When Sunderland were trounced 7-1 by Everton the other weekend, many football fans probably felt a little bit sorry for Roy Keane and his bunch of hapless Black Cats. Why? It might be because there are certain teams one feels an instinctive sympathy towards. Not necessarily for any overriding reason, more a feeling, an intangible something that makes you not want them to be managed by Graeme Souness. Maybe it’s the gloomy humour of the fans, or the team’s commitment to attacking football, or something even more prosaic, but Manchester City, Fulham and Celtic, for example, are probably quite well-regarded by fans of other sides.

By contrast, there exist several clubs football lovers feels nothing but contempt towards. Chelsea (all that money), Manchester United (all that money and all those glory fans) and Leeds (too many to mention) are obvious examples. Sheffield United less so. It’s nothing against the club per se, and it’s no reflection on Blades fans and players, really, but certain elements leave a sour taste in the mouth of the neutral. Foisting Brian Deane upon an unsuspecting world, for example. Acting hard done by after being relegated from the Premier League last season, when a solitary point at home against Wigan (Wigan!) would have kept them up. Having Sean Bean as their most famous celebrity fan. And, of course, allowing Neil Warnock to remain in gainful employment.
But then Warnock resigns, for reasons too complex to go into, and the United board have the perfect opportunity to show the world that the Bramall Lane denizens are, in fact, a caring, considerate, family club, not one who allow a Sky documentary crew to film behind-the-scenes goings-on and fail to emerge with even a modicum of sympathy. (If you haven’t seen it, do your best to get hold of it on DVD; Warnock shaking hands with the Millwall players after a particularly tasty encounter at The New Den is worth the price of it alone.)

So, a perfect opportunity. And then they go and spoil it all by doing something stupid like appointing Bryan Robson. And blowing £4m on James Beattie.

Actually, Beattie has impressed, having netted 12 goals by the end of November to lead the scoring charts, but Robson hasn’t: a 3-0 home reverse against an Arsenal second team in the Carling Cup had one irate fan storming the pitch and throwing his shirt in the manager’s direction. (Whoa, steady on there, tough guy.) What was expected to be a stroll to promotion is looking somewhat more testing, particularly as Watford and West Brom appear to have gained some crucial momentum already.

Yet the Blades are not out of it, and though Robson is pretty clueless as a boss, feelings towards the club have probably become less hostile in recent months. (I have a sneaking suspicion Crystal Palace might suddenly become everyone’s most-hated team.) Sheffield United’s problem is one that several Championship teams are currently experiencing: they’re a biggish club from a large urban centre, with good support and a proud sense of tradition, but the expansion of the Premier League left them behind. Perhaps if Mark Stein hadn’t scored twice for Chelsea in the last 10 minutes on the last day of the 1993/94 season to send United down, Everton might have spent most of the last decade in the second tier. As it is, the Blades, like Norwich, Palace, Southampton and Wednesday, have never really recovered from relegation.

It may irk fans of those clubs that Wigan, Reading and Fulham occupy places in the top flight, but without a sugar daddy, clubs find it increasingly difficult to compete. Nottingham Forest won Division Two in 1978 and the League championship the very next season. The gap between Premier League and the rest is bigger than ever. It may seem as if Adam Pearson has got it all wrong by sacking Billy Davies before December, but in one way he’s right: if you avoid relegation in that first season, you can very quickly become an established club. I mean, just look at Bolton. (Just don’t stare at Andy O’Brien for too long. You might never recover.)

There’s a wonderful moment in the 1993 FA Cup semi-final between the two Sheffield clubs at Wembley, which kind of makes you a little bit nostalgic for times past. From inside their own half, Wednesday, who eventually won 2-1, put together a superb, flowing movement, all of it along the floor, completely befuddling United (who, in fairness, probably had John Pemberton playing for them, so it’s perhaps not all their fault.) John Harkes to John Sheridan, Sheridan to Chris Waddle, Waddle to the overlapping Nigel Worthington, who centres for David Hirst…. who misses from three yards.

