Has Gunnerson pulled a funny face at Solskjaer?

Despair. Misery. Gut wrenching. Visceral.

Hull 4 against a team who wasn't there.

Like the end of the world when you are stuck in Merthyr Tydfil on a wet Thursday and the internet is down and the chip shop has closed early. 

Hope has done a runner.

Despair by another Norwegian, not quite so famous as our Norwegian.

This is the end, my only friend, the end. Jim Morrison must have seen the future and watched Cardiff City play Hull. He then penned his nihilistic lyrics.

When we kicked off a bleak, hungry black cloud was hidden by mindless hope - until that fateful first goal.

It seemed inevitable - even before Huddleston shot. Cardiff were kings in possession, awesome in passing and dribbling, but miserable at actually putting the ball into the net. Hull attack once and score. Inevitable.

The bastard Gods writing fate in the blood of innocent Cardiff city supporters.

Has Gunnerson spat on the Norwegian flag? Has he shagged Solskjaer’s missus? Did he pull a face at the manager when he arrived? The one true ball winner we have for the center of the park. A box to box, gnashing, snarling up and at ‘em  midfield player sits on the bench checking his phone messages whilst a middle of the table team called Hull run riot.

When I say run riot I mean they stay calm in defence, watching us fire blanks before smashing through our midfield, score a goal and then stay calm in defence again. Repeat on loop four times.

Hull are not Barcelona. They are candidates for the drop, scratching enough points to keep the trap door at arm’s length. Nothing special.

Did the manager really believe the press reports about Whittingham? Our one true Premiership standard midfield player? A guy who makes things happen. Blessed with vision and ability, but not on the field.

Kenwynne Jones? Does he want to play? Has he other, more pressing matters on his mind? 

The reckless Fabio over the solid MacNaughton? Stolid Taylor over the enterprising boy Declan John? It doesn’t seem right in a million, multiple universes.

Zaha in the England management’s thoughts? Oh sure, yeh. Roy Hodgson to his colleagues: 'remind me not to choose that waster'. The kid has all the talents but the wrong studs. The first thing he has to do is not keep slipping over. Is that so hard? Then he has to get involved.

Juan Cala, Noone, Caulker, Marshall, Campbell turned up. But the last time I looked you need eleven players to make a football team.

In amongst all the pretty players Solskjaer bought in he needed some angry, testosterone fired animal, who wants to win. He played with Roy Keane which couldn’t have been pleasant, I get that. But what Cardiff would give for a captain who can bite the ankles of his team mates. Bellamy cannot do it from the stands.

We are not at death’s door yet, merely ringing the doorbell and making a polite inquiry. There is plenty of football, plenty of shocks before the Fat Lady even thinks about emerging from her dressing room. But in that time Solksjaer must understand the pretty players can only play prettily if there are players who win the ball and boss midfield.

As Morrison continued in The end:

The blue bus is callin' us
The blue bus is callin' us
Driver, where you taken' us