Just as they had at Fulham in our last away game, another tremendous travelling support turned out to cheer us on - and were still there at the end to the give their favourites some applause that their performance didn't warrant.

United had arrived on the pitch to a magnificent ovation - complete with twirling scarves and balloons - that would have been more in keeping with a side playing in the League Cup Final later the same afternoon.

Unfortunately though the team reacted as they have done so often in the past to the presence of such backing - by turning in a performance of utter woodenness that would have seen them struggle to beat anything more taxing than some demoralised part-time Europeans.

Despite a raft of changes to the side - Given, Onyewu, Parker, Sibierski and substitute N'Zogbia all returning - this was in many ways a continuation of the uninspiring dross witnessed on Thursday.

And while it may seem insensitive to criticise a player for not playing in a game just before burying a close relative, having rightly receiving plaudits for opting to face Liverpool, Babayaro was absent today - and badly missed.

While his omission on compassionate grounds would have been tolerated, for the only left back at the club to miss out for the umpteenth time due to a tweaked hamstring though is beyond a joke. 

Either this bloke is a urine-extractor or our medics should be struck off. A left back undoubtedly remains top of the close-season list, as it did of course last month.....
 
In Babayaro's place the wrong-footed Huntington endured an uncomfortable afternoon and was the principal offender in the aimless hoofed pass stakes. Other older and more famous players were little better though.

And never mind the nonsense peddled by Roeder about the penalty miss being a turning point - we've had enough spot kicks awarded in recent weeks to last other clubs a season and in the case of the Liverpool win at least, it hid a multitude of sins - and lack of "real" goalmouth action.

As at Craven Cottage, this was another blank return for the away followers - albeit at less than half the price of a Thameside pew - as we undid the good work of the Spurs victory with another tame display without even less of a too little, too late finish. 

After waiting half a century to make our second visit to this town, we've now trekked here on a trio of occasions in less than 18 months - with the inevitable reaction to this third consecutive kick in the knackers being that we've now entered a Dell-like bogey ground scenario. 

Suspicions that sinister forces are at work are also underlined by the fact that we've lost the two Premiership games here by a single goal scored at the same end at at exactly the same time - 40 minutes. And we've played like plums - although that's hardly unique.

In the fallout from this game there has been some criticism of Roeder's tactics - or lack of them - especially as we were once again treated to the ludicrous sight of high balls being battered forward to a small striker, giving some average defenders an easy afternoon.

However, with the middle of the pitch looking like a glider strip, we rightly tried to work the ball down the flanks and employed no less than four amigos at various times to do so.

That they all failed - and in the case of subs N'Zogbia and Milner spurned great late chances to get the ball into the box by wildly blasting it over - isn't really something that can be laid at the door of the manager. 

And with our corner routines once again unable to set up anything of note, only the revealing of a mean long throw from Onyewu gave us any sort of delivery into the box.

The return of Zog for Duff though should prove significant - with the latter having done precious little lately to present the former with any great obstacle to winning back a starting place.  

So our predictably unpredictable season continues in typically incoherent fashion, with unpleasant echoes of previous dips in form as we were too easily knocked out of our stride by an unfashionable side. If only we were half as good as we thought we were.

While UEFA Cup hopes remain alive and provide day dream material and daft songs, we can be distracted with rah-rah reports on Shola's hip and Michael's leg and the promise of jam tomorrow. 

But when the road to Hampden hits a brick wall, our season faces the prospect of petering out into yet another lost year. All a bit predictable, all a bit depressing. Must try harder. 

Biffa

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