Here's the scene, the ball comes out to you from a throw-in, you're over on the left hand side of the pitch, not too many yards out from the edge of your opponents penalty area. This particular penalty area is that of Chelsea whom you are playing on their own turf, somewhere your club hasn't won since the days of standing terraces and a pint of beer cost a penny (probably), you are leading one nil and have an eon of injury time still to play......

Once upon a time, football was considered to represent a form of escapism. When the working man, wearied following a week’s toil, could take himself along to a game of a Saturday afternoon, and allow himself some well-earned time-out from what could be described as the harsh realities of life.