AS Swansea City were on their way to three points against Newcastle on Saturday, a chant of “We love, our chairman!” sprang up.

I’m sure I don’t have to tell you this didn’t come from the massed ranks of disgruntled Geordies. No, it came from the small but happy band of away fans, some dressed as daffodils, high up in a corner of the Leazes End.

There was something appropriate about the contrast as the clubs represent two very different ways of running a football club in the modern era. One is the epitome of cynical Thatcherism, the other a benchmark for a progressive co-operative way forward.

There’s probably a Sports Direct outlet on your high street and, if there isn’t, there’ll be one on your nearest depressing, desolate out-of-town shopping centre. If you’re really lucky you’ll have a store at each.

Mike Ashley’s business is infamous for its use of zero-hours contracts and a loose approach to government retail guidelines. Yet in this regard the self-made billionaire is not alone, merely a symptom of a society in thrall to consumerism and a political class in thrall to big business.

Wander round one random city centre and you’ll see the same shops that you would wandering around any other.

Profit, not community, is the driving force.

Given this is now the accepted way of working, it’s little wonder Ashley has come to run Newcastle much as he does his sportswear business, and to that end the fans are no longer the customers. The club has become a shop, the players the stock. Newcastle’s customers are other clubs, keen to pick up a decent player after they’ve been showcased in the Best League in the World™.

The business model is to buy stock (players) cheaply and sell at a profit. Reinvesting in more stock is only done when the best deal can be struck. Success on the pitch (if it happens) is a by-product, not an end in itself. This approach is illustrated by the fact Newcastle have just posted a record profit of £19 million and have £34m in the bank.

Yet it also has a threadbare squad that has just lost seven games on the spin, the club’s worst run of form in 38 years. There’s little cheer for fans in this scenario but then they’re little more than zero-hours contract workers who can take it or leave it — there’ll always be someone along to take their place.

Their opponents on the day, Swansea, offer a tantalising glimpse of a different approach. They too have just announced a pre-tax profit, yet their squad is in rude health and as they condemned Newcastle to another defeat they recorded their highest-ever Premier League points tally.

Furthermore, they have local values at their core. How did a club on the brink of extinction in 2001 achieve this?

Their fans took control by helping set up a local consortium to buy the club. Today the fans still own 21 per cent and have a member on the board.

To put it another way, Swansea are a co-operative. If you think about it, running a club this way makes sense — after all, what does the word “club” mean if not a group of members?

When, in the late 1800s, football became the codified sport we know today, the players were the members. When the Football League was established and it became clear that there was a profit to be made local businessmen moved in. We had taken the first step down the road to Sports Direct FC.

In the 2010 general election, the three then-major parties (remember this was back when people agreed with Nick) expressed their support for, or — depending on your level of cynicism — paid lip service to, co-operatives. Yet only three examples appeared in the manifestos of all three parties: pubs, village stores and, you guessed it, football clubs.

What they all have in common is that they are institutions at the heart of their local communities, communities that feel passionately enough to take control of them and run them in the interests of the people they serve.

Democratisation of ownership along these lines is a way of overcoming the inherent divisions and inequalities of a free-market economic model. It can revitalise local economies and the businesses that operate within them, just like Swansea City.

After the match on Saturday, John Carver, the Magpies’ interim boss, complained about the abuse he had received from supporters. While they may well have crossed the line, the reality is that he is a lightning rod for criticism from a group of people who now feel completely disenfranchised — literally powerless to do anything about what they see happening to their club. It’s what happens when you put profit before community.