AOB: Being unfaithful

Yes, I have to confess that I've cheated, spurning the chance of a romantic weekend on the English Riviera in favour of a quick one-dayer in London. I knew it was wrong, but strangely it just felt so right.

I am of course refering to last weekend, when I took in Fulham vs Man City at Craven Cottage instead of making the long journey south west to Torquay.

It was the first Premier League game I've been to since 2001, and I have to say that I quite enjoyed the experience. We were seated right in amongst the Fulham "hardcore", and the atmosphere was pretty good, with plenty of witty songs (ex-Scummer Jimmy Bullard is apparently "better than Steve Gerrard, and fitter than Frank Lampard") and a bit of banter (yuk, I loathe that word) with the visitors from the blue side of Manchester. It was certainly far from the sterile experience that top flight matches are often portrayed as.

Of course Fulham is probably the least Premier League-like Premier League ground, so that could have something to do with it, but another thing that impressed me was the quality of the football on show. Even two mediocre sides (City were missing Robinho, so instead had Darius Vassell spearheading their attack) produced the kind of play that is light years ahead of what is usually served up in the Blue Square Premier league; there were no aimless hoofs into the channels, or corners shanked straight out of play, and misplaced passes were few and far between.

What I'm trying to say is that while there is a lot wrong with the Premier League, the standard of the football certainly isn't one of those things. With this in mind it makes me laugh when Setanta try to insist that the BSP is "proper football". I will always support United at whatever level they're playing at, but I don't relish that we are in such a terrible league at present. "Proper" football is exciting and high quality and played out in front of a packed crowd. It isn't 22 cloggers taking part in a competition to see who can launch the ball the furthest in front of 800 people in some loathesome hell hole like Ebbsfleet or Histon.