Over the weekend, as the Premier League went through its latest round, there was a disturbing sound across England. From top to bottom, there were results that could possibly change the direction of relegation, European qualification, and the Premier League. But it wasn’t clear just where the sound was coming from. A high-pitched, repetitive but catchy blast of jauntiness. Where was the sound coming from?

To Stamford Bridge. Antonio Conte played Sam Allardyce, whose motivational tactics, pints of wine, massive ham sandwiches and devotion to sports science and statistical analysis has woken up Crystal Palace from their slumber. Wifried Zaha, freed from the shackles of having to speak to Gareth Southgate and with the chance of winning international trophies, continued his revitalised performances. Christian Benteke, freed from having to speak to the most knowledgeable fans in the world of football, threatened again. 2-1 to Palace, and the Premier League title wasn’t quite as sure a thing anymore. But no sound anywhere.

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So we move to up to Burnley with Tottenham. Spurs, without Harry Kane for the foreseeable, lost Harry Winks to a horrible ankle injury. But Heung-Min Son is an able Plan B, and he, Dele Alli and others combined to dispatch Sean Dyche’s organised and occasionally dangerous side. A win at Turf Moor is no small achievement. But no, that wasn’t where the sound was either.

It wasn’t at Leicester either, where Jamie Vardy and Wilfred Ndidi both kept up Craig Shakespeare’s run of form and managed to give Mark Hughes’ bitter face at least some cause to be bitter. You can imagine Hughes being the kind of man to grumble endlessly about having to queue up in the supermarket, or if you ask him to move out of your way while he dawdles about at the pub bar. It might not be a reasonable prejudice to hold, but the prejudice is held nonetheless.

The sound is still going though, almost a two-beat boop, coming from one of the fixtures. At the KComm stadium in Hull, the provocatively non-English Marco Silva showed what an eye for a bargain in the transfer market, the ability to train players to follow an effective plan, and playing a mardy West Ham gets you: Three points. They might not survive the relegation battle this season, but one or both of Silva and Hull are likely to be back in the Premier League soon enough. Is this what was causing the sound? Nope. We’re getting warmer, though.

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Liverpool beat up Everton again, with Sadio Mane showing just why Ed Woodward wanted him so much, and with Ross Barkley showing his idiotic side when stepped into Dejan Lovren’s shin. Ronald Koeman wasn’t happy with the Liverpool bench for trying to get his players sent off for their dangerous play. Ronald Koeman might like to wonder if just not playing so dangerously might be the easier option.

Barkley wasn’t the only clown endangering careers though, as both Theo Walcott and Jesus Navas could have seen red for their own reckless attempts at tackles as Arsene Wenger’s career limped on, all to goad Arsenal’s fans. They showed the spirit to come back twice from a goal down, and they showed the witlessness to go a goal behind, twice. There wasn’t much quality on show from either side, but there was plenty of comically bad defending.

The best league in the world is a catchphrase, but the Trades Description Act might see Richard Scudamore hauled before the courts and thrown in gaol. Improvement needs to come, very soon. Perhaps that sound was an alarm, registering the need for an intervention from someone, anyone. Anyone who can put their foot on the ball and think. Let’s listen, then.

Nope. The alarm is real, but it’s not the noise we can hear. It wasn’t Southampton vs Bournemouth either, because that’s Southampton vs Bournemouth. It wasn’t at Watford, where the wailing was just David Moyes fervently praying for a miracle to save himself and his club, before threatening to slap a female BBC reporter. It wasn’t at Middlesbrough, who drift into obscurity once again.

So lastly, we move onto Manchester, where Luke Shaw is feeling sorry for himself after four managers in a row complained about his fitness. It’s not fair, he thought, as he complained to his brother and father for the 500th time about another manager complaining about his fitness. What do I have to do, he thought, as he sat at home as United played West Brom.

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This game was the chance for United to use one of their games in hand to put pressure on the clubs above them, and move away from Everton. It was a chance to grind out a result while giving Marcus Rashford and Anthony Martial the chance to impress. In the end, it was 0-0.

0-0. Another pointless point, and another draw for West Brom, who have their best points total, and who have become not just a well-drilled side that knows not only the dark arts, but one familiar with the attacking ones, too. They beat Arsenal this way, they have beaten others, and they will beat more. They have been taken to their own kind of excellence. By one man.

That’s where the sound was coming from. That’s what it was. Listen. Aim your focus towards the midlands, now. Aim them to West Brom’s training ground. That’s what it is…

Woop-woop! It’s the sound of the Pulis!

Woop-woop! It’s the sound of the Pulis!

Woop-woop! It’s the sound of the Pulis!