The story of Wayne Jacobs has an almost Dickensian feel to it. Bad lad made good, carving out a decent career after escaping trouble in his home town, starts to build a new life and then crippled by a knee injury and sacked at Christmas. And the Jacobs story gets bleaker still.

After such a heartless release from his contract at Hull City, he manages to find employment at the grimy mill town of Rotherham. After a season there, he’s released again, and questions are raised about his fitness once more.

Instead of giving up on football, Jacobs perseveres and finds a job in the backstreets of Bradford, and makes the left-back position at Valley Parade his own, plays in the Premiership, stays with Bradford for 11 years and ends up being the Bantams’ assistant manager.

In this time of richly deserved success on the pitch, one of his children dies. Even Dickens would have thought twice about inflicting such cruelty on one of his characters.

When Wayne Jacobs joined Hull City, the move had ‘typical Horton signing’ stamped all over it.

The fee was in the £25,000-£60,000 range that Horton loved and generally signalled we were getting someone a bit special, as we had done with the likes of Garry Parker, Richard Jobson and Alex Dyer. Wayne joined as a teenager who had played a handful of games for Sheffield Wednesday. It seemed strange that they were letting him go, and rumours circulated that the reason was because ‘he’d got in with a bad lot’. Still, Wednesday’s loss was our gain. The left-back position at City had been a bit of a poisoned chalice, with all and sundry having a go, from peaked-on-his-debut junior Les Thompson to the inept-wherever-he-played utility man Neil Williams. Jacobs’ signing in March 1988 was overshadowed by the return of Keith Edwards in the same week, and while Keith picked up where he had left off in his previous spell at the club, Jacobs quietly but efficiently went about making the left-back position his own. On debut at Leicester, Jacobs crossed to Edwards for City’s equaliser in a 2-1 defeat, a game for which he received a seven out of ten in Match magazine. I have no proof of this, but I’m quite sure that Wayne received a seven out of ten for every game he ever played in, be it in Match, Shoot, the News of the World or The People. He was that kind of player. Eights and nines would just be showing off, while fives and sixes were never an option.

A month after signing Jacobs, Horton was sacked by City. In Horton’s final game, Jacobs headed the ball off the line for the goal that gave Swindon the lead. Sadly, the inept officials ruled that the ball had crossed the goal line, even though Jacobs was stood on it as he headed the ball out. Had that goal not been given, who knows how different City’s subsequent fortunes would have turned out. Interestingly, at this point caretaker managers Tom Wilson and Dennis Booth started playing Wayne at centre-back for the juniors (for whom he still qualified, and at the time were going on a Northern Counties Cup run that saw them narrowly lose to Newcastle in a two-legged final). Whether this was to toughen him up or in the vain hope that he’d undergo some sort of late growth spurt, I don’t know, but Wayne’s excellence at left-back meant that he never needed to be considered anywhere else on the park. When you’re a master of one trade, you don’t need to be a jack of any other.

For the sake of the article, I’ll separate the seasons Jacobs was with us, but things tend to get a little monotonous. Rarely put a foot wrong… was one of our best two or three players of the season… a model of consistency… repeat to fade. During these seasons City were struggling to find a decent right-back (cough… Malcolm Murray… cough…) which only served to emphasise Jacobs’ value to the team. Whether it was Billy Askew, Leigh Jenkinson or Graeme Atkinson in front of him, the left *midfielder could go about his business knowing that he would receive ample support from Wayne’s overlaps and that tracking back wasn’t as essential as it might have been when partnering other full-backs, as Wayne’s abilities meant that few would pass without being dispatched into Kempton or the Well.

The 1988/89 season started with Jacobs as first-choice left-back, ahead of Ray Daniel and Les Thompson. A couple of injuries blighted this season to some extent for Wayne, but he was a vital member of the team that went on the memorable cup run that culminated in the epic 3-2 home defeat to Liverpool. Wayne was City’s best defender on that day (though given that the rest of defence was Nicky Brown, Neil Buckley and an unusually nervy Richard Jobson, that’s not much of a claim) and coped admirably with Liverpool’s slick attacking play. By this point, the Boothferry faithful were beginning to realise that we had someone a bit special; his eager runs to assist attacks were typical of one so young, but his defending showed all the anticipation and awareness of a weathered veteran.

