demanding that his team clean up both its act and its massive, 107,000-seat Beaver Stadium after every home game.

Like Peyton Manning, after enduring years of ridicule and scorn for his playoff failures, taking the field this coming season as a champion looking to repeat.

Like Roy Hibbert, Team USA's go-to guy at the Pam Am Games, turning down NBA millions to return to Georgetown. It's not about improving his NBA stock. It's about bringing the Hoyas back to the Final Four for the second straight season and striving to deliver the school its first national title since '84.

But it's more than that. It's more than just watching others. It's the way you live it.

It's enjoying a day at the ballpark with your wife, sharing a beer with your dad at the sports bar, soaking up the days of yore with your grandfather.

It's tailgating on a crisp fall afternoon at your alma mater with old friends you haven't seen since the season before and cheering on Dear Old State.

It's drafting your fantasy team and kicking your best friend's tail. It's that same friend kicking your butt the next time around and paying you back for all that trash-talk you spewed.

It's reliving last night's games with your office buddies first thing in the morning, it's reading the box scores at lunch, it's coming home from a long day and witnessing your team rally for an improbable comeback--sending you to bed pumped up for tomorrow's breakdown with the gang.

Ah yes, this romance is too strong, this passion runs too deep to simply abandon.

Bonds and Vick and Donaghy may be successful in their efforts to take our sports hostage. For now.

But their siege won't last. They aren't the first and they won't be the last to litter our games with corruption. As has become custom, we will move on.

We'll be absorbed in this love affair long after these miscreants fade from our consciousness. And that's the best punishment I can ever imagine for these jackasses.