QPR scored four goals in the first half of a game for the first time since 1998, sweeping Leicester City aside in an unplayable footballing tidal wave that made it a miserable afternoon for Marti Cifuentes on his first return to W12.

Just a little wry smile, and a laugh. That’s all it was.

In the generic, performative, going-through-the-motions world of post-match interviews I’d usually have written it off, particularly when we’ve just been torn a new bum by the artist formerly known as Midtable Middlesbrough and the person speaking has a five-hour coach journey to look forward to. But “the motivation is definitely there, if I speak for myself, Leicester at home that would be really nice to get the three points, I’m really looking forward to it”, when it’s coming from Nicolas Madsen - a man who’s thus far made Rainier Wolfcastle look like Robin Williams - and accompanied by something approaching a full blown facial expression, jumped off the screen to me.

The exact, specific circumstances of Marti Cifuentes’ exit from Loftus Road last May remain untold officially, publicly. Into that vacuum slips press reports, rumour, conjecture, unnamed sources, vested interests and people looking for online clout or curried favour. Quiet PR wars are raged. Like everything else in 52:48 Britain it quickly boils down to picking a side and entrenching there.

Saturday afternoon brought the Spaniard back to West London for the first time since that acrimonious split. Cifuentes was applauded back into the visiting dugout by some, while others spent their pre-Christmas Saturday calling him “a cunt”. It did give the players he left behind a chance to express themselves on the matter though and, as public statements go, this was pretty emphatic.

Click, click, click… IGNITION. QPR immediately put Leicester City under a grill on a high heat and left them there. There was no let-up, there was no relent. Three quarters of an hour later you could only identify the visitors by reference to their dental records.

Two minutes in Karamoko Dembele moved into the penalty box with purpose and poise, toying with his marker before setting back for Amadou Mbengue to cross. Rumarn Burrell’s finish was duffed but fortuitously deflected straight into Koki Saito’s face and back the other way into the net.

Saito was soon fouled, lazily, by a combination of Ricardo and Fatawu, allowing Madsen to deliver a free kick flapped at by Stolarczyk and returned goalwards by the Japanese winger once more but for the ball to hit Luke Thomas in the face en route.

The home team won every header, and every second ball. Sometimes this is a sport of skill, sometimes it’s about desire. QPR wanted to win this, Leicester’s only wish was to get back on the bus. Jimmy Dunne, up from the back, wins the first contact with Ricardo offering only a meagre shoved half effort by way of challenge. Burrell, surrounded by three, still, able to bring it down in the penalty box. Clarke-Salter first to a half clearance, with Jordan Ayew scratching his pubics. Nicolas Madsen then does the same, with Ayew again flat footed and disinterested. We’re a laundry Ollie, we rinse and press. Mbengue wide to Dembele, Dembele’s low cross into the box, only Saito and Nelson will know who got the last touch on that one, or how on earth it ended up skied over the open goal.

Mbengue was smothering Mavididi to such an extent it became something of a public embarrassment for the player whose contract when moving from Arsenal to Juventus included a cash clause if he won the Ballon D’Or. At one point Mbengue bodied the winger into the Lower Loft, then immediately nutmegged him going the other way when he came seeking physical retribution. In your head? I should say so. He’ll be seeing him in his sleep.

Another bone-idle hack from Mavididi on his tormenter over by the dugout allowed Madsen another free kick. The Dane made the dead ball come alive, hung up high and handsome for Dunne to crawl over the top of Ricardo - going through the motions once more. Nelson decided to helpfully hook a bouncing ball on the edge of his own box back over his head and into the danger area - great plan, Bart. Richard Kone, showing no aftereffects of a run of 11 games without a goal, powerfully and aggressively moved a far less interested opponent into exactly the position he wanted him before belting the ball into the roof of the net. Centre forward’s goal from the first proper centre forward this club has had since Charlie Austin.

More. MORE. Fatawu with a first touch that would have made a nice penalty. Norrington Davies able to return it to Saito in the sort of space Royal Caribbean use for turning around cruise liners. In possession, in the Leicester half, facing towards goal, and the nearest opponent is 30 yards away at this point. Hell, slip the Ark Royal in alongside if you wish, there’s space here for one and indeed all. Saito, unchallenged, advances to find Norrington Davies, unchallenged, for a low cross into the box and Rumarn Burrell, unchallenged, who passed the parcel on just in time for the music to stop on Karamoko Dembele (unchallenged) and a slick, low, left footed finish into the bottom corner. Beautiful, effective, dynamic, direct football. Loftus Road in raptures. But, by God, was this easy. Anthony Joshua versus “Jake Paul” stuff. Stop crawling around on the floor you soppy twat, the fight’s up here.

