Can you remember a time when you were little, being dragged around shops by your parents, and you got lost in a crowd of people? Remember that feeling of shock at being so brusquely separated from certainty and safety?

Now, do you remember how that shock then changed, mutated, expanded towards sheer panic? Recall how that feeling of utter dread grew and grew beyond all control until you could no longer hold it back, and terror flooded your senses, blotting out everything, making itself the centre of your whole being, excluding reason, encouraging dark fantasies to take root within the mind and nothing - nothing at all – could make it better…until finally a soothing word and a warm grasp of the hand saddened banished the demons and made the world happy and secure once again? 

I reckon we’re about halfway through the footballing equivalent of this primary school-age horror story now. We’re scared. Oh my, we are scared. I don’t know where the safe hand is coming from. I don’t know whether it even will come.

Visiting dark fears upon the travelling support at Molineux were: Myhill; Ricketts, Turner, Delaney, Dawson; Parlour, Ashbee, Peltier; Vaz Te, Forster, Windass.

The game began patchily, with Wolverhampton displaying the majority of the ambition in the first home match since the extraordinary 0-6 gubbing inflicted upon them by Southampton. City were living with them, sort of, although the infuriatingly industrious Keogh was already winning a percentage of aerial challenges that belied both his stature and the usual pedigree of our central defenders.

It was he who forced the first shot of the game, nimbly wriggling free in the area and smacking a low shot hard at Myhill, who kicked it behind for a corner. And now City were creaking a little, and the goal that looked increasingly probable duly arrived with us before the first twenty minutes had been played out. And a disgusting goal it was too.

White-booted fadge Michael McIndoe skipped free down the right, cross to the unmarked Bothroyd, who headed past the stationary Myhill.

And if that sounds dismally straightforward, that’s because it was. It was schoolgirl defending by City, the players too feckless, too lazy, too stupid to pick up runners and deal with a far-from-visionary piece of play. We trail, and the mood is sullen.

Remarkably, an opportunity to equalise presents itself almost immediately, when a strong shout for a penalty from the arm of a Wolf is not seen by referee Joslin – a fussy, irksome official but who fairness compels us to observe was probably unsighted.

Delaney then headed a corner softly wide, and City offered little for the remainder of the half. The midfield had been lost, thanks to the frankly embarrassing scufflings of Ian Ashbee, the anonymity of Peltier and the horribly off-form Parlour. And it was not as though an impenetrable amber wall behind this lousy trio was working to save us. Delaney and Turner were having personal nightmares, while Dawson and Ricketts – while hardworking – were frequently outnumbered and unable to stem the flow out wide.

Indeed, so desperate did we become to force a temporary halt to the Wolverhampton onslaught that the players took advantage of a knock to Deano to spend a couple of minutes taking on drinks, delaying the restart. The home crowd justifiably cried foul – this observer cringed at the shame of it.

Forster sliced a shot horribly wide when presented with a decent shooting chance by Windass, hacking it hopelessly off-target at the near post when a more measured shot across goal might have been more advisable. An eager runner, Nicky Forster. But a good finisher he is not.

Wolverhampton rather tired of only being a goal up and sought to present a more accurate representation of the afternoon’s play on the scoreboard. Seasoned City watchers will not be entirely surprised to learn that this arrived from a free header, the 87453^rd such occasion on which we have conceded in this fashion in 2006/7.

A short corner was slothfully disregarded by the City defence, was fed into the area by Kightly and headed home by the unmarked Olofinjana. 2-0, and a bit of a beating was on the cards.

We make a pair of changes at half-time. Peltier, outgunned and wandering aimlessly since the second went in, joined the scandalously disinterested Vaz Te on the bench, to be replaced by Marney and Elliott.

This had the immediate effect of seeing Wolverhampton score a third. Now, your humble scribe must confess to having missed this. Self-medication is a wonderful thing, even at £2.80 per dose, and with City displaying no apparent eagerness to pay much attention to the game, one hopefully cannot blame supporters for adopting a similar attitude. I understand it involved a cross finding someone unmarked, as astonishing as that may sound.

Ian Ashbee did his trademarke I’m-not-very-good-at-football-and-it’s-probably-even-
more-obvious-than-usual-today-so-I’d-better-kick-someone-instead routine. The City fans, as quiet as at any time this season, regarded the proceedings glumly, too dispirited to even offer anything more than half-hearted anger.

The game drags on. The Wolves fans loudly predict a 6-0 win, a seemingly downbeat assessment of their immediate prospects. But they have opted to take it easy in the Midlands sun, a benevolent gesture we may find cause to be grateful for should goal difference be our saviour. And then, remarkably, we score.

Forster zips between a pair of Wolves from an Elliott flick, hares down at Budtz’s goal and lashes home a fine finish to being the score to 3-1. Just like that.

Does it inspire a serious comeback? Well, no. The home side now only looked fairly likely to score whenever they attacked our goal, although Keogh ought to have restored the three-goal with a shot that should have been directed either side of Myhill.

The game actually livens up now. Bridges comes on for Parlour, and City show a degree of hitherto unsuspected attacking intent. A second City goal would have made it very interesting with just a few mutters creeping into the home crowd at their side’s inability to extend their lead. However, our flurries carry laudable aims but little conviction, and they come principally from the efforts of our front three rather than anything the woeful midfield was providing.

Stephen Ward was cautioned for Wolves for an ugly late foul on Myhill that caused us some momentary alarm when he was failed to get up for some moments. The home supporters grow more frustrated, but the game was won some time ago and one fancies this was motivated by greed for more.

However, 3-1 appeared to suit both sides in the closing moments, and five minutes of injury time saw little threat to either goal, and the sides trooped off together in starkly different spirits.

There’s almost no point in apportioning blame any more. We may have an entire cricket season in which to do that, after all. The manager picked a bad side which played badly - it is that simple. The myriad faults of flaws of our players have been exhaustively documented this season and require no repeating.

For the situation is extremely grave. Luton and QPR have both gone, in different directions. It is probably two from four. Us, Leeds, Barnsley and Southend. In theory, our run-in is not the worst. Except that when City are showing this form, it is difficult to make a case for us gaining another point.

Colchester are in great nick and travel north on Saturday with genuine play-off aspirations. One might hope that that night of unforgettable disgrace at Layer Road will combine with our perilous situation to inspire a stirring performance. And you never know, it may. It’d be a courageous man who bets on it, however.

Then follow a brace of ugly-looking trips to play-off chasing sides. Then the ideal final fixture…except we’ve lost over half of our home games, and over half of our away games too, and we need more than just a couple of points – just where will the 5/6/7 points we need come from?

Phil Brown and his players are nearly out of time now. The situation is wholly of their own making, and it remains in their grasp to rectify things. Were I the manager, I would discontinue the policy of stuffing the side with loan players. I question their commitment – Dean Windass excepted, naturally. For the remaining fixtures, it would be nice to see only players who are contracted to City, for it is those contracts that will take a deserved slashing should City be relegated. Perhaps in these final hours, this can finally motivate them. Little else appears to have done.