The 1989/90 season saw Wayne play for his fourth and fifth set of managers before he’d completed two years at the club. Colin Appleton returned and went, and Stan Ternant took up managerial duties. Both managers saw what was blindingly obvious: that despite his youth, Jacobs was undroppable. It was during this season that Wayne scored his most remarkable goal for the club. Away to Barnsley and City 1-0 down, midway through the second-half a corner is cleared to Wayne who is, for some reason, lurking about 25 yards from goal. What to do was obvious: head the ball back in the mixer and hope it causes a bit of panic in their defence. But not Wayne. Oh no. Wayne calmly lobbed the keeper with an incredible floating header that seemed to take an eternity to nestle in the back of Barnsley’s goal, and earn us a vital point in our struggle against relegation. Wayne was an ever-present in what was an invigorating season, scoring three goals and, despite the fact that the Payton/Swan partnership had been ignited and Jobbo was in his prime, there was no one more popular than Jacobs among the City faithful.

The next season was the beginning of the end for City, as it was the season that Terry Dolan took the helm, and it was also to prove so for Wayne Jacobs. Ternant’s heroics of the previous season had been difficult to emulate and he wasn’t helped by an injury to Jacobs in the early part of the season. This meant that for the first time since his appointment, Ternant had to come up with a replacement for Wayne. His solution? Not to bother. Stan’s no-left-back plan worked well in an away victory at Watford but was cruelly exposed seven times by West Ham at Upton Park. We all knew Wayne was irreplaceable but we didn’t expect the manager to take this so literally. Ternant was eventually sacked and went on to eke out a career as a poor man’s Neil Warnock, while City stumbled to relegation under Dolan. Jacobs only managed 19 games this season, though did score a belter in a 2-1 home win against Newcastle. However, his injury-prone season was something that would play heavily on the minds of the Hull City board when making the most moronic decision of their lives a few months later.

The season of 1991-92 was to be the last time we would see Wayne Jacobs in a Hull City shirt. Despite the club’s financial worries and the sale of Andy Payton, a decent start had been made, with Wayne playing a crucial part. However, a cruciate ligament injury ended Wayne’s Hull City career and, in the eyes of Fish and Dolan, ended his playing days for good. His release was handled in the usual blundering way we’d become accustomed to by now from the City board. After not having played all season, but having played 150 games for City in all competitions, Wayne was unceremoniously dumped on the football scrapheap, aged 24, during Christmas 1992 in a manner in which you wouldn’t wish on the Kevin Gages of this world, never mind a player that had given loyal service to the club both on and off the pitch, and who was immensely popular with the fans. The whole affair reflected badly on everyone involved, from the uber-unpleasant Christopher Needler to, I’m sorry to say, Jeff Radcliffe and the medical staff.

Players released by City tend to follow a certain route: get picked up by another Yorkshire team, get released by that team pretty quickly, sign for North Ferriby, get fat, sign for Hall Road Rangers, get fatter, spend your early 40s waddling around in the Hull Sunday League kicking anything that moves (when you’re not face-down in a pool of your own vomit in your local after spending the evening boasting to everyone how you once marked Tommy Tynan out of a game). Jacobs followed the first step of this well-trodden path; the summer after being ditched by City he was picked up by Rotherham. However, the Millers’ board and management were to prove as inept as their counterparts at Boothferry Park and released Jacobs after a season. Another crushing blow for Wayne and his young family. Then, as Church Road beckoned, upwardly mobile Bradford made their move, and Wayne found his home for the next decade or so, during which time he could and should have been sparing us from Craig Lawford, Greg Rioch, Michael Price, etc…

