The slump was no longer just a slump; it was a full-blown, five-alarm, code-red crisis.
The final, and most dramatic, act of our tragicomedy of errors came after another dismal, soul-destroying defeat.
It was a game we should have won, a game we were winning, until a late, and utterly calamitous, defensive mix-up gifted the opposition an equalizer, before a last-minute penalty, conceded by a moment of sheer, bloody-minded, and completely unnecessary, stupidity from one of our most experienced players, condemned us to another humiliating defeat.
The final whistle was a mercy. But the real drama was just beginning.
In the dressing room after the game, the toxic, simmering, and deeply unpleasant atmosphere that had been building for weeks finally, and spectacularly, exploded.
