If you’re going to die, die with your boots on. Belatedly and pointlessly on. But on all the same. It felt deeply fitting that West Ham should show some fight on the final day of the Premier League season, but that relegation should still be confirmed by events elsewhere, any pleasure at a 3-0 defeat of Leeds rendered irrelevant by Tottenham’s win at home against Everton, as West Ham’s season flopped like an ailing dog in the mid-summer heat.
There was at least some joy at the London Stadium, a reminder that joy is both the only thing that actually matters here, and also the precise polar opposite of the football-club-shaped blob that West Ham’s ownership has created. When Jarrod Bowen scored West Ham’s second goal on 78 minutes, charging past a Leeds defence already ranged about the place on sun loungers flicking through the latest Sally Rooney, there was a brief glimpse of some other West Ham, some other reality, a lost place of greater care and competence, other hands on the wheel.