When Bradford City made it to the Premiership, Hull City fans weren’t exactly forthcoming with their messages of congratulations. This was understandable given the handing of the home end to them at Boothferry Park and the fact that the evil Geoffrey Richmond was at the helm at Valley Parade. However, even the most begrudging of those fans will have raised a smile for Wayne. Despite all the efforts of Tigers 2000 and the fanzines, Wayne’s resurrection and time in the Premiership was possibly the most satisfying two fingers that the Needler/Fish/Dolan regime received. The fact that he carried on playing into his late 30s further emphasises what a mistake it was to get rid of Jacobs. Wayne’s deep religious beliefs probably meant that he didn’t give those that had mistreated him at Hull a moment’s thought when his career was at its peak; as a committed atheist, I like to think that every time Needler, Dolan and Fish saw Jacobs holding his own in the top flight they put their heads in their hands and muttered “what a bunch of inept, moronic fuckwits we are”.

Wayne had two seasons pitting himself against the likes of Henry, Zola, Shearer and company, and the step up in the quality of the opposition didn’t seem to affect his performances. He was still that solid seven out of ten, week in, week out. Richmond’s ‘money’ was used to bring in big-name signings, left-backs Andy Myers, Ian Nolan and err… Lee Todd to name but three, but Jacobs saw them off with Whittle-like ease. The similarities with Justin don’t stop there; Jacobs’ status with the fans meant that managers were being judged on how they treated him. Even Richmond himself attempted to get rid of Jacobs, using his despicable business practices to try to force Wayne out by offering him far below what he was worth in contract negotiations. They didn’t work, however, and Richmond was to depart Valley Parade before Jacobs as the club’s fall from grace saw most of its stars desert the sinking ship. Jacobs remained loyal to the team that had been loyal to him, despite the utterly hateful Richmond at one point attempting to sack all of Bradford’s players to avoid going into liquidation (after he had dreamt up the Phoenix League – a ‘feeder’ league for the Premiership that Bradford would unsurprisingly be integral to). In modern football, such loyalty is a rare thing. In modern football, the likes of Wayne Jacobs are a rare thing.

All of the achievements of Wayne’s career, and the enemies and heroes created along the way, are put into perspective by a single event in the 1997/98 season. This is when Wayne’s baby son died. Wayne’s strong faith, which was later to be the subject of a feature on Songs of Praise, combined with the commendable support of fans and staff at Valley Parade helped Wayne through an unimaginably tough time. Wayne displayed incredible dignity and courage throughout this period, and was to play a vital role in Bradford’s promotion to the Premiership the following season. Wayne continues to work for the Faith & Football charity, and in 2005 took part in walk along the Great Wall of China with a handful of Premiership footballers. You won’t have read about this in the Press, as no impressionable young girls were lured into group sex sessions, no racist attacks were made, no cars were being recklessly driven by a pissed up millionaire that couldn’t be arsed to flag down a taxi. You won’t read about Wayne and the incredible stuff he’s done for communities home and abroad unless you deliberately search for the information. More’s the pity.

Wayne Jacobs’ time at Hull City was all too brief. The loyalty that he showed to Bradford suggests that had our then board not been so short-sighted and inept, Jacobs would have gone on to challenge Andy Davidson’s appearances record for the club. For those that never saw him play, Wayne is second only to Justin Whittle (and ever so slightly ahead of Pete Skipper) in being the most consistent player to have donned the amber and black in the past 30 years or so. Unlike Whittle, however, Jacobs didn’t seem to have a weakness: strong in the tackle, skilful on the ball, willing to overlap, an excellent reader of the game and always capable of supplying a decent cross. And then there are those 25-yard headers. He was also one of those players who would be the last off the pitch at the end of the game because he was acknowledging the support of the fans, win or lose. I know such things shouldn’t really matter, but it’s strange how it’s always the likes of Jacobs, Whittle and Skipper that make a point of doing this. Never the big-money, big-name superstars whose seasons tend to fizzle out once the grey afternoons of October kick in.

