This time they could not even be bothered to demonstrate; they just did not have the heart, could not raise the enthusiasm. The public address system was still spewing out the other Premiership results for the benefit of the ashen-faced stragglers as the vast majority melted away into the night.

Another game had come and gone without even a hint of salvation and so, in the hunt for solace and sympathy, it was back to the pubs and bars of a city which, it would now seem, will boast just one member of the elite next season.

By the time Everton chairman Peter Johnson poked his nose out into the cold night air the streets around Goodison Park were empty save for the crumpled programmes and team sheets.

Had the early evening wind picked up countless discarded season tickets and left them gathered around his feet like autumn leaves Johnson would scarcely have been surprised. Of course, there were still straws to be clutched at - Barnsley drawing, Tottenham Hotspur losing.

These are small consolation, for Everton's fate will be decided, or rather sealed, not by the deeds of others but by their own clumsy boots. Everyone, but everyone, seemed resigned to the inevitable on Saturday as the memory of a quite dreadful game faded away so quickly. Everton supporters are a resilient bunch but their spirit seemed broken, perhaps because the full enormity of the situation had finally washed over them.

The facts and figures make grim reading - almost two months without a victory, four games without a goal, players queueing up to disembark a sinking ship, no money for manager Howard Kendall to spend.

"We must start scoring goals and we must start winning games," said Kendall, his face like a death mask. What Kendall should have done was go public about the financial handcuffs his chairman had slipped around his wrists earlier in the week, because by the time sufficient cash has been raised to buy a half decent goal scorer - by way of a sale of damaged, shop-soiled goods - it will be too late.

It will be far too late. Things were so bad that when, on the hour mark, the Everton pariah Earl Barrett was ushered out to replace Mitch Ward he was greeted like a long lost son. Barrett can only claim a passing acquaintance with basic technical ability but that was enough to place him head and shoulders above most of those in blue shirts.

The Everton decline has come to resemble a perverse nativity play, constantly changing cast, same story line. All along, the suspicion has been that Kendall is simply the latest good man to be betrayed by those in whom he has placed his trust.

At the moment, those who can play are not trying and those who try cannot play. Harsh, but probably fair. A Wimbledon team shorn of seven players did not land, or try to land, a single shot on target all afternoon. Everton fared slightly better, managing two reasonably accurate efforts, both delivered by the refreshingly zestful Danny Cadamarteri, both saved comfortably by Neil Sullivan.

"Our priority is to get enough points to make sure we are still in the Premiership come next season but whether we will be playing Everton there I really don't know," said Wimbledon manager Joe Kinnear. Crazy though it might sound, you probably won't be, Joe.

Everton: Myhre, Short, Watson, Tiler, Ward (Barrett 61), Williamson (Oster 55), Speed, Farrelly, Hinchcliffe, Cadamarteri, Barmby. Subs Not Used: Gerrard, Ball, Jeffers.

Wimbledon: Sullivan, Cunningham, Kimble, Blackwell, Thatcher, Earle, Solbakken, Gayle (Jones 87), Hughes, Ardley, Cort (Clarke 63). Subs Not Used: Heald, Reeves, Castledine.

Referee: G R Ashby (Worcester).