At one end are the soaring arches of a premiership stadium, the endless shiney trays of meat pies, and the 10,000 gallons of drinks served to the 40,000 spectators, during a match. The shimmering lights bring forth teams with the value of a small European country, from the era of emperors and mighty armies.
At the other can be found Wells City FC. A few mates, a cup of tea and a bag of chips, dropped when Gary lofts the ball out of defence, across the roof, and into the garden next door.