Four minutes of time added to the first half was three and a half too many for those in a black changed kit. Madsen, everywhere, showing for the ball, demanding possession, pulling strings and painting pictures. Everything he wasn’t under Cifuentes, everything you ever wanted him to be. His best game for the club by a street. Not alone in that either. Karamoko Dembele, all the tricks and flicks as usual, but with determination and presence this time, pointed runs forcing issues and, more remarkable still, tackling back. Karamoko Dembele, actually tackling people. Spot the people who didn’t really like Cifuentes that much after all.

Dunne swept a final ball wide to the all-action Mbengue down the right, and after skinning his man for the umpteenth time why not have a wild swing at the last kick of the half? Why not indeed. Whip, round, over, under, Stolarczyk - seemingly as drunk as I was - grasping at night sky and fresh air. Into the far bottom corner it goes for 4-0 (four).

Phew. So now we know. Next time Nicolas Madsen has that little glint in his eye the week before, lump on. The first time since a 5-0 win here against Middlesbrough in 1998 that Rangers have scored four goals in a first half. A standing ovation as the teams left the field. Electrifying. Julien Stéphan said he didn’t like to use the word “perfect”, but what other word was there? His opposite number looked like he’d been fucked by a train. That is the land of lost content, I see it shining plain, the happy highways where I went, and cannot come again.

I thought the visiting team were disgusting. I almost wish I was writing for Fox for Words just so I could spend 4,000 words giving them a kicking.

This is clearly a club with issues. From champions of England, FA Cup winners, Champions League football and European nights, to the absolute state of them now, the mismanagement of what was previously seen to be one of the country’s better run clubs is chronic. With talk of points deductions to come and Christmas payroll delays this might well get worse before it gets better. At the moment they’re cratering so fast they’re whistling through the air.

That’s not an environment conducive to good football, or positive results. The atmosphere and vibe around the place is all wrong, there’s a stench of death in the air, and football teams rarely come together as cohesive, effective units in those circumstances. But fuck me you’d have to go a hell of a long way to see a team less than the sum of its parts than this one. Does professional pride not come into at some stage?

They had two wingers here, Fatawu and Mavididi, who cost the thick end of £25m between them. Mavididi in particular, a player who’s been at Arsenal and Juventus, was a disgrace. Beasted comprehensively by a centre back playing right back who QPR picked up from Reading, he responded by petulantly trying to kick Mbengue every chance he got. It was a miracle he wasn’t booked, and he looked more disappointed with that than anyone else. Oliver Skipp cost them £20m by himself a year and a half ago, and here he was slobbing around a beaten midfield looking like a fat Niles Crane. Couldn’t even get around the pitch.

Luke Thomas’ sole purpose at left back seemed to be to make everybody else look better by comparison – a duty he performed superbly - but never once did his winger drop back in for five minutes to help. Nor did any assistance ever materialise from the 6ft 6ins centre back to his right Jannick Vestergaard, who must be the most piss weak and disinterested bloke of that physical stature I’ve ever seen - built like The Winged Victory of Samothrace and about as bloody mobile, physically dominated all afternoon by Richard Kone.

You’ve got Hamza Choudhury bantering with the home fans in the main stand while he’s meant to be warming up, then coming on and pissing about with his hair in response to chants from the R Block, while the team is 4-fucking-0 down. I’d have subbed him straight back off. Beavis must be starting to wonder where he’s got to.

Any suggestion Leicester’s seven points in nine since their last collapse against Sheff Utd might signal some sort of turnaround and resurgence was blown away here, not only by QPR’s whirlwind first half but also City’s response to it. Cifuentes will get the blame, and the sack, in that order, probably very soon, but whoever replaces him will find all the same issues. This was a team that didn’t want to be here, and at times seemed to be deliberately trying to get themselves red carded out of it – referee Tom Nield came over all lenient to nip that idea in the bud. All of them shown up by Jeremy Monga, at 16 not even old enough to wear the club sponsor on his shirt, who came on for the last 14 minutes and was the best player on the pitch in that time, showing what is possible if you just park it and play the game. The rest of them should have been embarrassed – senior players shown up by a literal child – and why it took until 73 minutes for that change only Marti will know. I’d have made five changes at half time, he sent the same team out for another ten minutes just in case.

I’m amazed as many Leicester fans stuck around for as long as they did – some of them even stayed to the end to applaud!? I was angry on their behalf.

So, I guess if there is a negative to take from this entirely positive day, it’s that QPR sportingly turned down an opportunity to stamp on an opponent’s throat when presented with one. This felt like our opening day loss at Watford under Gareth Ainsworth – another game that was 1-0 after a minute and four by half time. Keep playing like that and it would easily reach double figures, but it’s difficult to run on take-off power for the full flight and football teams rarely do. A Ricardo shot, handled by sub Sam Field, presented a late Leicester penalty which Decordova-Reid predictably smacked against the post, and sub Silko-Amari Thomas headed in on the rebound for 4-1. At least somebody was paying attention in City colours.

