It is more or less possible now to while away your entire life by following the drama and tragi-comic sagas of the Premiership through a remote control (oh, heaven, you cry), from preview shows to live games, late night re-runs and match reviews, all woven around the observations of the obligatory smiling pundits.
They are relentlessly formulaic in presentation, cliche-driven and generally depressingly predictable. How many interviews with Alex Ferguson do we need to see? What more is to be said about Paul Gascoigne? Okay, so we've seen and heard Roy Evans and we're convinced: he's a nice guy.
How many more times are we to hear players describe their part in the definitive goal in that peculiar tense they use "well, I've just got hold of it and I'm running down the wing and I've got the cross in and Macca's done all the work really, you know, `e's taken it on chest and just knocked it home."
Occasionally, there are exceptions - Martin O'Neill is usually worth listening to if you can tolerate the worry that he may actually leap through the screen and address you from the fireplace during his more animated moments. Players like Gareth Southgate often consider questions before popping an answer. The reborn Tony Adams is a strangely fascinating individual.
Too often though, players and interviewers tend to slip into the mutual understanding based on trotting out run-of-the-mill questions in return for the standard responses, all of which extol the virtues of respecting one's opponent, trying to put one away for the fans and adhering to the strong work ethic which guided said player to whatever lofty perch he currently rests at. Alan Shearer is a master of the art. And it's all a crock of shit.
Which is why it is a glorious relief when the programme-makers decide to delve into unknown pastures, as did Football Focus this week. The Beeb are masters at putting together beautifully packaged reports, illustrated by Mark Lawrenson's presentation on the revival at Preston, which mixed old footage with the new aspirations which are driving the club.
It seemed like a story which was worth a slot on its own, charting the rise of the club in tandem with the Lancashire mills and the plummeting decline of both industry and football in the 1960s. There was a feel around the club that you can still at least sniff a faint trace of the ethics which first made it great.
The most interesting feature, though, was on Nigel Clough, who like his fabled oul fella has gone into the management game. Nigel is working up a sweat, light years away from the big time, worrying and tending to those soldiers who together play for the pride of Burton Albion.
Inevitably, Clough the younger was asked about the spectre of his father Brian loitering in the background and about the influence he may have had on him. For one sequence, they sat Nigel on the dressing-room bench and ran a projector film against the wall of Clough senior doing his stuff with Forest about 20 years ago. It was a simple, brilliant touch, highlighting the old man's management philosophy while his son sat on, still the student.
"We sit down and talk about it for 20 minutes and then decide that I'm right," offered Clough senior on internal club debates.
The footage of the game was similarly instructive. The home team got a result but not before the Clough management team let loose their collective fury on the linesman.
"Linesman, you can put your flag up as well," yelled Clough junior at one stage after giving himself to a prolonged scream of anguish. (Can't remember hearing Ruud Gullit divest himself of such emotion anytime recently).
Moments later, Nigel's fledgling career was threatened by a particularly ill-advised cross by a Burton Albion stalwart, which hurtled towards the manager's barnet at illegal speeds and tested the foundations of the dug-out. It got a laugh.
Afterwards, the players celebrated their win with the old victory chorus first coined by the great Juve team; "All the lads are cheerin', shall we get the beers in?"
It was good stuff, a refreshing departure from the themes of money, indiscipline, transfers and invented English which drive the Premiership on.
Back at home, there was a similar parallel to be found in Sideline View's coverage of the first round of National Football League games. The increased winter coverage by the domestic channel reflects heightened interest in the game and the notion of a GAA season no longer applies.
Marty Morrissey was granted excellent access to the Galway team as they travelled to Leitrim, sitting on the bus, chatting to Ray Silke in the changing rooms and chewing the fat with manager John O'Mahony on the line. And it was fine, very civil and well presented, but such have been the demands on the Galway squad that those interviewed inevitably dished out the stuff we have heard before.
Of far more value was the journey with J J Barrett for Wexford's first outing. The referee, we were told, arrived for a 3.0 p.m. throw-in, although the game was scheduled for 2.30 p.m. At half-time, we were presented with footage of both teams locked outside their own dressing-rooms.
Such scenarios are "very typical of Division Four football," according to Tommy Lyons, the Offaly manager.
But it was good to see them highlighted, reassuring to think that as the GAA enters an era of orbiting hype and virtual professional playing standards, that just maybe, the smaller, struggling representatives won't be simply washed away in the rush.