Jacobs was the best full-back Hull City have had in a long, long time, possibly since the 1960s. Until Sam Ricketts came along, Jacobs was so far ahead of the competition in the past 25 years or so, it’s embarrassing. He wasn’t the only loyal servant to Hull City that received disgraceful treatment at the hands of those that pissed on the club from a great height in the early 1990s – Gareth Roberts and Tom Wilson are but two others that will testify to that – but Jacobs’ treatment was the hardest to stomach. Seeing his career reach such heady heights after enduring such lows was immensely gratifying for any Hull City fans that could look beyond tribal loyalties. From a purely selfish point of view, however, it’s just a shame that Martin Fish and his cohorts’ crass mismanagement ever gave him the opportunity to reach his full potential outside of East Yorkshire.

Richard Gardham

They say that God moves in mysterious ways, and many a City fan will testify to that. God has given us the entertainment of Reverend Allen Bagshawe’s one-man Christmas carol choir for quite a few years now. And more recently, He acted as an agent to Jay-Jay Okocha when the Nigerian legend was pondering which club to treat to his ineffective tricks.

Jay-Jay’s time at Hull hasn’t really worked in the manner God intended, but there is a very good reason why we should forgive Him, and not just because it’s the Christian thing to do. For it was God who brought Stuart Elliott to Hull City, and without the Ulsterman, we might still be languishing in the lower leagues.

Stuart Elliott was born in a Troubles-ridden Belfast in 1978. While his religious beliefs weren’t to develop for a few years, his love of football was apparent from an early age as Stuart spent his formative years playing for youth teams down the city’s infamous Shankhill Road.

Despite a few early rejections (due to his lack of height) Stuart progressed to the Glentoran first team, while continuing with his day job as a window cleaner. His goalscoring form for Glentoran soon attracted the attention of scouts from the UK mainland, and before long Stuart was on his way to Motherwell for a fee of £100,000.

The move to Motherwell was no coincidence. Elliott had found God in his late teens, and belonged to a denomination that had three churches in the world: one in Belfast, one in Motherwell, and one in Hull…

Despite an early struggle to settle in Scotland, Stuart soon became a huge favourite with the Fir Park faithful, and the freescoring wing play of Elliott and Stephen Pearson briefly made Terry Butcher look like a talented manager. However, financial difficulties in 2002 forced Motherwell to sell their better players for well below value, and Hull City and Jan Molby made their move with a cheque heading to Edinburgh for £230,000. Despairing Motherwell fans couldn’t believe Elliott had gone for less than £1m. The fact that he’d gone to a club in England’s bottom-tier only added to their misery. For such a prized asset in the SPL to join a League 2 team was quite a coup, and it soon transpired that Stuart’s decision to relocate to East Yorkshire had more to do with Hull’s religious offerings than any desire he had to play alongside Greg Strong and Shaun Smith. Would Elliott have come to City if his faith hadn’t led him here? God knows.

Sorry.

Jan Molby’s tenure at City was an unmitigated disaster, but in his brief spell he attracted three players that were to be integral to our two promotions: Stuart Green, Ian Ashbee and, of course, Elliott. While injury blighted much of Stuart’s first season with the Tigers, and the manager who had signed him was sacked after a handful of games, City fans were justifiably excited by what they had seen. Elliott’s pace was what you’d expect from a winger, but his finishing prowess, positional play and his ability to find space in the opponent’s penalty area. Most impressive of all though, was the gravity-defying manner in which he could seemingly float, therefore rarely losing a header. The Boothferry Park faithful were won over from an early stage.

A goal on debut against Southend in the first game of the 2002/03 season settled Stuart into his new surroundings nicely. A dazzling second-half display at Bristol Rovers as 10-man City came back to claim an unlikely 1-1 draw whetted the appetite further. Then, as a run of injuries kicked in, Elliott was in and out of the side for the rest of 2002, but he did provide the only memorable thing about the final game at Boothferry Park, coming on as an early substitute and tormenting the Darlington defence in an otherwise tame 1-0 defeat. The season petered out as Molby’s replacement, Peter Taylor, got to know his squad, but Elliott finished the season with 12 goals as his new manager tried to work out if the Ulsterman would work better as a left winger or a striker.

