Even a clown car sometimes runs in a straight line. Fulham were marginally the better side here, had more of the shots and more of the creativity in the final third, won more of the big challenges, played with more confidence and courage. All of which they contrived to undo in about 15 seconds of pure catastrophe in the final minute of the game, a routine clearing of the lines that they somehow managed to turn into a kind of anarchic performance art.
And through it all, lurking on the edge of things, waiting for his moment, was Bruno Fernandes. Through the years of pain and punishment, the indignities and the disgraces, the aimless days and the listless nights, Bruno has always been there. Bruno, with his outrageous talent and his talent for outrage. Bruno, the lightning rod of rage and the heart of dysfunction, the storm and the man who can calm the storm. And admittedly, the man who can occasionally jog around for 90 minutes pretending the storm is none of his business.
