In 1972 a crack commando unit was sent to prison by a military court for a crime they didn’t commit
These men promptly escaped from a maximum security stockade to the Los Angeles underground
Today, still wanted by the government, they survive as soldiers of fortune
If you have a problem – if no one else can help – and if you can find them
Maybe you can hire
The A-Team
Ta-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta
De-de-de-de de-de-de

Things just aren’t how they used to be. This Saturday night sees the return of the nation’s favourite TV guilty pleasure – The X Factor. This time however there’s been a few changes to the first team line-up. Not many teams can handle such drastic summer change to their spine so it will be interesting to see how the new straight-talking, tough-tackling sweeper Gary Barlow, expensive import holding midfielder Kelly Rowland and feisty, enigmatic youth system product ‘Tulisa from N-Dubz’ gel with incumbent veteran ‘waste of space’ Louis Walsh. But this isn’t OK.co.uk or the Daily Mail online and you don’t want to read about The X Factor. But how about “The F Factor”?

The name itself may reek of plagiarism but without an impresario like Simon Cowell and the backing of his company Syco (named after Forest legend Stuart Pearce surely) this bold and magnificent venture doesn’t stand a chance. For too long terrestrial televisual Saturday nights have been the play-thing of the brainless and the beautiful. I remember a glorious time when you could head straight from Final Score to some ruggish man-friendly entertainment like The A-Team, Knight Rider, Baywatch or Gladiators. It was a testosterone fuelled place where men were men and some of the women were dead ringers for men too. For example pretty much every female Gladiator except Jet (Ed note – And Sharon Davies).

But no more – what the hell happened? Lowest common denominator reality TV took over our country, boys were denied active TV idols to emulate and Britain subsequently became broken innit. Simon Cowell has been allowed to rise unopposed to the TV throne once held by Michael Van Wijk (Wolf from Gladiators) by pumping out a narrow repertoire of repetitive insults like a caricature of his former self and a slightly better dressed version of his lycra-clad predecessor.

Still – he does have the throne so like I say I need him to get this off the ground. If I was to tell you that you could enter a competition with four friends that could lead to appearing on Saturday night television playing football would you enter it? However shoddy and unfit a player you may be I think the answer is a resounding yes.

Every week all across this country men play five-a-side football in their millions*. These men have wives, girlfriends, friends, enemies, work colleagues, families and casual acquaintances all of whom will be lining up with their takeaways on Saturday nights to watch them coughing up a lung or tripping over their own feet. The footballers themselves will gladly risk the chance of humiliation for the opportunity to score a peach or pearler and have it screened to millions.

Don’t confine it to men. Let’s talk about ground-breaking and barrier-smashing stuff. Let ex-professionals enter, restrict them to 1 per team maximum – however bloated and ropey they look on the Legends games we all know they’d be a class apart. Best put an age minimum on it too – to allow for a Junior version and more SyCo money-making you understand, not to avoid the humiliation of being publicly ‘megged by a 14 year old of course. Let celebrities enter, throw them in with us common-folk and we’re talking even more incentive.

The format might need a little work but, after some pre-qualifying, televised regional heats and boot camps with mentors for each of the final 16 teams, it would make for essential viewing. Picture ex-pros and managerial legends coaching their local squads – Venables and Zola for London, Souness for Liverpool, Keegan for Newcastle and Collymore for Birmingham. Imagine a cage-like arena reminiscent of the great Nike advert with the ball dropping from on high to kick-start each contest. I can just hear Elvis now… ‘A little less conversation a little more action please…’

Sponsors will flock to it. If the local professional teams don’t kit the amateurs out then I’m certain Adidas, Nike or someone like Under Armour would. This could go global. Expect five tiki-taka-ing Barcelonans or Rio beach players to come out on top of our boys (and/or girls) – but you’d watch and cheer for our own wouldn’t you? If Pop Idol can go global then so can this. They say Esperanto is the international language, nonsense – football is.

*We have no statistical evidence to back this up but feel confident it will be a lot