It’s a tremendous experience watching the footage 14 years on, and not just so we can reminisce in disbelief that Sir Alex Ferguson wouldn’t have signed Eric Cantona and changed the course of English football history if Hirst, his preferred choice, had been available. It’s worth remembering that the Sheffield Wednesday of a decade-and-a-half ago were a genuinely excellent side, capable of having a say in who won the league title. Two cup finals that season (that they didn’t win any silverware was thanks to some ruthless finishing by Ian Wright and a dreadful goalkeeping clanger from Chris Woods) to go with a third-placed finish in 1991-92, and some outstanding players: Waddle, Sheridan, Roland Nilsson, Carlton Palmer (OK, not Carlton Palmer.) While the pre-Abramovich Chelsea, replete with Robert Fleck, Eddie Newton and David Hopkins were languishing in mid-table, Wednesday were one of the top teams in the Premier League.

Now, fast forward to 2007. Wednesday sit just one place and one point clear of the Championship relegation zone, having lost nine of their first 13 league matches. A measure of how far they’ve fallen is that nobody was surprised when they were thumped 3-0 at home by Everton in the Carling Cup at the end of September - a result that would have been nigh on unthinkable a decade ago. Owls fans, renowned for their excellent support and gloomy sense of humour (maybe the best banner I’ve ever seen at a Test match at Headingley proclaimed “Richie Benaud is a Wednesdayite”) must be somewhat fed up, and then some. What went wrong? How did a once proud club, a fixture in the top division, stoop so low? And why are their city rivals United now much better than them?
<Wednesday probably won’t go down, but it’s a distressing time for supporters, particularly after last season ended so well. After Brian Laws replaced Paul Sturrock, a decent bloke who nonetheless did little to discourage the notion that all Scottish managers exist on chips, white pudding and Tennent’s Extra, the club went on an excellent end-of-season run, winning something like seven of their last nine games to finish just four points shy of a play-off spot. Optimism abounded. Now they’re officially rubbish; one of the most workmanlike sides in a league full of them. All right, they’ve got Franny Jeffers (in a new departure for him, he’s decided to move to a new club before the season starts, and not during the transfer window, when panicked clubs destined for the drop decide a) they’re desperate b) he’s available and c) they’re desperate.) But the rest of them - even those toothless old crones whose purchases are justified by managers insisting they‘ve got ‘Premiership experience’ (Deon Burton, Marcus Tudgay and Graham Kavanagh in this case) - are, much like the war on Iraq, impossible to justify, whichever way you look at it.

It seems Laws, who had some success as manager of a right motley crew at Scunthorpe, has made the wrong call. Someone should tell him that team spirit can’t win you promotion (quite how Derby managed to pip a West Brom team including Kamara, Koumas, Gera, Koren and Davies last season remains a mystery). Good players, however, like Steve Maclean and Chris Brunt, two who Laws allowed to leave over the summer, can. It’s a peculiarly British phenomenon, seemingly; that is, pinning your hopes on grit and determination, spirit and resolve, and a healthy dollop of kicking people up the arse, as a means of achieving success. I mean, how else to explain the career of Lee Dixon? Of course, 11 simply amazing footballers refusing to do anything as tawdry as tackling, marking or tracking back would be unable to beat anyone (apart from Derby, possibly) but guys, it’s simple: buy good players. Those with skill, finesse, technique and poise are far more beneficial to a team’s cause than those without, which is why Manchester United win the league all the time and Wigan don’t.

Laws, Jeffers and Frankie Simek (Missouri’s finest) aside, has blundered. Prepare for a long hard season, Wednesdayites. And that includes you, Benaud.

It’s now 15 years since Leeds won the Championship. Much has happened since 1992 - just ask John Major. Fashions come and go, tastes change (look at Shakespeare’s Sister: improbably, they spent eight weeks at No 1 in the early part of that year) and Leeds United continue to get worse.

The Peacocks are now beyond shambolic: an appalling joke of a football club, bile and rancour spewing forth at every turn, with Ken Bates and Dennis Wise presiding over team affairs like an even less funny version of Laurel and Hardy. Champions League to League One in six seasons - that’s some going, chaps. And with adult tickets costing up to £25 next term, the club unable to bring in any players until a transfer embargo is lifted, and the threat of insolvency still very real, what possible explanation is there for going to Elland Back next year? However, fear not, Whites fans: here are five ways for you to derive at least a modicum of pleasure from the forthcoming campaign.

