Perhaps it’s fitting that we endured a game as maddening as this in the week we announced plans to celebrate the tenth anniversary of this blog.
After all, chronicling the trials and tribulations of this great club can so often be a test of one’s mental and physical resolve.
And there’s no denying that this was one of the most frustrating fixtures Molineux has hosted for some time.
Putting the elephant in the room to one side for a moment, it was a game we should have won comfortably.
Leicester, barring a few neat passages of play in the first half, didn’t look like a team befitting of their lofty league position and were there for the taking.
Neto, Dendoncker and, above all else, Jimenez should have put the Foxes to the sword.
With the front three of Barnes, Perez and Vardy virtually non-existent throughout, a routine victory should have been enjoyed.
And yet, we did score.
Willy Boly’s first-half strike was legitimate in the eyes of every spectator other than the cack-handed officials at Stockley Park, who reared their ugly heads once again to remind everyone of just how inept the Premier League’s incarnation of VAR is.
At this point, I’m convinced that we have been served up this farcical version because it does exactly what it did tonight – give dreary television pundits, headline-hungry journalists and the football Twitterati something to debate.
Football has become so beholden to its cash cow that it has blithely forsaken the people whose ardent support earned it the moniker of ‘the beautiful game’.
Amazon, BT, Sky Sports and the rest of the ‘sports entertainment’ mafioso care not for our ire – in fact, they revel in it.
To them, tonight’s result is ay okay. Something for people to chew on until whatever controversy tomorrow’s fixtures bring.
Will we still have the heart to blog about this in another 10 years’ time if this is the way football is going?
Probably. After all, we’ve seen worse over the years.
But that doesn’t make this bitter pill any easier to swallow.
We should be celebrating a win. Instead, we’re cursing a referee in a broom cupboard.