Mark Noble looked for a pass, in vain. He looked for a run, and none came. He searched for a team-mate willing to take responsibility, and drew a final blank. With two Liverpool players on his tail, he ran out of pitch and took the ball into touch.
He turned in frustration to the other claret shirts. ‘Hey,’ Noble shouted. ‘Someone want the f****** ball!’
This is the malaise that David Moyes has to address, if the West Ham job is his. This is the mood of despair he must lift, the attitude he must banish. Moyes, with his dour, hangdog demeanour; his perceived air of caution.