What a sorry shower we are.

Out-thought, out-fought, out-classed. That Sunderland only beat us by a single goal that took 92 minutes to arrive simply defies explanation. Do not be fooled by the narrow margin of this defeat – it was a total massacre.

At first glance, the XI that Phil Parkinson elected to field was not his worst. It was at least 4-4-2, the hateful 4-5-1 nonsense finally despatched with. And no Dean Marney, which is never a bad thing. But what is this? Our best centre-half at left-wing? Our best right-back at centre-half? Our best left-back at right-back? Our best (well, least worst) player at Watford on the bench? Try, dear reader, to make sense of: Myhill; Ricketts, Turner, Mills, Dawson; Fagan, Welsh, Ashbee (c), Delaney; Parkin, Forster.

I do not know if managers consider that playing players out position derives a benefit that we mere mortals in the stands cannot appreciate and that outweighs the painfully obvious drawbacks. One thing is certain – either the City fans are wrong, or the manager is wrong.

Our visitors were captained by Dwight Yorke, playing in midfield alongside former BRMansfield fop Lawrence, with only Nyron Noseworthy missing from what looked an ominously strong line-up.

City kicked off attacking a pleasingly full North Stand, swollen with 4,000 admirably enthusiastic Sunderland supporters. Their presence made for an uncommonly good atmosphere at the Circle, the home fans relishing the opportunity for a rare afternoon of banter with a proper away support.

The Tigers’ propensity for gifting the opposition goals within the opening five minutes was almost repeated, when some desperate defending saw Sunderland force a series of corners that were repelled with an unlovely mixture of tenacity and desperation.

The first good chance of the game came after eight minutes when Liam Lawrence was left unmarked – no, really – and had the chance to head home from four yards. However, the ball skidded off his greasy locks and flew narrowly over.

It was all Sunderland. A rash of corners were forced as City failed to properly clear the lines, culminating in Wallace’s low cross-shot being nervily bundled behind by Turner. Not that Sunderland were alone in putting pressure on our goal – a horrendous back pass of a Ryan-France-at-Watford vintage required excellent chest control and a first-time volley by Boaz Myhill with Varga applying pressure.

Still the visitors came. Wallace skied a free-kick from 25 yards, Lawrence snatched at a clear shooting opportunity from fifteen yards and only found Myhill’s solar plexus, before Murphy silkily swept past Mills to send in a beautiful ball into the box that required another urgent intervention by our keeper, once again badly exposed – no, really.

Ashbee sent a 25 yard shot bobbling wide as City made a rare foray into the other half of pitch. Moments later the deadlock was nearly broken, when a Wallace free-kick struck the City keeper, and it was immediately apparent that it was going to loop horribly over the stranded Myhill. Happily for the Tigers it struck the bar, and Yorke missed the rebound.

City fouled up a good chance close to half-time, when a free-kick 25 yards from goal was pointlessly switched about a foot sideways, allowed Welsh’s shot to be charged dowb. Somehow the Tigers limped in level at the break, with a few boos smattered along the muted applause.

Noticed a pattern yet? So had most of the crowd, whose exasperation with City’s inability to get to grips with the game grew as the afternoon wore on. Perhaps the only saving grace for City was the presence of our one-time loanee Chris Brown up front – had Sunderland fielded an able-bodied person in his place, the number of crosses that would have fallen ideally for such an individual would have left them able to declare their innings closed at the interval.

Phil Parkinson elected to continue with the same failing formation and players, and City actually started the second half on top. Fagan wastefully – no, really – blazed over a shot from an acute angle and celebrates this by collecting his seventh caution of the season for tugging at the shirt of Nyatanga. Forster then had our best chance to date, when a long cross-field ball was smartly controlled by the former Ipswich man. However, his left-footed shot flew wide at the near post. Not a good effort.

