Where do I begin? The cheer and subsequent sigh of relief as Alli beautifully headed the ball into the of the back of the net... Oh, yeah, I thought. With ten minutes to go, there is no way we can possibly... oh, good grief. Seriously?!
But those 90 seconds were no fluke on Leicester's end. They ran the show from the get go. Oh, sure we had the bulk of possession but did little to nothing with it. Whereas they did plenty with theirs. Not many clear cut chances, sure, but I could see the shaky knees of our defenders each time they went forward, and the wall-like swarm of theirs when we did.
No, sir. They were in control. They wanted us to have possession and believe that we can handle them, push them back and capitalise, but we couldn't, and didn't. They had done their homework. I can't recall a single spell when we would dictate terms to them; when we were the ones calling the shots, when they held on for dear life. But I do recall how they torrorised us on the counter, whith helpless attempts from Jan and Toby to stem the tide, and Davis tripping over his own legs or not getting back at all, like Walker.
I can't remember any grit.
And here lies the fundamental problem. The shaky knees, the weak mindset, the timidness and terror...
And the other end was no better. We were slow going forward, with little to no creativity. The infuriating Lamela, ineffective Kane, who seems tired and dejected. Where was the intensity? Where was the desire to go at them. I saw the score update from Upton Park and I thought, bloody hell, those are two sets of believers right there. Where were ours?
Sure we could discuss tactics, who did what wrong and when, but at the bottom of it all, we played like chickens. Not the proud cockrels from the shirts, but little headless chickens, who were shown their place in line by the likes of Huth. It was a case of getting outfoxed by predators while doing just enough for the entire henhouse not to be ripped to shreds.
But let's not kid ourselves. Had it not been for the fact that the ref was blind (both ways mind you) and that Hugo simply stood in the right place at the right time, we would be licking our wounds from another defeat right now. the second they scored, they didn't let up.
Now, 2 from 3 isn't 2 from 8, but with tough fixtures coming thick and fast, and our pluckiness a sad chapter in the book of "What might have been, but isn't", I am beginning to dread the weekends.
Onwards and upwards then, it seems we can't get much lower. We can only get better, I hope.