Have you ever been so angry with something, so utterly consumed by rage, so wholly immersed in a searing fury that any attempt to articulate it cannot hope to do justice to the furies within? What follows is certain to be an example of this maddening feeling.

Phil Parkinson selected the same eleven that drew against Crystal Palace a fortnight ago: Myhill; Thelwell, Mills, Turner, Dawson; Fagan, Ashbee, Marney, Yeates; Parkin, Bridges. Burnley were without suspended captain Wayne Thomas, and were also unchanged from their last match, that being a spectacular 4-1 gubbing of Norwich.

The pattern of the match was quickly established. Burnley poured forward immediately, and had an early appeal for a penalty turned down when the ball struck Andy Dawson’s arm – an unintentional contact, and correctly not punished by referee Andy Penn.

It matter little, for City were barely able to get out of their own half. In the tenth minute of the game Myhill had to palm the ball over after John McGreal was given a free header from a corner. Remember that term, “free header”. It is to recur with distressing frequency.

The resultant corner saw Wade Elliott swing the ball to the far post where Duff nodded a free header past the unsighted Myhill. If that sounds pitifully, contemptibly straightforward, then that is because it was. Woeful, horrible football by City. 0-1.

Things got rapidly worse. Elliott crossed in a few minutes later, where Noel-Williams was given a free header to beat Myhill. Awful, shocking, utterly witless rubbish. Game over.

And not just because we were 2-0 down, or because Burnley were good. They were okay, but a true appraisal of their merits is impossible given the incalculable incompetence of their opposition. Nor should a 2-0 deficit be insurmountable, given that 75 minutes remained. Sadly, criminally, the game was over because City showed no appetite to recover the situation.

The ordeal continued. Danny Mills was cautioned for gobbing off to an errant linesman, while Parkin smacked our first shot of the game wide after muscling Sinclair out of the way to receive Fagan’s good cross. However, this did not instigate a meaningful comeback and Burnley swiftly took back control of a worsening game. Noel-Williams narrowly missed with a free header after Jones found space on the left.

Bridges was the next to waste a good chance after squirming free in the Burnley area, but his control was poor and his shot worse, which allowed Jensen to smother the ball despite the former Carlisle player being only six yards from goal without a defender in sight. An appalling miss.

Yeates was the next to spurn a shooting chance when Marney’s solid block of a Gray piledriver saw the ball rebound to him in space close to the centre circle. He raced fifty yards towards the Burnley goal, but despite having options either side of him elected to pass the ball into Jensen’s hands from outside the area. Bridges was the next to briefly interrupt the slumber of the Clarets’ goalkeeper, a wildly ambitious forty yard lob sailing several yards wide.

Half-time arrived with your correspondent unable to gauge the reaction given by the 700 or so City fans present to the side trudging off close to them, owing to the urgent medical need for an alcohol infusion. One can guess it was as unfriendly as the manager’s team-talk desperately needed to be. He opted to withdraw the hopelessly inept Alton Thelwell in favour of Danny Coles, with Mills shifting to right-back.

The Tigers began the second half with a modest but appreciable increase in industry, albeit from a low starting point. Parkin tested Jensen with a header that forced him to tip the ball over, before Andy Dawson surprised no-one by sending the corner straight into his hands. Fagan sent a low cross scudding through the area that positively ached for someone to tap in from six yards, while Parkin headed wide from a Yeates cross.

This moderate upturn in things quickly petered out though. The home team were perfectly content with their two-goal lead, a curiosity given that all they needed to do was cross the ball and City would give them a free header which to score. Jensen even wasted time whenever the ball arrived at him. Perhaps we should just be grateful for small mercies.

Coles was booked for an ugly lunge on the ever-dangerous Noel-Williams just outside the area. The free-kick by O’Connor seemed to be goalbound until a flying save by Myhill diverted it wide. With twenty-five minutes remaining Forster came on for Parkin, who appeared much more tired than one would expect for an afternoon of doing very little.

John Welsh earned one of the few cheers of the day when was finally introduced to the side, replacing the shocking Marney. Welsh had only 17 minutes on the pitch but this was enough to become our best player of the game for bringing such concepts as control, passing and running to the team. It is a mystery that the manager rates his best midfielder so lowly.

The game lumbered to its unlovely conclusion, and upon full time boos rang out from the unhappy City contingent. The manager’s applause was met with an ominously stony silence, the first manifestation of the growing discontent with our lousy performances.

Where do we go from here? This was a craven surrender of an almost Dolanesque vintage. A gutless and uncommitted collection of individuals rather than a team, all headed by a manager for whom the refrain “out of his depth” is starting to contain a worrying ring of truth.

Our tactics and strategies are simply impossible to discern. One assumes that the instructions are not to half-heartedly jog around for a bit, occasionally pausing to lump the ball at Jon Parkin’s head or donate as many free headers to the opposition as is possible. So what are we trying to? If a high tempo is being attempted, there is precious little evidence of this. If we are attempting a close passing game, it simply is not happening. Are we hoping to play defensively and restrict the opposition? We plainly are not doing that either. How are we planning to defeat sides? Do the players know? Does the manager know?

It is not all his fault, of course. The players must shoulder a hefty portion of the blame for this debacle. Neither full back put themselves into position to stop crosses raining into our box, a particularly lethal failing when the central defenders show little inclination to prevent free headers. Bridges and Parkin once again failed to combine, the latter looking horribly like the clumsy lower league player he once was. Dean Marney’s form is dire and his inclusion at the expense of John Welsh defies explanation. Fagan’s workrate is commendable but his end product is erratic. France is hardworking but lightweight. Yeates has offered very little to date. The manager could do much worse than drop half of the side that embarrassed us at Burnley.

There is no respite now. Luton await us at the Circle on Tuesday. One supposes that the manager will not enjoy the next few days, and that is no bad thing given the horror shows that his team are inflicting upon us on an increasingly regular basis. His position is not under threat – yet – but we are bottom of the league once more. We deserve to be there, and the buck stops with him. It is likely that we are one more dismal capitulation away from some very searching questions being asked of Phil Parkinson. (AD)