Wise men say empires implode from within and, in fairness, Aston Villa pressed the self-destruct button expertly on their manager Steven Gerrard.
If this was ruinous defeat proves the sunset over Gerrard's uninspired year in charge, he will leave with travelling disciples from Spaghetti Junction serenading him with a refrain from the songbook of the damned to “get out of our club.”
Outplayed at Craven Cottage, Villa's performance was almost bereft of saving graces, with midfield clot Douglas Luiz's inexcusable red card the worst dereliction of all.
As Gerrard has discovered to his cost, 710 games for Liverpool and 114 England caps provide little insulation against the carping of Villa's critical fanbase.
Since they last won a trophy, Villa have been through 14 managers, four owners, one near-miss with oblivion after relegation in 2016 and more false dawns than winter at the South Pole.
Gerrard is not the club's first manager to punch below his weight, but none has been confronted with more data – some of it meaningful, some of it probably trainspotters' tripe – in an effort to solve one of English football's longest-running enigma codes.
He conceded Villa's numbers over the first half-dozen games had not stacked up sufficiently but argued: “One thing data doesn’t give you is that, sometimes in football, you need something to drop for you, a bit of luck.”
Well, Stevie, here's a useful number in case you're feeling the heat and the digital analysts don't come up with anything better: Failing all else, dial 999.
For long periods, Fulham were simply too hot to handle.
Moving the ball at speed, and finding angles with the precision of a mathematician's protractor, Marco Silva's progressive side were a joy to watch.
The only surprise was that Villa held out until nine minutes before the break, Harrison Reed collecting Andreas Pereira's half-cleared corner and hammering it into the corner from 20 yards.
It was only Reed's second goal in 85 appearances for the club. When he hits the ball so cleanly, it is surprising there have not been others.
The booing from away fans at the break was ominous, and when Danny Ings headed a presentable chance weakly at Fulham keeper Bernd Leno, Gerrard's despairing body language in the dugout – head in hands, anguish etched across his brow – told its own grievous story.
And his goose was cooked – stuffing, orange sauce, the lot – in five minutes of Truss-style chaos.
First Luiz brainlessly got himself sent off, picking a fight with Mitrovic and pecking the Serbian striker in one of those pointless head-to-head confrontations.
Referee Michael Oliver brandished the red card after consulting his pitchside monitor and then, more contentiously, he penalised Matty Cash for handball, Mitrovic squeezing his spot-kick under Martinez for his eighth goal of the season.
By the time Neeskens Kebano's shot was turned into his own net by the hapless Tyrone Mings seven minutes from time, Villa were shot to pieces.
And Gerrard's lonely walk across the pitch looked like the forlorn trudge of a condemned man resigned to his fate. "I understand the situation we are I am," he said at full-time. "I am a fighter and I will never quit. We will see what happens."