Fagan then had a shot from out wide deflected over the bar as City applied a degree of pressure to the Sunderland goal. Delaney, performing manfully in his alien position, was then lucky to avoid a red card for a horrendous challenge on Lawrence in front of the East Stand. And while Liam Lawrence has a well-deserved reputation for being a bit fey, not to mention a diving cheat, there was little doubting the brutality of the foul. He was cautioned by referee Richard Beeby, and the pause for treatment gave the home and away fans the opportunity to verbally tear into one another, with a raucous din echoing from North and East stands. Terrific stuff from both sets of supporters. Sunderland are welcome here any time.

Sadly, the increased volume did nothing for City, who were fading after their sudden outbreak of adequacy at the start of the second half. Forster was replaced by France at this point, with Fagan moving up front to partner the anonymous Beast.

Mills was the next into the referee’s notebook, collecting his fifth caution in just seven games for the Tigers. Fagan was upended by Varga on the edge of the area, but Dawson looked wholly unsure of himself while approaching the ball and the shot was easily pouched by Ward. Nick Barmby finally came on with 20 minutes left to a great ovation, replacing Welsh. One must assume that Welsh was injured, and he did appear to limp slightly upon departing – if this was a tactical manoeuvre, it was a very poor one.

Delaney now switched into central midfield, with Barmby playing on the left. No, I couldn’t fathom it either. Chris Brown fluffed a great chance – no, really – with fifteen minutes left when a superb cross by Whitehead gave him a clear chance from about four centimetres.

City were clinging on now, like a winded fighter desperately grabbing his opponent to avoid further punishment. It was an ugly sight to see the Tigers so pitifully eager to snatch a 0-0 draw at home. Myhill tipped a Brown header onto the crossbar, while the useless get had an ambitious penalty appeal rightly turned down. Next came Fagan, who suddenly had a chance to gain an undeserved win when he hared free of the last defender. However, he dithered on the ball, allowed Collins to get back into position to challenge and ended up clumsily toe-proddiing the ball wide, to a chorus of derision.

He was swiftly replaced to a cheer that cannot have helped his confidence, with Michael Bridges trotting onto applause from all four sides of the ground. Back came Sunderland, sensing their opponents’ resolve was nearly expired. Leadbitter shot; straight at Myhill. Connolly shot; Myhill palmed it away. The referee elected to add three further minutes, which saw Myhill reduced to wasting time when retrieving the ball.

One should not castigate the City goalkeeper too much for this, as the game would have been decisively lost long before its eventual conclusion but for his saves. But to see a player wasting time, frantically hoping to run the clock down, when drawing at home…it is too ghastly for words.

It was all in vain. With 92 minutes on the clock, Wallace cut in on the right, walked unchallenged towards goal and passed the ball coolly into the corner. He received his second caution for his shirt-removing celebrating, and the game took two minutes to restart.

It ended shortly after, and boos rang around the ground as the side shame-facedly slunk off the pitch.

Where do we go from here? “To Carlisle, Northampton, Bournemouth”, is the glib answer. For there is little doubt that on our current form, relegation will be confirmed before the clocks go forward.

We have a colossal array of difficulties. Foremost among them yesterday was the atrocious team selection by Phil Parkinson. Damien Delaney is no more a winger than George Galloway is modest and self-effacing, yet he was marooned hopelessly out of position and asked to do a job he cannot. Michael Turner is easily dominated. Danny Mills is being played out of position. Craig Fagan is not a winger and has no end product. Jon Parkin is looking lazy and ineffective. Ian Ashbee’s limitations at this level show no signs of being overcome. Etc.

Our most creative players, Messrs Barmby and Bridges, are not being included enough, contributing towards our terminally unimaginative play. Our set pieces are terrible. Our defending is clueless. We have no idea of how to go about defeating our opponents.

Enough. One could conceivably go on for several hours about the overwhelming deficiencies of our team and the man who leads it, but there seems little point in torturing ourselves any further. One thing is certain – the pressure is growing, and the nascent Parkinson Out camp gained many new recruits yesterday. As your correspondent hurried into a public house in search of liquid solace, the draw for the first round of the FA Cup was being made. Barring an immediate and substantial improvement, this will actually include us this time next year. A grim thought.

And so to Southend on Tuesday night, who lie a point and a place above us in the table. Defeat there will give Adam Pearson a lot to think about. (AD)