The viewing public are being made aware of a malevolent, invisible force, in episode two of 'Sunderland 'Til I Die'.

It lurks around every corner, undermining human life and happiness. Josh Maja's agent is never shown, but he is always there.

Maja is very much the focus of episode two, the latest beacon of hope since they erected that grim-looking Sunderland lighthouse the producers insist on flashing at us in a this-is-a-metaphor kind of way.

The striker is banging them in with serious regularity and has that bemused look of a teenager that is suddenly carrying the hopes of 277,417 people on his back. Still, beats working.

Josh Maja, guiding ships away from shore.

After wins at Gillingham and Wimbledon away, director Charlie Methven emerges from Kingsmeadow Stadium like a cross between Lisa Simpson's English fiancee and the manager of Wernham Hogg.

"Three points out of those two games is a decent result, four points - chuffed to bits. Six points, thank you very much, stick it in the back pocket and off we go back up north," says Methven before asking 'who does your tampons?'

At this point in the journey, as with any other season in Sunderland's history, we're still largely on board. Dropped points here, silly goal there - but still the feeling that it can be rescued if when it turns to total shit.

Sunderland 'Til I Die

What is also made abundantly clear is that the club's finances are an absolute shambles. Steward Donald is poring over the accounts with the head of football operations, Neil Fox (not that one).

The refinancing payments for Chris Coleman's dermabrasion therapy are still going, Johnny Williams is still charging his Turkish hair transplant payments to the company credit card.

While those two examples are clearly not true, we are anointed with the fact that a £100,000 cryo-chamber is not being used by the players and was primarily used last season to treat chief executive Martin Bain's back. 'Siri, show me a perfect example of boom times.'

The club are £35m in the red.

Mine's a pint!

One of the more stand-out scenes of the series is Methven visiting a supporters' club in Seaburn, with that club flag combined with the Union flag in the background - created by someone you just know doesn't have any time for experts.

"It's terrifying, there is  no other way to describe it," says Methven ostensibly of the expectations of the crowd at the stadium but really about the dingy pub he has to address.

It's hard not to be a snide about the whole pretence; Methven ordering a pint of lager in the way that Tory aides tell MPs to take off their tie when doing weekend media duties.

The fans there seem like a decent bunch, tired of the same old excuses. In fact, it seems like just a calendar year ago that Martin Bain was doing exactly the same round. Plus ça change.

Methven is a very assured speaker; he talks a lot of sense and he has a straight manner. He speaks of changing the culture of the club and changing the culture of Floridian handouts from Ellis Short to self-reliance that will mean the club is truly theirs. He's an accomplished professional and clearly gives a shit, which is endearing.

"Leeds are doing well?"

After a quick tour around Stewart Donald's enormous Oxfordshire country pile, which we never quite understand how we can afford, we are back discussing the contractual situation of Maja and another few young players.

We're present at a meeting between Donald and a couple of his employees, discussing the offer made to Maja's agent and the 'we'll be back to you shortly' reply. Have these men never been chumped off by a date before? This is the very definition of 'Listen, it was lovely meeting you..'

Clubs are sniffing around in the form of Tottenham and, somewhat inexplicably, Portsmouth. Presumably, Pompey's sell would be along the lines of 'We see you like clubs run into the ground - check out what WE'VE got for you!'

Donald does one of his media rounds, where he visits a fans' podcast. As sports journalists, this kind of access is a godsend. As a communications manager of a football team, you quickly realise why they are kept away from microphones like a toddler from an open socket.

"[Players like ] Josh get in the first team, and their agents see a value to them. We're now forced to negotiate with his agent, who is going to be looking for more money to get him a move," says Donald. File under: 'things we know but shouldn't say on radio during negotiations.'

Luke O'Nien - professional son-in-law

The remainder of the episode focuses on midfielder Luke O'Nien. He has the fresh-faced enthusiasm and decency that George Honeyman had in the last series. Honeyman, due to the specific nature of the Sunderland timespace, is now a jaded 48-year-old chain-smoker.

Luke O'Nien explaining he's already taken your bins out and that dinner is in the oven.

He has a peculiar surname - like Brian Kerr starting to read out a phone number - and he had a tricky start, but the producers are trying to place the audience firmly on his side. Which is easy to do, as he is the very definition of the nice young man that you want your daughter to bring home. Last-minute autumn winners against Shrewsbury couldn't happen to a nicer bloke.

We finish, again, with the malevolent force. We find that the agent has experience moving players abroad, which is made to seem like it's much harder than tracking down an Anglophone contact at a major European club.

We are left with the question: "Why would you want to leave Sunderland Football Club?"

Why, indeed? It is the best place in the world. From a ravenous Netflix audience's perspective, anyway.

Part one of our series of reviews is here.

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