The 2005 Sports Book of the Year was Gary Imlach’s My Father and Other Working-Class Heroes.

The footballing father was Stewart, born in Lossiemouth, played for Scotland, and won the FA Cup with Nottingham Forest in 1959. The book is a touching portrayal of the far from glamourous life of professional footballers in the 1950s and 60s. As Gary Imlach observed, “My father and his teammates came from the same stock as those who packed the terraces every week to watch them.”

“Retain and transfer” contracts meant players had little or no say where they plied their trade. They were in effect indentured: horse-traded around the country, often at the whim of chairmen, usually local “self-made” businessmen.

Stewart Imlach never earned more than £20 a week, reducing to £15 in the close season. The 1959 Cup Final programme suggests he would probably “return to joinery” on hanging up his boots. He travelled to training and matches on the bus. How times have changed. Gary Imlach’s book should be compulsory reading for today’s richly rewarded, cocooned players.

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For football, as with many other things, the past is a foreign country, the modern game being unrecognisable from what it was 60 or 70 years ago. In some respects, that’s welcome. The shameful treatment of players for example is long gone and the boot is now very much on the other foot. The average weekly wage of English Premier League players is around £50,000. Goodness knows what Stewart Imlach would make of Cristiano Ronaldo pocketing a reputed £515,000 every week.

The obscene salaries of today’s top players are a symptom of how money dominates and distorts the modern game. Although it’s too late to turn back the clock, I can’t be alone in thinking that much has been lost through the transformation of a working-class recreation into a multi-billion-pound industry. The distortion is most apparent in the English Premier League where the top-performing sides have entered a Faustian pact with the super-rich.

Former culture secretary, Andy Burnham, was on target when regretting how “money has poisoned our national game.” In selling its soul, the game has all but severed any connection with its grassroots, namely communities and fans. Many fans are simply priced out. A season ticket at Tottenham or Arsenal, for example, would set you back around £2000.

The marginalisation of fans is nothing new. My late father and I hardly missed an Aberdeen home game in 15 years. Along came Sky and kick-off times became moveable feasts. Work and travel commitments meant Mondays at five past eight for example were virtually impossible. Reluctantly, we gave up our season tickets. But hey, what did we matter? We were only the mugs that paid at the gate.

Globalisation and unfettered hyper-capitalism, aka greed, means local communities and fans are of marginal importance. Europe’s top teams have been hoovered up by wealth, not stealth. In 2020, Deloitte estimated any team wishing to compete at the top level requires a minimum annual revenue of €400 million.

Financial resources are everything, thus removing much of the game’s unpredictability. Top priority for the owners of Europe’s wealthiest clubs is money, not competition. Diddy league teams like Aberdeen, Celtic and Rangers will never win another European trophy, unless it’s the Conference, the footballing equivalent of school prizes for diligence or perfect attendance.

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Globalisation is testing football’s ethical foundations. Manchester City, Newcastle, Aston Villa and PSG are only some of the clubs owned by Middle Eastern “interests”, most of whom have, ahem, a detached relationship with justice and human rights. Football, like golf and Formula One, is useful for “sport washing”. The international rich have stolen our game and their very presence challenges its morality and decency.

Football will die from the grass roots up unless steps are taken to protect it from exploitive fly-by-night owners. Most entertainments are already regulated in some way. Ofcom for example regulates the broadcasting industry. Although there can be no return to the values of Stewart Imlach’s time, a regulator could be handy in returning the people’s game to its rightful owners