Rangers started the second half on the front foot from the off. Kone messed up one chance at the near post, took a swing at a Varane knock down from another lovely Madsen cross, and then had a shot well saved after Leicester handed the ball back to their opponents on the edge of the box yet again. Kone had been a summer transfer target for this lot, but you’d obviously want to pay four times the wage for Jordan Ayew to audition for Casualty and Bobby Decordova-Reid to try and take over the refereeing of the game. After all, who’s heard of Richard Kone? Well, Vestergaard has now. So hopelessly mismatched Cifuentes elected to hook him and put midfielder Skipp at centre back for the final half hour. Wet wipe.

Skipp later accidentally hit his own post amongst a huge scramble caused by a unlikely cross from sub Steve Cook that sparked a panic in which Karamoko Dembele had a cross-shot blasted through the six-yard box. It was chaos back there every time QPR went forward. Every time we pressed it was there for us. So, it was a bit of a shame more goals didn’t follow. Paul Smyth and Kwame Poku’s introductions felt ten minutes too late – Poku set about tormenting Thomas even more than he had been before and I’d like to have seen a bit more of that.

We didn’t need it, but who really needs anything? We were in want territory now and I wanted that. Couldn’t just score that fifth and give me the Five Goal-d Rings headline could they? Nooooo.

Very much first world problems though. We didn’t see the recalled Ben Hamer at all until minute 63, and even then it was to catch a pathetic header from Ricardo. This against a team carrying probably somewhere in the region of four times QPR’s payroll.

Isaac Hayden will be frustrated with his lack of football, but the first thing he did off the bench was chuck his body on the line for a big block tackle on the edge of the box. Paul Smyth will have wanted to start this game, but he celebrated every goal we scored without him like a 30-year R Block veteran, charging onto the pitch to congratulate his teammates. These are really, really good signs. Undr The Cosh call the bench “the bitter bus”, ‘Parky’ rejoices in tales of tossing off the warmup by the corner flag because the manager has dared not to pick him. No sign of that here. All in it together. A positive, progressive, exciting team, going forwards, scoring goals and enjoying each other’s company.

Wingers and strikers. Attack and attack. Press and repeat. QPR circa 1994 vintage. And Loftus Road rocking on its hinges and shaking its foundations once more. Now only one home win shy of our total for the whole of last season, and the season before that, and already equal to the six we managed in all of 2022/23. Things are getting better and better, every day. And not in the Stalin way either.

The pre-match discourse was understandably enveloped by the previous manager, the past, and what had gone before. The post should be dominated by Julien Stéphan, the future, and just what this team might be able to accomplish if it keeps travelling in this direction at this speed.

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QPR: Hamer 6; Mbengue 8, Dunne 8, Clarke-Salter 7 (Cook 46, 6), Norrington-Davies 7; Dembele 8 (Poku 85, -), Madsen 8 (Field 75, 6), Varane 7 (Hayden 75, 6), Saito 7 (Smyth 85, -); Kone 7, Burrell 7

Subs not used: Frey, Morrison, Morgan, Nardi

Goals: Saito 2 (assisted Mbengue), Kone 29 (unassisted), Dembele 33 (assisted Burrell), Mbengue 45+2 (assisted Dunne)

Yellow Cards: Norrington-Davies 90+4 (foul)

Leicester: Stolarczyk 3; Ricardo 3 (Page 85, -), Nelson 3, Vestergaard 2 (Ramsey 63, 5), Thomas 1; James 3 (Choudhury 63, 2), Skipp 3; Fatawu 3 (Monga 73, 7), Decordova-Reid 2, Mavididi 2; Ayew 2 (Other Thomas 63, 6)

Subs not used: Aluko, Begovic, Carranza, Faes

Goals: Thomas 82 (unassisted)

Yellow Cards: Ayew 35 (foul), Ricardo 77 (foul)

QPR Star Man – Amadou Mbengue 8 So many candidates this week, with particular special mention to Madsen and Dembele who had arguably their best games in QPR colours, but with a goal, an assist, a comprehensive beasting of Mavididi, and just his general impact, aura and presence on the pitch I think it’s probably got to be Mbengue. A terrific signing, playing really well, dominating some of the best wingers in this league presently.

Referee – Tom Nield (West Yorkshire) 6 I was worried about this appointment to start with, given we’ve previously commented that he’s seemed out of his depth at this level in much lower profile QPR games than this one, but overall I think he did quite well with all big decisions correct. He still turns his back on things too much, which results in a lot of guesswork or reliance on his assistants for decisions on things he hasn’t seen. And while I’d always prefer a more lenient referee than a card machine, Mavididi, Ayew, Reid and James all, at times, seemed to be almost deliberately trying to get themselves red carded out of this farce to me, and yet the Foxes left with only two bookings to their name. Mavididi, in particular, I’m amazed wasn’t booked– petulant arsehole. Fine overall, but I’m in a good mood today.

Attendance 17,500 (1,759 Leicester) Four home wins in a row, 12 goals scored, place absolutely bouncing. Feels like something might be happening here. Merry Christmas, every one.

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Pictures - Ian Randall Photography