In a weekend of sporting upsets, surely the biggest and least reported was Swansea City's 5-0 drubbing of Leyton Orient at the citadel of soccer (aka Brisbane Road). Orient boss Martin Ling in his programme notes (quaintly headed 'The Ling Dynasty') was in soothsayer mode when he said that the O's were punching above their weight sitting on top of League One.

By ten to five on Saturday, after a performance which at best could be described as 'room for improvement' and worst as 'utter cr*p', the O’s were in second place. At least keeper Stuart Nelson had a reason to be in tears – he picked the ball out of the onion bag so often he must have thought his numbers had come up in the lottery and forgotten to take his ticket in.

But we football fans are nothing if not determined. As soon as the final whistle went, we were in the queue for supplies for the Leeds campaign this coming weekend. Going by Saturday's performance, it promises to be a long round trip.

‘You don't have to be the clever geezer in the wheelchair who writes books about the big bang to work out what time Wearsiders had to get off their backsides and reach London to watch their heroes in one of the plum fixtures of the season.’


Fast forward to Sunday morning and an encounter with a column of Sunderland fans in and around Highbury and Islington Station as I was making my way into London. You can say what you want about the quality of football in the England national team but there is no question that we leave the world standing in the supporters stakes.

You don't have to be the clever geezer in the wheelchair who writes books about the big bang to work out what time Wearsiders had to get off their backsides and reach London by 11.30 on a Sunday morning to watch their heroes in one of the plum fixtures of the season. '"Aye, we were oop at four, man."

So what kind of moron at the Premier League makes the salt and earth of British football walk through glass barefoot to watch their team? Is football so much in the pocket of Sky and Setanta that they can't tell these media moguls that fans who pay for tickets, for programmes, for hot dogs, for fizzy drinks, for replica shirts, for mouse mats for baby bibs are entitled to watch Arsenal-Sunderland at 3pm on a Saturday?

It is a national outrage that just two Premier League games were played at the traditional kick-off time on Saturday. Perhaps a reader who disagrees with me can tell me what is the point of all the TV filthy lucre is if it is only swirling around between overpaid players, their grubby agents and TV executives? Or, to put it more succinctly, would the organisers of Wimbledon get away with timetabling show-court games at eight on a Sunday morning?

Fans put up with a lot following teams that let them down on the pitch without having to encounter obstacles off it (the O’s will soon be back to their best, I'm convinced). The Premier League brand would not be worth half of its current value without the added extra of the passion engendered by fans through all the divisions of English football. But where is the reward for those who are good enough to bake the bread but not to eat it? In the pockets of men in suits slumbering away in a five-star resort while good, honest working men and women have to trek the length of England to watch their football team.

Can the humble fan win against the TV moguls? Can Orient win at Leeds? Post your views here or write an article for Sportingo.