The answer, quite emphatically, was a left-winger, as Stuart would show in some style over the next two years. The 2003/04 promotion year saw a front four of Elliott on the left, Jason Price on the right, and Danny Allsopp and Ben Burgess up front. As City stormed to promotion, that quartet finished with 14, 10, 15 and 18 goals, respectively; the first time since 1966 that four City players had passed double figures in the league (Waggy, Chillo, Houghton, Butler and Henderson, if you’re interested).

City’s threat down the flanks was vital to the team’s success. While Price’s hat-trick against Doncaster over Christmas was probably the most memorable such contribution, Elliott’s goals were also to prove priceless. His quite brilliant header in the home game against Swansea, the first watershed game at the KC, saw us beat the then league leaders 1-0. A late equaliser, finished with what previous generations would describe as ‘aplomb’, saw us snatch a late, ill-deserved equaliser against Torquay and keep the unbeaten run going that was to the foundation for the season’s success. A goal in a 1-1 draw at Scunny, a brace at home to Cambridge in a 2-0 win and the winner in a 1-0 win at Darlington over December and January emphasised Elliott’s value to the team as we inched towards our first promotion in 19 years.

Fourteen goals in a season is quite a benchmark to set for a winger. When stepping up a level, Stuart would maybe have had his eyes on getting into double figures during the 2004/05 season in League 1. However, with an Burgess sitting the season out and Allsopp running out of form, Taylor was to move to pull off the incredible signing of another forward that would revolutionise Elliott’s role within the team. Local hero Nick Barmby signed for City, and League 1′s defences had no idea what was about to hit them.

When discussing Stuart Elliott, City fans will generally start a conversation with, “Well we wouldn’t have got to the Championship without him”. And so they should. Because it’s true. Without his incredible tally of 29 goals that season, 27 of them in the league, we’d have struggled to make the play-offs. True, others contributed massively to that season’s success, notably Leon Cort, but Elliott’s goalscoring, effectively from midfield, was the difference between us and the likes of Tranmere, Sheffield Wednesday and Brentford.

But before going through Elliott’s annus mirabilis, it is worth dwelling on the contribution to Stuart’s cause of Nick Barmby. Regardless of who was playing as City’s main centre-forward that season, and duties were shared between Allsopp, Aaron Wilbraham, Jon Walters, Delroy Facey and Craig Fagan, Taylor struck gold with a defence-shredding tactic. Elliott liked to press on past his full-back; Barmby liked to drop deep and dictate play from the gap between the opposition’s defence and midfield. It was as simple as that. Given Stuart’s finishing and aerial ability, so many City goals started with the ball finding a deep-lying Barmby and ended with a cross being swung over to the left where Stuart would escape or outjump his marker and inevitably score. In only the second game of the season, a 3-0 away win at Torquay in which Elliott scored twice, the bewildered opposition manager, Leroy Rosenior, commented how he couldn’t see City failing to score all season.

Elliott netted four times before the end of August: two against Torquay, a late strike which looked as though it would clinch City a point in an exhilarating 3-2 defeat at Port Vale, and a thumping header from an Andy Dawson corner in a memorable 2-1 away win at newly relegated Barnsley. September brought four more; one at home to Blackpool to help us to a 2-1 win, a brace away to Peterborough in a 3-2 win and strike away at Hartlepool in the LDV Vans Trophy.

You’re probably already noticing how many of these strikes come in games that we would win by the odd goal. Stuart seemed to have a nice habit of doing that. With City already handily placed in the league table, only denied top spot by Luton’s incredible start to the season, the Tigers were then to go on a run that would see them lose just once between mid-October and early January, and during this time play some of the most impressive football ever, and I mean ever, seen in a black and amber shirt.

Hard-of-thinking revisionists who deride Peter Taylor as a defensive manager would do well to remember this. Of course, Elliott was to play a vital part in this run, a run which could only be curtailed by the bony end of a cowardly West Yorkshire elbow. Form during this two-and-a-half-month spell was beyond anything seen in a City shirt for a long, long time. In terms of goalscoring, only Deano, Andy Payton and Keith Edwards had really come close to showing such prolificacy in front of goal in the previous 30 years, all from a centre-forward position. Fifteen goals in 13 games led our charge to the top of League One, and planted a foundation that meant we would not drop out of the top two for the rest of the season. So, starting with the first of those 13 games, Elliott scored twice as we beat leaders Luton 3-0 at the KC. The first a cross-shot that swirled into the top corner, the second a close range volley. Elliott was goalless in the 2-2 away draw at Wrexham, but found the net once more with a deflected shot at the KC as Walsall were soundly beaten 3-1.

