FROM the theatre of the absurd to the theatre of cruelty - that was the transition at Bootham Crescent in three days.

Prolonged stoppage-time heralded the Saturday robbery of a point by table-topping Watford. But the exasperating encore was even worse.

Pancake Tuesday became rancid blues-day, second-placed Bristol City last night bringing down the curtain on the Minstermen with, of all strokes, a controversy-cloaked penalty. City's arena is currently no theatre of dreams.

So after besting the Second Division's brace of leading lights for the majority of their respective tussles, City can point to just that - one point. One single, solitary, solo, slender point.

Rave reviews and plaudits aplenty, but praise wins nothing. And now the prospect of the play-offs looks as remote as unearthing a new plot-boiler by William Shakespeare. Enveloping the Minstermen ever deeper is drama of the gut-wrenching kind.

They can play their hearts out, run their socks off, chase and battle until their faces are bluer than royalty, but all they get is the blues.

As with Watford, Bristol City trailed a good second-best in movement and passing to the men in red. But as with the leaders, the Robins were allowed to squirm free because the same crimson corps cannot translate an excess of possession into an abundance of plunder.

They now have only two wins from their last 16 games and while there are only five defeats in that same span, the most damning statistic of all is that they have registered a mere 14 goals. Eight of those flooded through in just three matches - the astonishing 4-4 draw at Southend and the consecutive defeats by Millwall and Burnley.

There's more than a jot of truth to the conviction that Messrs Kenny Dalglish and Terry McDermott - watching from the main stand last night - would have struggled to impose their striking greatness had they been in their playing pomp, yet clad in the City shirt.

It's almost as if the City colours are a veritable strait-jacket, constricting all accuracy whenever the white-painted framework of an opponents' goal is within sight.

The miss and miss hosts were hardly helped by the sudden loss of new forward fulcrum, the energised Marco Gabbiadini. His shock return to the club of his upbringing was curtailed after just 90 minutes, the legacy of some crude Watford challenges shackling him to the treatment table.

His sure-footed touch was badly missed. Yet in spite of his absence City, as has been their wont, still racked up the chances.

Unfortunately the front two of Rodney Rowe and Gary Bull did not accept.

It was almost as if the tone was set in the 12th minute. Not once, but twice they traded passes to carve open Bristol's back-line, but Bull lashed the finish into the visiting fans.

Thaw night did not improve for the man whose exquisite touches in build-up play disappear within the penalty-area. They were at their most anonymous two yards out in the 55th-minute.

A subtle glance of his forehead and he would have netted Mark Tinkler's overhead flick. But Bull added unnecessary power and the header arched over the bar.

Nerves would have been eased, Bristol's composure would have been fractured and the show would have been back on the road. But within ten minutes another home puncture.

Brian Tinnion's chipped pass hung up the ball like a ticking bomb in between the outstanding Graeme Murty and steady goalkeeper Mark Samways right on the edge of the 18-yard line. In zipped Scott Murray, who was upended by Samways as the midfielder sought to apply a finish.

In the box, outside the box a debate raged, but the City 'keeper ended in referee Brian Coddington's notebook, the ball in the net smacked home by Bristol's sprightliest attacker, left-back Mickey Bell, from the penalty spot.

City's work rate then went from extensive to exhaustive, a predictable rally only climaxing in more disappointment.

Two of their own penalty appeals drew no reward. Substitute Jonathan Greening's cross seemingly handled by a sliding Adam Locke and then a wall pass played with Tony Barras blocked by the brick wall otherwise known as Robins' captain Shaun Taylor.

Still, City drove on. But vibrant approach-work was met by dull finishing. They don't lack passion, they just lack that final lustre.

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