THE PITS-MASTERS
Ah, Bank Holiday Mondays – the traditional cavalcade of woefully overdone sausages, dangerously underdone chicken legs and ill-advised experiments with vegetables. And this Monday the glorious chaos of inexpert barbecue chef-ery was matched by the glorious chaos of inexpert defending in the Premier League, with 21 goals squirted across three fun-packed affairs like a deluge of lighter fluid across a rack of uncooperative briquettes. In the early kick-off, as the coals began to flame and a few exploratory sausages were sent to a fiery grave, Leicester added another lowlight to their season of shambles at Craven Cottage, the 5-3 scoreline flattered by a couple of late goals as Fulham eased off the throttle. “It’s been one of those seasons,” sighed James Maddison, stretching that particular idiom beyond its usual boundaries. “We were not good enough today and we’ve only got ourselves to blame.”