After beating Morecambe 3-2 in the FA Cup, a journey to a snowy Swindon saw City on the receiving end of their only defeat of this spell, Elliott scoring a last-minute consolation in a 4-2 defeat. Better was to follow though. Play-off chasing Brentford were beaten 2-0 at the KC, with Elliott scoring both. The first followed an excellent passing display from the Tigers, which Elliott rounded off by rising to head home a Marc Joseph cross. The second was a piece of individual brilliance; a 30-yard volley that had Chris Kamara comparing Elliott to Steven Gerrard when awarding him the Sky player of the month award. Elliott was top of the goalscoring tables and City were applying pressure on Luton at the top of League 1. Our only worry would be whether we’d be able to keep hold of the freescoring Ulsterman.

We did, and he kept on scoring. Elliott’s next was in the FA Cup as we beat Macclesfield 4-0. We didn’t need Stuart to score as we hammered Sheffield Wednesday 4-2 at Hillsbrough, but Elliott played a full part in one of City’s finest performances in living memory. He did score in City’s next away game four days later though, a skidding volley that flew underneath Aidan Davidson as Colchester were put to the sword in a comfortable 2-1 victory. Third-placed Tranmere were up next. Elliott scored his only hat-trick for City, and concussed substitute keeper Russell Howarth, meaning Tranmere fielded former Tiger Theo Whitmore in goal for the second half. City won 6-1. A Boxing Day trip to Blackpool is never the warmest of prospects, but Elliott had other ideas. A 2-0 win ensued, with Elliott scoring twice – first with a low shot after out-pacing the Tangerines’ defence, and second with rocket after out-pacing the Tangerines’ defence.

You’ll all have a favourite Stuart Elliott memory. For most of you it will be, understandably, that winner against QPR. For some it will be the goal at Wigan. Or perhaps the lob against Plymouth. For me, however, there is no competition. At about 9.25pm on Tuesday 28th December, 2004, Stuart Elliott cemented his name as one of the all-time Hull City greats. Older heads may chunter about Waggy and Chillo, cynics may sneer about his lack of goals in the Championship, but anyone who witnessed this incredible season close at hand will not deny Stuart such an accolade. Any one of the 20,000 or so City fans at the KC that night will be shouting it from the rooftops. Doncaster, more of an irritant than a bona fide rival, had come to the KC and were drawing 1-1. The visitors had been applying most of the pressure in the second half, but had come up against an inspired Bo Myhill. The usual Doncaster tactic of playing like scum bastards had reared its ugly head in the 80th minute when McSporran clattered Barmby and then bravely had a kick at him while he was on the ground. Barmby retaliated and both saw red. Donny still looked the most likely to score when on 85 City hoofed clear a corner. The ball was sailing harmlessly to Donny’s right-back and there seemed to be no danger of anything happening. However, Elliott saw things differently. The right-back made a hash of things and the ball sailed over his head. Elliott sailed past the hapless defender and advanced into the Donny half. In his way were a Doncaster centre half and goalkeeper. Elliott coolly skipped past the lumbering defender and slotted the ball under keeper Warrington. The KC exploded as Elliott cartwheeled away. It was a thing of beauty. Total, utter, unadulterated beauty. Then as Doncaster sought another equaliser, McIndoe waltzed into the Hull City penalty area. He got as far as the penalty spot and drew back his foot, an unmissable goal awaiting him. However, a defending foot got in and blocked the winger’s shot. That foot belonged to Stuart Elliott. You’d already guessed that, hadn’t you? Some people will tell you that Stuart Elliott didn’t do defending. While it was by no means his strongest suit, he did his fair share.

