Southgate, God help him, did it again. Off came a forward. On came a defender.
Danny Rose came on. Another body for the back line. Kane dropped even deeper into his own half to try and get a touch of a ball his team no longer had.
I stood there and watched England answer going 1-1 down in a World Cup semi-final by putting yet another defender on the pitch, and I understood that fear had taken Southgate's brain clean out of his head. Panic was flying the plane on its own.
You could see it breaking out on the grass. Walker was screaming at Stones to push up. Stones was pointing him back, 2 England defenders arguing about which way to panic. Pickford came 20 yards off his line, bellowing at all of them with his arms wide, and none of them could hear him over the green end.
Kane stood in the centre circle with his hands on his hips. A striker with nobody left to feed him, looking over at his own bench like a man asking what the plan was and getting no answer back.
