I SUPPOSE my husband meant well when he got us tickets for the England v Northern Ireland football match last Saturday. It was an opportunity for me to cheer on my native team, the plucky little underdogs who didn't stand a chance.

The only problem was, our seats were in the England stand. (Some men can't do anything right). So I had to promise to sit on my hands and bite my tongue for 90 odd minutes as I waited for the David and Goliath-style drama to unfold in front of my eyes.

The two team coaches, parked side by side outside the ground, set the tone. One was a purpose built, plush and air-conditioned monster, with England in huge letters and the St George cross proudly emblazoned along the side.

The other, modest, smaller and clearly more used to taking Belfast pensioners on short breaks to the Lake District, simply said Ulsterbus Tours. Northern Ireland players know the closest they will ever get to taking part in the World Cup will be when they press the red interactive button on their televisions.

This bunch of mainly first division and lower league players from across the water were being pitted against star names from the rich, glamorous world of the Premiership, making up one of the top ten teams in the world.

Watching the match was a bit like witnessing our cat playing with a mouse, tossing it in the air, releasing it briefly before clawing it back by its tail, and then, tiring of the game, swiftly going in for the kill.

But just as interesting as what was happening on the pitch was the behaviour of the crowds in the stands. I was cheered by the loyalty of the Northern Ireland fans who had travelled to Manchester to support their valiant team, rated a lowly 111th in the world.

No matter what mistakes their players made, they waved their flags enthusiastically and chanted inoffensive, supportive refrains.

They were positive, good-natured and big-hearted - unlike so many of the England fans who hurled foul mouthed abuse at anything that moved. Beckham and other players were viciously chastised for not being good enough.

They chanted aggressively at Northern Irish fans, jabbing their fists as they barked out the words of Rule Britannia. The fact there were children in the stands didn't stop them bandying the f-word and c-word about.

At one point, they even started chanting: "Clap hands if you hate the Irish". It's hardly what you would call magnanimous in victory - I'd hate to be a visiting fan if my team was winning.

Northern Ireland fans didn't respond. They may come from a famously divided nation, whose history is marred by sectarian violence, but that doesn't mean they can't be united behind their team. And that was all that seemed to matter now.

I know not all England fans - and that includes most of my own family - behave badly. But an intimidating and vocal minority is being allowed to spoil the atmosphere for everyone.

England's Goliath may have won the match. But as we left the ground, I felt Northern Ireland's team and supporters had a lot to be proud of. In many ways, David was the bigger winner on Saturday.