That was to be the last 90 minutes Elliott would complete for a couple of months. Our next game, against Huddersfield, saw City win 2-1, and Elliott had done his duty by slotting home an equaliser a couple of minutes after the Terriers had taken a fortuitous lead. A winner coming from the unlikely combination of Stev Angus and Aaron Wilbraham sealed the victory, but late in the second half, as City were defending a corner, Elliott was left motionless on the ground and stretchered off. He’d broken a cheekbone, after his head had unwisely made contact with Efe Sodje’s elbow. Sodje’s career seems to be littered with unsavoury incidents, and thanks to this act, we were robbed of Elliott’s presence for six weeks, just when he was at his peak.

Considering the booing Paul Rachubka has received when playing City after his challenge that crocked Ben Burgess, a challenge that was clumsy but in no way malicious, I’ve always been disappointed at the relatively easy time Efe Sodje has been given by the City faithful since that day. A cynic would suggest that Sodje’s elbow was deliberate and targeted, by a player that has a history of thuggish on-pitch behaviour. I consider myself a cynic. Apparently many the then City players and Adam Pearson consider themselves to be too.

Elliott was ruled out for the best part of two months, and City’s promotion charge became more of an amble. After a 3-1 win at Stockport on January 3, City failed to win in their next six Elliottless games, and – a colossal 3-1 win at third-placed Tranmere aside – it was only when Elliott returned that City regained their swagger.

On his first game back in a 1-0 home win against Hartlepool, Elliott scored a rebound after his own penalty was saved. He scored from the spot a few days later in a 2-0 home win against Torquay. Then came the game where City fans finally started to believe that promotion was more of a likelihood than a possibility, a 4-0 win at Bournemouth on a sunny spring day. Elliott scored twice as Bournemouth – then in the play-off places – were torn apart. Stuart then went on to score again in the game that would effectively seal Championship status at the first time of asking in a 2-0 win at Bradford in April. He would score only once more during the season, a penalty in a home defeat to Sheffield Wednesday, leaving him one short of the 30 mark and level as the division’s top scorer with a certain Dean Windass. Championship here we come…

There seems to be a general consensus that Stuart Elliott hasn’t cut it in the Championship. And there is good reason for this. His goal tally has decreased and his appearances have been sporadic. An asthmatic-type condition hasn’t helped either. But to write off Elliott’s time with City in the Championship would be foolish. His seven goals in our first season back in the second tier, a season largely interrupted by injury and a glimmer of good form from Kevin Ellison, was a good return, and included a terrific lob in a 1-0 win at Plymouth to give us our first away win of the season, after Marc Joseph had been sent off. He finished our top scorer that season. Ask any wide player in the division at the start of a season if they’ll be happy with seven goals come May and the vast majority will reply in the affirmative. But ultimately, the start of Barmby’s injury problems and the increase in standard of the defenders he was facing meant that Stuart was, for the first time since his move from Motherwell, not an automatic first choice.

Elliott was a first choice, however, for Northern Ireland. And in September 2005, Stuart played a full part in his country’s biggest win since qualification for the 1986 World Cup when England were beaten 1-0 at Windsor Park. Elliott, like the rest of his team-mates, worked his socks off in a game that the Ulstermen thoroughly deserved to win. A year previously he’d scored a last-minute equaliser at Windsor Park as Northern Ireland came back to tie 3-3 against Austria. In the game before the England victory he scored with a 25-yard free-kick – an under-rated aspect of his game – in a 2-0 home win against Azerbaijan. His international record stands at 31 caps and four goals, and is likely to stay this way, given Chris Brunt’s emergence.

Taylor departed and Phil Parkinson arrived in the 2006/07 season, and Elliott started in Parkinson’s first game, away at West Brom. Stuart was, frankly, abysmal that day, as the newly relegated Baggies tore through City in the first half. Elliott seemed to be on a different planet, and was merciful taken off by Parkinson at the earliest available opportunity. Elliott was to retain his place in the team for a short while until injury meant he was spared the horrors of City’s start to that particular season. As news of Elliott’s asthmatic problems spread, many wondered if we’d see him in a City shirt again. However, within a week of the news breaking, Elliott allayed such fears with a return to the team and a return to form during a mini-spell in which it looked as though Parkinson might be able to make a go of things at City. A thumping free-kick in a memorable 3-2 win at bottom-of-the-table Southend followed by a trademark late-run-into-the-box goal in a 2-0 win at home to Wolves reminded us that Elliott still had a role to play with City. Sadly, we were to only see him score four more goals in the amber and black.

