Watching one of those unspeakable Braintree Uncovered-type programmes on Sky One the other week, Foul Play's eye chanced upon a small vignette which provided a clue as to why Leeds United's season is disintegrating in the manner that it is.
The programme's production crew were following a young woman around a dimly-lit nightclub somewhere in Leeds, and their camera alighted on her as she sought out her quarry a Leeds United player pirouetting drunkenly on the dancefloor and began swopping saliva with same.
The editors diplomatically blotted out the player's face with a special digital effect, but I think it's fair to say that anybody who has watched Match Of The Day more than twice this season would have been able to identify the guy at ten paces.
The same woman (I think) turned up again on Channel 4's Cutting Edge programme a few days ago, discussing her career as a world-class kisser and teller, and spelling out how she makes about forty grand a year from shagging these eejits and ringing up the News International features desk the next morning.
You can't imagine David O'Leary having any truck with such low-brow nonsense. But when he was at all those press conferences and interviews during the season, dutifully reciting his mantra about how his babies were still learning and couldn't hope to match Manchester United, etc., etc., he probably wasn't to know how prescient his spiel would sound by season's end.
By my reckoning, the 1-0 rogering they received from Aston Villa on Sunday made it three straight league defeats, coupled with back-to-back losses in the UEFA Cup. They are falling apart like an old banger, and I love it.
This is primarily because the Leeds team, gifted though it is, contains some of the meanest little bastards in the Premiership. There's Alan Smith, for example, a let's be kind narky little prick whose reasonable gifts as a striker are offset by a hugely obnoxious demeanour.
Every single week, you seem to see this young poltroon launching himself at an opponent, arms flailing, studs up, face contorted in an expression of bilious rage. And that's before he even gets out of the tunnel.
And let's not forget Lee Bowyer and Jonathon Woodgate, of whom little more can or should be said, and David Batty, who right now looks like a benign father figure next to the rest of these guys.
There will be no title for Leeds now, a development which Foul Play welcomes after the way they robbed Man United of their birthright in 92. I just wish that they had managed to keep their desperate bandwagon rolling for a little longer. Somehow, it's not as enjoyable seeing off the sheep-worriers when there are still seven weeks of the campaign to go.
So Steve McManaman is again being touted as the solution to England's left-flank problems, after what can only be described as a headless-chicken performance against Man United at the Bernabeu last week. It's getting sad, isn't it?
That night, McManaman did what he has spent three-quarters of his career doing: heading down blind alleys, forever failing to get over any decent crosses, and displaying all the shooting accuracy of Gary Neville.
The last time Macca lined out for England, against Poland in September, he played so woefully that one of the Polish players was moved to remark afterwards: "I couldn't believe how bad that guy was. He did nothing." But it would be nice to see the floppy-haired waster make the plane for Euro 2000, for reasons which I will shortly make clear.
Andy Cole, who missed a sitter that night, can probably start booking his holidays for June. In truth, I kinda like the idea of Cole being left out in favour of someone like Emile Heskey, who throws all the right shapes when he's being close-marked out near the corner of the box, but who couldn't come up with anything resembling a threatening shot if you gave him all day to try.
For those of us who get off on this sort of thing, and pace my mention of McManaman earlier, it is essential that England bring their weakest possible squad to the Low Countries this June. With Cole in the side, you never know; they might actually outscore Portugal or Romania, and we certainly couldn't have that.
It may fly in the face of all known wisdom to ignore the claims of someone who has got 20 goals for this season, 24 last year, and 25 the year before that, but clear-headed thinking has never been one of Keegan's strong points.
Ideally, Keegan would leave behind Kevin Phillips as well, and bring along, say, Alan Smith in his stead. But he won't do that. Or will he? The activity of watching Keegan counting his chickens and coming up with the highest possible number has few rivals as a spectator sport, and this summer will be no different.
He was at it again during the week, drivelling on about rotations and right-sided options, and how, when you got right down to it, nobody else at Euro 2000 could muster a stronger squad than England.
Hey, I love this guy!