a thought occurred. I was watching the denouement of The Match, and wondering why they were persisting with an almost identical group of minor celebrities every year. Surely a show that pits normal people against some of the game's best players would be more involving. But Britain has yet to produce an Underdogs-type show. Until now. Sort of.

Bravo has come up with Football Saved My Life, where a group of punters gather under the tutelage of Neil Ruddock and Justin Edinburgh to take on a team of footballing legends. Not content with recruiting ordinary folk, the producers advertised for England's biggest eaters, drinkers and wasters.

They were about to have their lives changed. Or, as the title so sensationally put it, saved.

If you haven't seen Bravo before, it's lad's mag television, still clinging onto the days when Loadedwas readable and England got to semi-finals. If you are an NTL customer, it resides high up in the listings beyond the sport channels, waiting to be discovered by young men drunkenly seeking some late night adult channel freeview, despite years of disappointment. Other young men, obviously.

This show had its fair share of what might generously be called 'characters'. One angry young man recounted a road rage incident in which he'd chased a couple of "black guys" who were "too fat to get out of their car". He saw this as a stroke of luck, as he was "expecting to get shot". He's not racist though. "I've friends who are black, white, yellow, pinkf" Lovely.

After some pop-psychology and the now obligatory doctor telling someone that THEY WILL DIE unless they do something about it quickly, two people had to be turfed out. One of them was Paul Andreas, the squad's best player. Andreas got the boot because he was a bit odd. A physical trainer by trade, he decided that the team's female coach was rubbish and decided to train by himself. When confronted by Dowds, he told her, "You don't understand football. It's not a game for you."

If I may paraphrase the great George Costanza, I know less about women than anyone in the world, but I do know that you can't say that.

So Andreas was kicked out, while the likes of 'Puke', 'Puddles', 'The Pimp' and 'Arafat' made it through to next week. Don't strain yourself trying to find the channel to catch up with their adventures, unless you're tickled by descriptive captions such as 'Paul Andreas . . . chubby fitness "expert"' or 'Ike's best mate . . . faith in fat friend'.

Besides, what need have we for such ne'er-do-wells when we have some fine Irish cailins seeking sporting excellence in this year's Underdogs on TG4.

Thirty hopefuls were holed up in a boarding school under the watchful eyes of Brian Mullins, Geraldine Feerick and Sean O Domhnaill. Mullins may be a legend, but he's not a TV natural. His voice is like the Grim Reaper's after a particularly heavy night out, a monotone drawl that must cause panic among the subterranean animal kingdom.

After their first match, the squad were allowed out for a couple of drinks, with O Domhnaill insisting they be back by 12.55am, "Don't disappoint me, please." Cut to next scene of O Domhnaill knocking back some fluorescent alcopop in one go. Despite his bad example, they all seemed to make it back on time. However, this did lead to a drunken group rendition of 'Aon Focal Eile', a scene that would have made Kieran McGeeney shudder.

Then two local lads rocked up with a couple of six packs in hand, after hearing that "room 112 is the place to be for the action". They'd clearly prepared themselves for the night of their lives after hearing tales of an entire boarding school full of young fit women and had even splashed out on the premium Mexican lager, "I nearly had to kill a man to get this beer. Can we not turn the cameras off and go in?" But Feerick wasn't long in softening their their cough and sent them home; to sleep, perchance to dream.

With the fun over, three girls were hauled in, with one facing eviction.

After the tension and the Snow Patrol had been cranked up to the last, it turned out that none of them would be sent home. Instead, a girl by the name of Elaine Byrne was called in. Byrne didn't seem to be a problem footballwise but had refused to mingle with any of the rest of the squad. Mullins, who had clashed with her in the pre-squad interviews, decided she was more trouble than she was worth, "Regarding where she is at the moment, it doesn't suit for her to be with us from now on." She took it with an icy stare and walked.

Two shows, two difficult personalities, two rejections, despite both being more talented at sport than socialising.

I wonder if they do that at Sunderlandf