There was a time, not too long ago, when Premier League players were vaguely relatable human beings.
Sure, they were figures of weekly worship – but their lives away from the pitch were still mired in the humdrum of normality.
They weren't uber-rich, surrounded by coddling yes men or plastered across worldwide advertising campaigns. In the nineties, there was every chance you'd find your favourite player haggling over a Walkman in Dixons, or chowing down on a bender-in-a-bun at Wimpy. You'd run into Ray Parlour at least three times a day, wherever you were in the country.
So how did we get here? It's transfer deadline day, and Premier League clubs are set to accumulatively splash over £1 billion in search of glory, survival and everything in-between. Average-to-bad players are earning exorbitant amounts of money, and spending every last penny of it on bad trousers and lime green supercars.
And it's growing increasingly impossible to see any part of yourself in the 220 weird, stunted machines that line-up each week of the season.
Which is why we can't stop watching this video of Charlton striker Carl Leaburn from 1993, picking up a 21-inch colour television as a Rumbelows Cup 'Man of the Match' award.
Even after the shop manager forgets what club he plays for, he seems proper chuffed about winning the state-of-the-art box. "It's just a shock", he announces, before proudly boasting that it'll look good in his bedroom.
Then he awkwardly wheels it out of the shop (presumably read to haul it onto a nearby double-decker) and waves gleefully at the camera.
You want more, do you? More of that sweet relate-ability? Fine - sit down and watch Luis Boa Morte, a mere decade ago, present the most underwhelmingly humble episode of Cribs ever aired.
Truly the glory days.