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...And all who sail in it. Southampton, is a bit of an enigma. As a place, as cultural hub, as a football club. My first ever West Ham game, was at home to Southampton on Boxing Day 1983. We lost 1-0. Enough for me to bare a grudge that’s lasted until this day.

A city so soulless and nondescript that the Titanic sought an iceberg to crash into not long after docking there - and probably the only coastal trip where if you decide to make a weekend of it, you look to stay inland in the New Forest.




When two of your most famous sons are Craig David and Rishi Sunak, then you know you’re in trouble and lacking identity. Its only redeeming feature is the smile brought to a Pompey-dwelling friend constantly using the word Scum, instead of Southampton. Such is hatred of the place by those from the nearby port.

From a footballing point of view, then the Saints have always been an enigma. Never one to hold an irrational grudge, they are instantly dislikeable due to choice of kit. There’s nothing warm, charismatic or remotely appealing about a club whose choice of colours are red and white stripes.

Sheffield United, Stoke, Brentford, Sunderland. You get the picture. It’s a choice that evokes dark arts, rage and instant dislike. That their traditional away colours of yellow shirts, blue shorts was used by the likes of Arsenal just triggers me more.

Down the years the visit of Southampton to your ground brought nothing other than complete ambivalence. Only during the times of the majestic, mercurial Matthew Le Tissier was it remotely something to be excited by. A player I adored, converted and was worth the entrance fee alone. But even he’s gone full on David Icke in recent years.

The visit yesterday had an almost nagging sense of inevitability about it. A team almost on course to be the worst in Premier League history. Just ten points accumulated all season, routinely shipping goals at will, and having just parted ways with the second incumbent, trying to steer another sinking vessel.




Even with our indifferent form, particularly at home, some had cause for optimism that we’d rack up a routine win. But this is West Ham, and despite the change in personnel at all levels, a change in approach, you can’t shake the inherent ability to cock it up, when the narrative suits.

There would have been few dissenting voices about the starting line up. Niclas Fullkrug, making his first start since January, in particular was a welcome sight, following a string of strong performances from the bench following his injury. It was he who provided one of the few bright lights in a drab first half, forcing a good save from Aaron Ramsdale.

But what else we saw was far from pleasing. We lacked intensity, composure, passion and intent. On a warm, sunny, afternoon late in the season, we managed to suck any cheer, hope and life from our support.

When things haven’t worked previously, Potter has sought to address the issues at the break, tweaking personnel and injecting impetus. This time we stuck with the same players. In a complete throwback to recent times, we did what we’re still best at immediately after the restart. Hitting on the counter, with pace and clinical style.

Fullkrug feeding Bowen, who notched a trademark goal, cutting in and firing home. A superb strike and filling the ground with optimism. For the next 15 minutes all looked well. Passing with aplomb, threatening and showing the kind of suave nature we’ve been crying out for.




Then West Ham-ism kicked in. Having been on the wrong end of some contentious decisions by the officials, we regressed. We became slack and sloppy again. Allowing one of the worst sides ever to grace the top flight a foothold, belief.

Bizarre substitutions, both in terms of personnel and timing just added to the sense of inevitability of what was to come. Five minutes injury time seemed harsh, both on footballing and moral grounds. In the third of those, one of Southampton's scrabble-busting contingent, Ugochukwu, fired home.

Every single member of the South Coast contingent celebrated like they’d won the League. Whilst everyone of a claret and blue persuasion looked like they’d seen what little was left of their soul, sucked away from them.

In the aftermath, Fullkrug spoke of being angry with his team. Endearing himself to the fans even more, if not his team mates. The home form really is a concern. Away we’ve put in some superb, if unlucky displays. Addressing the chaos of Julen Lopetegui and ensuring we’re fully competitive.

At the London Stadium however we’ve looked uninspiring, largely lacklustre and static. If you’re setting your home support in a negative frame of mind, before a ball is kicked, then you’re making an already tough battle into a war of attrition. The end of the season can’t come quick enough.

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