A couple of weeks ago, suspended FIFA president Sepp Blatter was admitted to hospital with what was described as a "small emotional breakdown."
In retrospect, it's become a little more severe. According to Blatter, he was "close to dying."
"I was between the angels who were singing and the devil who was lighting the fire, but it was the angels who sang," Blatter said in a recent interview with Swiss television.
Yes, this is the way Sepp Blatter actually talks. He's that cousin of yours who insists on reading excerpts of his unpublished novel on poker night. And, of course, it's written entirely in verse.
A few years ago, when his troubles were just beginning, Blatter swanned in to open the 2011 Women's World Cup in Germany. The cops were onto his Caribbean bagman, Jack Warner. The money trail would eventually wind back to Blatter's top lieutenants, ending in charges and extraditions.
As a man whose survival instinct might qualify as a mutant superpower, Blatter needed something clean and unimpeachable to latch on to. Gender equality seemed to be a smart bet. He did not exactly hit an egalitarian note when he arrived at the first press conference in a helicopter.
While a bunch of women sat alongside him silently, Blatter patiently explained why soccer was "feminine." He droned on in a variety of English so ornate, the transcription ought to have been printed on rose-scented paper.
"Let a woman play their game and let them play in the most attractive manner when they use their personal and genetic qualities which are the elegance and dancing," Blatter said at one point.
I remember that line pretty well. It stopped time. One of the women alongside him on stage – FIFA deputy-director Tatjana Haenni – turned, leaned forward slowly and hit Blatter with a look so withering I'm pretty sure he was close to dying then, too.
You realized in that moment that not everyone in this man's life treated his every utterance, no matter how silly, as heaven-sent brilliance. No one cared enough to tell him, "If you want to lay it on this thick, you'll need a bigger trowel." People in the audience were sitting there slack-jawed, giving each other "Is this really happening?" looks. It was like watching a dog juggle. Blatter was oblivious.
His mood darkened when former player Steffi Jones promised to do everything she could to prevent Blatter from being booed at the opening match. The boss visibly flinched. This was a little too much straight talk for him.
Jones needn't have worried. Blatter skipped the formal ceremonies.
What consistently amazes about Blatter is how much dignity he will trade to keep his place at the high table. He had one foot in the metaphoric grave back then (when a local journalist asked him a specific question about corruption, the news conference was abruptly ended). It didn't slow his crooked roll in the least. You admired his imperviousness to reality, if little else.
It's getting terribly desperate now.
As Blatter pulls out the near-death-experience card, FIFA has finally signalled that it wants him out, and for good.
Over the weekend, the governing body's investigative arm – so often used by Blatter to lay down a protective smokescreen – recommended that he be sanctioned along with his former ally/former bitter enemy/current friend-of-convenience, UEFA boss Michel Platini.
At issue is a $2-million payment made by FIFA, through Blatter, to Platini in 2011. The pair contends this was payment for advisory work done by Platini from 1998-2002, agreed to by "oral contract." This despite the fact Platini drew a $400,000 yearly salary during that time.
It's just a coincidence that it was delivered shortly after Platini agreed to withdraw as a candidate from a FIFA presidential election, allowing Blatter to run unopposed.
That's one explanation. It's not a good one, but it's an explanation.
On Monday, the probe was passed on to a judge, signalling the beginning of formal proceedings of censure. They will take place next month, and almost certainly end in multiyear bans for both men.
It isn't just a legal reality. It's become more serious than that. It's a public-relations matter. FIFA can no longer conduct regular business, what with all the snickering in the background. Nobody likes being laughed at. The super-rich like it least of all. So it's time for Blatter to go.
Having never accepted that his time is ending (despite already quitting!), Blatter is in full media flail. The maudlin appeals for clemency coincide with a fairly outrageous Plan B. A year ago, Blatter was at war with Platini, his likeliest successor. Now he's trying to sneak back into the top office as his éminence grise.
"Platini is an honest man," Blatter said in that same Swiss interview. "If he comes back, he will be elected [as FIFA president]. And then, [if] he comes back, I will return, too."
Every time you stop to think that Blatter has gone too far, he's busily going further still.
Getting rid of him won't change anything at FIFA. He'll be replaced by someone less compromised and equally pliant. The real villains are dozens of anonymous and interchangeable voting delegates who spend their lives with hands out, selling World Cup concessions under the table to kleptocracies. As long as people are desperate to get a bit of that World Cup shine, there will be opportunists willing to fleece them.
Blatter's sin was allowing them to run amok. He didn't care about making money for himself. He wanted to be the guy up front giving the speeches and receiving the awards. He wanted to be loved.
Nobody loves him anymore. After decades spent surrounded by sycophants and enablers, nobody cares in the least how he is feeling. Imagine spending your life in the throne room, then waking up one day in the stables. In its way, it's tragic.
Seen in that light, maybe he's not making this up. Maybe the thought of spending the rest of his life being ignored by all the people who once hung on his every word really is killing Sepp Blatter.