There's no commentary, for a start. The goals go in unaccompanied even by the sound of the crowd, replaced by appalling music that would shame a 70s Swedish porn movie. Now this is obviously a stupid idea, as half the fun of truly stupendous goals is listening to the reaction of the commentator and crowd. But not for these wankers it's not - shit porn music all the way through at ear-splitting volume, and then, after a couple of minutes - Jesus Christ NO! - stupid fucking Scooby Doo-type comedy sound effects. Can you believe it? This isn't football, it's Timmy Bastard Mallet doing It's A Bastard Football Knockout and it gets worse.

As if the music and the comedy effects and the lack of any proper sound wasn't bad enough, after a few more minutes it starts doing all kinds of distracting visual trickery, with the clips being played inside a zany zig-zag box on the screen with little bits of cartoons, microscopic black-and-white picture-in-picture boxes of the same thing from a different angle and all kinds of other shit that makes it all but impossible to actually watch the goals being scored. And then you get a section on Alan Shearer goals, including such awesome displays of skill as two-yard headers into an empty net and - you won't believe this one either - the witless wonder actually scoring from a penalty fucking kick.

I can't adequately convey how gut-spewingly dreadful this all is. The most damning thing I can say about Lightning Strikes is that after sitting through every agonising, pitiful, unbearable bastard minute of it, I began to wish there was some cricket on the TV I could watch instead. As a Scotsman, that's not something I say lightly, and another thing I don't say lightly is that if I ever meet the people responsible for this filthy pile of shite, I'm going to drive a cricket bat right up their useless stinking arses with a hammer. Backwards.

VERDICT: I'd rather watch a fat man fuck a puppy than sit through this again.