An eagerly rubbernecking football public gears up for Doom Sunday

Then there were three. The Premier League will have its Super Sunday filled with AS IT STANDS league tables, tearful fans in ill-considered fancy dress and perhaps even a repeat of last year’s fake-news hoax, when mischievous Wolves supporters made some Liverpool counterparts believe the title would be theirs, only to find Manchester City were still going to be champions. With Big Cup, Big Vase and Tin Pot stuff generally sorted, most eyes will turn to the bottom. Three proud provincial clubs, managed by three stout yeomen of the Midlands, two from three must descend to the Saturday-Tuesday land of Don Goodman’s camel coat, David Prutton’s gush, Lee Hendrie’s frosted tips. Friday night at the John Smith’s, a Real Football heartland commentated on with the gravitas of a state funeral, where a point snatched in deep snow at Stoke definitely means more.

Leicester gave themselves a chance of escaping those EFL badlands by drawing 0-0 at Newcastle on Monday, dragging out the nerves for Big Cup-bound Toon fans by employing a policy that was less “get it launched” and more “get it launched into Row Z”. Still, they might have stolen it had Timothy Castagne been able to hook the ball beyond the reach of Nick Pope in added time. Before that, Deano “Dean” Smith had dropped James Maddison and Harvey Barnes from his starting lineup, rendering the midfield as clogged as Wout Faes’s plughole.

Sunday, then. To stay up, Leicester must beat West Ham, the Hammers with Tin Pot final and the Alkmaar heroism of Knollsy distracting them. The Foxes must also hope Everton fail to beat Bournemouth, for whom Gary O’Neil will be grimly determined –even if his team are entitled to have been hitting the East Beach Harry Ramsden’s lunchtime special