1. Stay away.
When Richard Nixon spoke of ‘The Silent Majority’, it was doubtful he was referring to Leeds fans, but Whites supporters could learn something from the American anti-counterculturalists who got Tricky Dicky re-elected in 1972. Noisy protests are all very well, but far more effective are those conducted in silent. The list of Leeds’ recent administrators - Ridsdale, Venables, Reid, Krasner, Gray, McKenzie, Blackwell, Bates, Wise - reads like a Who’s Who of utter dreck, so what better way to protest against the chronic mismanagement by these clowns than by completely withdrawing your custom? Just imagine the symbolism if only 4,000 turned up to watch the home fixture against Bristol City. OK, so the loss of revenue from gate receipts would almost certainly send the club to the wall, and it’d be all your fault, but at least you can claim you weren’t held to ransom. Small victories, I suppose.

2. Form your own club.
When Malcolm Glazer bought Manchester United in 2005, ‘real’ United fans  - you know, the ones that talk in loud voices in pubs about how none of these bastards watching on telly were there at Plymouth away when we were shit - decided to renounce their support of football’s biggest behemoth and form their own club, which theoretically combined the best aspects of Manchester United (whatever they were) without the dreadful excesses of rampant commercialism. Leeds fans should applaud their morality, and try something similar in west Yorkshire. Never mind that United’s attendances increased significantly over the past two years, and that fans secretly love the funny-looking one for giving them the funds to compete in the transfer market. It’s all about the ethics, you know.

3. Go down the road to Headingley.
Paradoxical it may be, but while the football club are Yorkshire’s biggest losers, Leeds’ other Big Two are experiencing something of a renaissance. Goughy seems to have waved his magic wand at Yorkshire CCC and appeased their notoriously crabby members (even Boycs appears almost satisfied), thanks to improved displays which see them in sight of only their second County Championship title since 1968. And the enviable talents of Rob Burrow, Kevin Sinfield and Danny McGuire have made the Rhinos one of the most attractive rugby league teams to watch on the planet. With 17,000 boisterous Yorkshiremen packed into Super League’s most atmospheric ground, tries galore, and 18-stone knuckleheads knocking seven bells into each other, it’s the perfect way to spend a Friday evening. And you can drink Tetley’s in your seat, too.

4. Watch ‘Leeds United: Champions 1991-92’ on video again and again.
So it’s indulgent, admittedly, but why shouldn’t Leeds fans have a little joy in our lives? And with bids starting at just £3.99 on eBay, you too can re-live the early 90s glory days under Howard Wilkinson for less the price of a sausage roll and a lukewarm Bovril. Unbeaten at home all season, and seeing off the challenge of Manchester United with consummate ease (even if they did get beaten 2-0 by Oldham), this is the stuff to watch long into the night. Marvel at Wee Gordy’s ceaseless running and Gary Mac’s midfield guile! Rejoice at Lee Chapman’s trademark that’s-one-we-worked-on-on-the-training-ground near-post flick-ons! Shudder to recall that professional carthorses Mel Sterland and Chris Whyte actually won league championship medals! (DVD bonus footage includes Tony Dorigo on the time he cheekily stole 10 yards at a throw-in, and Rod Wallace reminiscing about the moment they all fell about when the stadium announcer got him confused with twin brother Ray after scoring against Wimbledon.) Great days.

5. Get all excited about the new season and go down to Elland Road with more zeal than ever.
OK, so it’s counterintuitive, and I argued earlier that watching Leeds was akin to watching The Friday Night Project sober, but let’s face it: Leeds will win League One next season. At a canter. The third tier of English football is packed full of teams so hopeless it’s almost impossible not to succeed. Nottingham Forest, the only other club capable of giving the Whites a run for their money, are officially useless, and the rest can do no more than kick bollock and brain and pray for three points at the end of it all. If Leeds can manage to keep hold of Douglas, Cresswell, Lewis and Derry, it’ll be a cake walk. And £25 might be a bit steep, but you’ll see lots of goals, lots of action, and some spectacularly inept defending (and not just from Leeds, either). Not losing every week might do wonders for the general mood at Elland Road. Even a serial incompetent like Dennis Wise couldn’t mess this one up. Could he?