CHANCES ARE that Brian Sewell tuned in to only one of Saturday's titanic sporting clashes on the telly. They probably watched Sky Sports' coverage of the Lions' victory over the Springboks, because that, apparently, is what public schoolboys do. However, it is unlikely that he stayed up to witness that great Glasgow football derby, on Channel Four's Rules Of The Game - the Barlinnie Screws v the Barlinnie Cons. Brian's loss.

In the second of ITV's three-part series Class last Tuesday night, part of which examined sport in the context of class, Brian (who is, apparently, an art critic) put us low-life footie fans in our place.

"Football is working class because that is what working class boys play - rugby is middle class because that is what you get in public school," he said. But, by thrusting his nose skywards at the conclusion of the sentence, he appeared to be offering it more as a judgment than a statement of fact.

So, not only are you unlikely to ever spot Brian sporting a Brentford away shirt, you won't find him standing at the oche or chalking a cue either.

"I think when you get lower down the scale, and I can think of no other term for it, like darts and billiards and snooker and ping pong, it's just well, lower down the scale," he said. Take it Brian doesn't socialise with Jockey Wilson then?

Then we had lots of interviews with `lower-down-the-scale' types, like Eric Bristow and Ian Wright, who confirmed Brian's suspicions - only the working classes chuck darts, throw punches and kick footballs (with the exception of Blackburn's Graeme Le Saux who, we were told, reads the Guardian and visits museums).

However, while we learnt that the upper crust won't muddy their Reeboks by playing football, we discovered that they have now decided that watching the game is okay ya. Chris Donald, Newcastle United `die-hard and editor of Vi magazine, explained how this development has changed life at St James' Park.

"The chairman, Sir John Hall, told us that he would personally throw anyone out of the ground who urinated in the ladies' toilets at St James' Park," he complained. (A bit rough on the St James' Park's female contingent, I would have thought).

So long as you were working, or incarcerated, in Glasgow's Barlinnie Prison, you didn't have to spend a farthing to spectate at the annual prisoners v warders match. Forget Merseyside, Manchester, Milan, and Madrid - this is THE most passionate derby in the world of football.

The prisoners' team was a formidable outfit that should really have been called the Zero Tolerance XI. Take one of their midfielders. "I'm in for attempted murder - he broke in to my sister's house, so I stabbed him."

And the Sweeper, his crime? "Assault. Serious assault. My common-law-wife strayed away from home and I found out and cut her throat" he said, like that's just what you do to common-law-wives who've strayed away from home. (The Striker. "Armed robbery ... I was making a few bob too.")

When they finished describing their crimes, the prisoners went all dewy eyed when the subject turned to football. "I miss it terribly, you know, going to see the Celtic," pined the attempted murderer. And what would he do without football? "WHAT WOULD I DO WITHOUT IT," he said, repeating the question with a wrinkled brow, like the horrible thought had never entered his head in his life. "I would invent it."

And what about the sweeper - why did he love football? "Dunno. Football is impossible to describe it's like trying to convince a woman that kicking a bag-a-wind around the pitch is actually entertaining, you cannae do it." (Sure, maybe if he took the knife away from her throat she might be more receptive to the idea).

While the warders warmed up for the big day with a match against the British Transport Police, the prisoners had their final, em, trial - A Hall V E Hall (Halls B, C and D appeared to be staging a roof protest at the time and were unavailable for selection).

Then the task fell to their coach to select the team. The man who cut his common-law-wife's throat was first on the team sheet. No surprise.

The armed robber was left on the bench. He wasn't happy. His coach told him to try harder next time. "How can I get in the ******** team if I'm not in the ******* team?" he asked. Good point. I wouldn't have left him out.

Time for the Rangers and Celtic fans to go their separate ways and enter their respective places of worship. "A football game depends on folk following the rules and that's how God wants the world to be," said the vicar to the Ibrox faithful.

Meanwhile, in the other House of God, the priest also treated his Bhoys to a few footballing analogies. "If we do something to offend God, we might deserve a yellow card, but He still forgives us . . . BUT if we continue to do things that are wrong, we certainly, on occasion, deserve a red cards" he said, while brandishing a red prayer book at the imprisoned green and white army.

Cut to the warders' team selection meeting. "Right, the goalkeeper is Slam Dunk Kelly, then there's John O'Neill, a good, skilful wee player . . ." Wait, isn't he the priest? "Aye, he's the priest. Well, we need God on our side, divine intervention y'know," said the nervous warder.

On the morning of `The Match', the warders were doing their best to intimidate the inmates (bad move, one would have thought). "I've watched you playing and I've seen six-month sentences move faster that what you do," one said to the prisoners' left back. He replied with an `I'll-be-out-of-here-one-day-and-I-know-where-you-live' kind of expression.

Team talk time. "Youse have got to be lilly white boys, youse fart and you're out," said the prisoners' coach. "Get ******* ripped in to them," said the warders' coach to his boys and they all nodded gleefully.

First half. The referee gave a penalty against the man who tried to kill his sister's burglar. Goal. Sensibly he quickly gave another to the prisoners - the man who cut his common-law wife's throat equalised. A huge cheer came from within the prison (well you didn't expect them to be allowed out of their cells while their guards were playing 90 minutes of football, did you?). A mistimed tackle from another attempted murderer put Archie the warden out of the game and he was carried off.

The warders grabbed two more goals before half time and that was the end of the scoring. Scores of a different nature were settled in the second half - numbers six and 11, for the warders, were sent off (we didn't get a close-up of number 11 but, from a distance, he looked like the priest) and yet another attempted murderer was also, politely, asked to leave the field. Three-one to the warders and one up for law and order.