JUDGEMENT is sometimes measured in timbre, the vocal overtones which accompany a misplaced pass, a conceded goal, or the final whistle which signifies the end of a damaging home defeat like this.

And sometimes these are passing fads. Football managers can be the cock of the walk one week and a human piñata the next, such are the emotions which flow within this apparently beautiful game.

So they flow readily at Bolton Wanderers right now.

Ian Evatt would have experienced this sort of disquiet had fans been allowed into the stadium in his first League Two season in charge, and he most certainly knew about it when the club made an inconsistent start to their first campaign after promotion.

But since that rocky New Year in 2022, before the board began to invest considerable chunks of cash in players like Dion Charles, Kyle Dempsey, Dan Nlundulu, Carlos Mendes Gomes, Aaron Collins, Szabolcs Schön, John McAtee and Aaron Collins, he has not sampled true unhappiness live and in person.

Wembley was a case of collective shock. Back in May you would have had to work hard to hear the grumbles from the Bolton end against the unbridled joy from the yellow shirts of Oxford to Evatt’s right. But this is a manager young enough to acknowledge the scope of social media, he is connected enough to know the dent that result put in his stock at Wanderers and also that he would start 2024/25 with a paper-thin advantage of goodwill, which would soon be shaved away by a poor start.

And here we are.

Bolton sit 18th in the table after a 2-0 defeat to Exeter City, a team which had been vanquished ruthlessly by seven goals to nothing on the same pitch back in November.

We had previously witnessed a patchy, functional win at Leyton Orient, a stoic draw at home to Wrexham which barely raised a smile and a drab defeat at Charlton which was roundly condemned by everyone who laid eyes upon it.

The fourth game, in front of a bumper gate swollen by discount tickets, had to be one that sent a convincing message. But in the end, it did completely the opposite.

New shape, new personnel but the same old issues dogged Evatt’s side as they were continually outbattled in midfield and stifled in attack. And while the manager was entirely correct in his summation that Exeter had only won by succeeding with two set pieces, his point was buried with the same enthusiasm by his critics as the captain of the Titanic saying the voyage would have been a roaring success had it not been for the icebergs.

Bolton look undercooked and have done since they stepped foot on the pitch in East London on the opening day of the season. This is of course a problem which can be rectified but let us not pretend that it is not an issue in the first place.

For Evatt, the calls for his head are nothing new. He has battled against the grain in some quarters for four years and is probably rather accustomed to it now. Wanderers’ owners stuck with him loyally after the play-off final and now seems a tad early for a change of tack, but nothing is eternal. Evatt continues to hold a win per centage of more than 50 per cent in the job – which would be ample for most folk – but such are the stresses on success this season, taking his presence in the dugout for granted would be foolhardy.

Wanderers have ploughed sums of money which are unprecedented in the post-Premier League era into the team without obvious demand of return. It seems unlikely, however, that the ownership group will approve of the league table view if they glance upon it over the international break.

Evatt has tried to temper the disappointment by saying he had expected a poor start, given the legacy injuries his squad had carried from the summer and the fact his signings had not arrived at the club as match-ready as he would have liked. But the audible evidence around the stadium on Saturday afternoon indicates that the fanbase have very little sympathy indeed.

At this point it is worth making a note in the margin of this negative critique, Evatt and his team have produced answers to all these questions and evaluations before, many times in fact. He seems to thrive on the prospect of being written-off, and certainly makes notes in times of hardship to reference when he comes out the other side. He is, in short, a survivor. And that is an admirable quality indeed.

But after seeing his side slip behind to Kamari Doyle’s superb free kick in the first half, the Whites boss took the decision to sit down and observe from the dugout once his team had gone two down through Milienic Alli just after half time.

As someone used to prowling the technical area and snarling at the officials it was a jarring, if submissive, move. And with his team struggling to find a higher gear on the pitch it became harder and harder to substantiate as the game wore on.

Football can feel like psychological warfare sometimes, and the lack of direction on the pitch cannot simply be pinned on the man – Ricardo Santos – wearing the armband. This isn’t Year Seven inter-school football, there are more bodies who have to take responsibility.

There was finger pointing, gesturing and shrugging in the final 20 minutes but precious few who took control of the ball and made something happen. Evatt, perhaps to make a point, watched that from a seated position.

Had Aaron Collins scored a few moments after Exeter had gone two up, rather than guiding his shot on to the crossbar, then who knows? Exeter never really looked solid at the back, and the collywobbles may have set in.

Ifs, buts and maybes are no good to Bolton after this unsatisfactory start, however, and what is abundantly obvious is that Evatt is going to face much stronger criticism if form does not turn around soon.

This writer has seen Wanderers managers swallowed up by the toxicity and has no interest in seeing it happen again for a person who has poured his heart and soul into turning the club around over the last four years.

Everyone has their own view. Some will choose to voice theirs in a way that can he clearly heard. And that volume has increased since Ben Toner blew his final whistle on this deeply disappointing 90 minutes.