That will be that then – it’s over. After such a long and bruising campaign to eventually get over the line – and, if we’re being brutally honest, undoubtedly helped by weaker, error-strewn and far less ruthless opposition along the way – the nation could justifiably be filled with hope. Hope that this time, after so many years of flattering to deceive, a corner had finally been turned and a brighter future lay ahead.

Instead, within weeks, the same old lack of vision, ambition and belief has dragged us back to depressingly familiar territory. The manager has exhausted the goodwill that surrounded him only a short time ago and cynicism is once again running rampant.

A long summer of regrets now lies ahead before we dust ourselves down and wonder whether this really was as good as it was ever going to get. Will there be an honest assessment of where it all went wrong or attempts to argue the criticism is overblown? Will fresh ideas finally emerge, or will we simply be expected to accept that next time will somehow be different?

Perhaps the greatest disappointment is that none of this feels remotely unfamiliar. We have become experts at mistaking motion for progress. The optimism lasts just long enough to carry us to the next disappointment before the cycle begins all over again.

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