Calling on the considerable powers of celebrity publicist Max Markson, the professional punter attempted to paint himself as nothing more than a misunderstood knockabout Aussie who loves a beer and a bet who also happened to provide "free sex" to footballers and jockeys at the brothel he once owned.

It was an excruciating hour as a man dug himself further and further into the hole on live television.

On Saturday, at 6.18am, I received a text message from Hayson that exposes the man for what he truly is.

Scum.

Hayson's text, in full, said this: "Your [sic] just a weak homosexual aren't you. No balls to write the Wayne Bennett story but happy to write about the match fixing story which is destroying innocent lives of several people and everyone knows it has not happened. That's what a coward you are and by the way all the players don't want you anywhere near the dressing rooms every [sic] again looking at them getting changed and that's them saying that not me and should look at different career as rugby league and homosexuality don't mix. Your [sic] just a weak suck. Cheers."

When you're an opinion writer, you expect to be punched in the head in return. If you're prepared to throw a few, you have to take a few. If you bruise easily, you are in the wrong game.

But sometimes the line is crossed and Hayson's gutless missive jumps right over it.

Most turn their back on nasty homophobia and pretend it didn't happen. Don't give the grub who said it any more oxygen.

I'd prefer to call it out.

I'm not ashamed of my sexuality, although the shame of living in the closet until I was 26 certainly took its toll on my mental health. It still does. That shame breaks something inside of you and it impacts on many areas of your life. In particular, your failed relationships with others.

I wrote about this almost three years ago because of the messy debate about same-sex marriage. Sadly, that one remains unresolved and is heading towards a bitter conclusion with a costly plebiscite.

Hayson laments stories about match-fixing, which is curious given how much he likes to fuel them.

The first time I wrote about this scandal was in June when I sat down with Hayson — at his request — as the story about police investigating two suspicious matches involving Manly was breaking. The next day, I wrote a thousand-word story as Eddie emphatically denied any wrongdoing.

I gave him such a fair go it prompted others to claim I was receiving money from him and possibly receiving services at Stiletto, the Camperdown brothel he was forced to sell in the face of $52 million of debt.

After that, I decided to lose Eddie's number. He would phone and pester me for information, paranoid about whatever colleague Kate McClymont was writing, what others were saying. He'd try to tip me into stories but in the end he was just a pest. The thought of being associated with Eddie Hayson let alone being his mouthpiece churned the stomach.

Andrew Webster: 'Sometimes the line is crossed.'

The only other time I've really written about him was last Thursday after his bizarre media call, in which he was hammered about all areas of his seedy life. Don't want stories that are "destroying innocent lives" to be written? Don't call a press conference. Max could've told you that for free.

If reconstructing his battered image was the aim of the exercise, Hayson failed miserably. Instead of clearing the air, he only made the situation harder to read. Admirably, though, he told us how he would stay away from Kieran Foran so he could resurrect his playing career … but wanted everyone to know how he saved the troubled footballer's life.

Hayson is angry I didn't write last week about Brisbane coach Wayne Bennett's sad split from his wife of 42 years. The Bennett story was bubbling along but, as I wrote on Friday, I stayed away from it because the issue is deeply personal. Bennett is a public figure — albeit one that has established himself as the game's moral compass — but this is a private matter.

The match-fixing story is not. NSW Police aren't investigating Bennett because no crime has been committed. Last June, NSW Police started investigating matches involving Manly and two weeks ago established Strike Force Nuralda to look deeper into the matter.

As regrettable as it is to write about it —particularly during the NRL finals — it is a story that cannot be ignored.

Hayson thinks he's got a direct line into what "the players" are thinking but I'd dare say he hasn't a clue. He admitted as much to me in June when he said he barely comes in contact with footballers any longer "now that I don't have Stiletto".

So who are these players who don't want me near their dressing-room, Eddie? Or have you just made this one up?

For starters, reporters haven't really been allowed inside the dressing-room for years. We wait outside alongside family, friends and sponsors, and media managers bring players out for us to interview. To suggest that a gay reporter would leer at players while doing his job isn't just laughable but also highlights your bigotry.

I have a great relationship with most players. The NRL and several clubs — the Bulldogs in particular — have been superb about sending a message out against homophobia. Paul Langmack's efforts in organising the NRL float at Mardi Gras earlier this year while he fought throat cancer was one of the bravest things I've seen.

But while we're being honest, Eddie, I'll tell you what a few former players told me about you last week following your media conference.

Said one: "Thank f..k I have nothing to do with him any longer. Wherever Eddie is, trouble follows." Said another: "He is just a leech. He just hangs around, wanting information. I don't want anything to do with him again."

Rugby league and homosexuality don't mix? I'd love to see you tell Ian Roberts that.

And I can't change jobs, Eddie. I love the game too much. I love writing about the game and its people too much. I don't really know how to do anything else.

But I'll tell you something: the game would be so much nicer to cover if you weren't involved with it. That's the players saying it — not just me.