I SAT in the gentleman's lounge of my local club listening to the thoughts of a man who I knew to be the chairman of a nearby football club.

"Tha knows what's ruined football don't you? Women of course. They've even got em reffing now. I ask you. One of 'em got our skipper sent off t'other week -- apparently took offence when he told her where to go."

I asked him who then was responsible for all the other red and yellow cards his team had readily accumulated. He thought for a moment, "The wives of course. If they gave their menfolk a decent pre-match meal they wouldn't turn up 'ere irritable and take it out on my players."

Surely, I argued, if they know the Laws and like football what is preventing women from officiating. He replied tersely "Look lad if they're that keen on t'game they can come down to my club and help to sell pies and pour brews." But surely, I queried, they must be as fit as the male referees to get through the fitness test? "Even better" he responded, "we can get them doing a tour t'ground selling raffle tickets."

Now aware that I was quite out of step with modern football, I asked his views on other aspects of the game. "Wimps game you know -- can't even tackle any more. I remember once at Formby in th'old days when I hit their winger so 'ard he had to fetch his leg from t'fifth row o' terraces. Modern balls are rubbish too. In my day you weren't a man until your head bled from heading t'stitching in t'leather ball.

I left the club yearning for the days when men were men, women knew their place, and half the crowd suffered from rickets.