Usually after a single point defeat I would expect to write this column talking about how unlucky we have been, how we have gone down fighting tooth and nail for 80 minutes of end to end blood and guts rugby. The type of game that leaves you wishing the week away so you can get your next fix as soon as possible.
Unfortunately, Saturday was as far from that as United Kingdom winning Eurovision.
The worst thing about that performance at Sandy Park wasn’t the lack of heart shown on the pitch, it wasn’t even the absence of desire, or the complete inability and ineptitude (again) to have any semblance of game management or leadership at crucial times. For me it was how utterly numb and detached I have become in recent weeks to what my eyes are viewing.
