Quite, quite awful.
It's somewhat shocking how the director has managed to extract such frankly humiliating performances from some fine character actors, Vas Blackwood, Jason Statham and Jason Flemyng in particular, and I'm just dying to know how he persuaded Sally Phillips to abandon every atom of the charm she usually displays so naturally.
Granted, there's not a great deal one can do with Vinnie Jones, but even so, whatever lottery money was scraped together to put towards film stock would have been better spent, in this humble girl's opinion, on buying the poor dear man some acting lessons.
I won't even mention the hilariously contrived script, which, even for the most ardent football fan, was creakingly amateurish at best.
Mercy me, I just did.
Apologies if all this sounds harsh, but I'm a little miffed at the cruel loss of an hour and a half of my life which would have been put to a much more profitable (and, indeed, enjoyable) use waxing my legs.
Dragsville, darlings. Dragsville.