Sometimes after a long night out, people make mistakes. People use the wrong toothbrush. People experience heightened emotions, and can become easily agitated—especially when they are young. But intoxication is not to blame for spewing libel about an entire country; that is called cowardice.

Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. Twentieth of August, 2016. Ryan Lochte and four friends leave the Olympic Village and go to one of Rio’s social hotspots. They depart around six am, returning to the Village around the time that other athletes are waking up to train.

The next morning, Lochte appears on NBC News saying, “The guy pulled out his gun, he cocked it, put it to my forehead and he said, ‘Get down,’ and I put my hands up, I was like ‘whatever’,” he told NBC. “He took our money, he took my wallet — he left my cell phone, he left my credentials.”

Brazilians were skeptical from the start. Yes, in Rio it is common for police officers to perform a “blitz” where they check several drivers’ Blood Alcohol Content, in order to make sure they’re not driving under the influence. But a blitz no one else knew about? A taxi driver that never stepped forward? And, most suspiciously of all, a thief that leaves behind phones, wallets, and watches? Please, Brazil’s thieves are more thorough than that.

So the novella began: The Brazilian police trying to investigate, American authorities (and perhaps lawyers) alerted, and the Olympic Committee struggling to maintain its composure. After two days of probing, yet another video arose—one of the woozy group drunkenly bashing a gas station, with Lochte’s unmissable head in the center of the action. They broke doors, urinated where they should not have, and tried to leave. As expected, the security guard apprehended them, they paid the owner and left.

These actions alone would not have warranted a scandal—the swimmers would have compensated the owners and returned to the states as champions, albeit teased ones. But no. Either because he happened to leave his girlfriend at the hotel, or because he felt overshadowed by Phelps’ victories, Lochte needed more attention; so he crafted this dramatic tale of danger, not considering the consequences.

Feeling as if he were invincible (because of his citizenship or his medals), Lochte portrayed all of Brazil in a negative light—as if it hadn’t already been before. The Summer Games were overshadowed by concerns of Zika, violence, and budgeting due to political instability. But as the torch was lit in the Maracanã, those fears faded away. Brazil put on a beautiful show: one of historical significance, cultural symbolism, and a message of conservation, all in the spirit of a South American party.

For Lochte to ruin all of that hard work in one short interview isn’t just rude, it’s incredibly inconsiderate. Brazil is a country with real people. It is a place where fun is invasive, but it is also a country with rules to be respected. To Brazilians, this is such a sensitive topic; why hit us where we are already sore?

This situation, although mostly boiled-over, is as infuriating as it is dumbfounding. All I can muster is disgust and a scintilla of pity for his lost endorsements. But, Mr. Lochte, in the future, please do not be so petulant. And it’s a shame, because Lochte is a fierce swimmer—one that apparently leaves all that he’s got in the pool, including his integrity.