Half of that tally, however, could possibly be viewed as Elliott’s most telling contribution to the Tigers’ cause. In January 2007, City were still in dire relegation trouble, despite a handful of wins as the Tigers improved under Phil Brown. QPR were also in relegation trouble, and the match at the KC was the archetypal six-pointer. QPR were evil that day. Pure evil. Their special brand of diving, feigning injury, time-wasting, haranguing the referee and general thuggery was football at its worst. Sadly, with five minutes to go they were 1-0 up. Scum. Utter scum. Defeat would have been a bitter blow that we may not have recovered from, but it was something that we didn’t have to worry about thanks to goals in the 85th and 90th minute from Elliott, who came on as a sub in the 80th minute. Of all the goals he scored for Hull City – and let’s not forget how vital some of them were – none would come near to this brace. In the fight against relegation, many players made important contributions and scored important goals but Deano’s goal against Cardiff aside, nothing matched Stuart’s double that day, in terms of importance or sheer jubilation. Elliott was a peripheral figure for the rest of the season, scoring only once more in the last game of the season, when relegation had been successfully avoided. He’d done his bit in helping stave off the threat of a return to League 1, though.

Elliott’s final contribution of note in a City shirt was scoring a typically spectacular volley in a 1-0 away win at Wigan in the League Cup, the first time we’d beaten a top-flight team away from home since victory at Coventry in 1972. It is sad that Elliott was pushed out, and rumours that Phil Brown made Stuart train with the juniors in the final weeks of his time at City are hopefully just that. It would be no way to treat such a legend. Many City fans will maintain that Elliott was worth a place in the 16, that his value as an impact sub was something that we lacked. Whether that was a romanticised notion, wanting to believe that a player whose contribution to the Tigers’ cause was unparalleled by all but a handful, isn’t something I’m prepared to go in to. I’d have sacked Allen Bagshawe and offered Stuart a job for life: chaplain, carol singer and a permanent role on the left wing in the reserves, teaching the juniors how to float. I love the guy. But fans can afford to be romantic where football is concerned. Managers can’t. And, at the time of writing, Phil Brown’s Elliottless revolution is hardly faltering.

Those of us that had the pleasure of seeing Elliott at his peak have been privileged. His Hull City record finished with 68 goals in 211 games (166 starts). His stats for the 2004/05 season were 29 goals in 40 appearances. From the left wing, I remind you yet again. It’s a shame that so many of City’s most cherished players of recent years haven’t been given a proper goodbye. Players like Stuart, Justin Whittle and Damien Delaney should have been carried round the KC pitch shoulder high at the final whistle of their last game, receiving a standing ovation before giving a tearful interview to Radio Humbers… er… KCFM about how we’re the greatest fans in the world. Instead they get a smattering of applause from 6,000 or so fans as they return during a pre-season friendly, or ironic chants of ‘City reject’ should they come back to the KC in a game that matters. Hopefully Stuart didn’t need such an occasion to know what he meant to Hull City’s fans. He’s a legend, make no mistake, and I’m sure I won’t be alone in looking straight for Doncaster’s results on getting back from any City games for the remainder of this season.

Richard Gardham

Warren Joyce’s nomination as a Hull City hero would be contested by few in the present day, and looking back at his contribution to our club there can be no question that we may very well owe our whole existence to his achievements at the tail-end of the decade of horror that was the 1990s. It wasn’t always so clear cut however – there were days when his inclusion in a section of villains may have seemed more probable.

Pre-City

Warren Joyce followed his father Walter into football, a defender whose own career started at Burnley following the completion of his National Service in 1958. He experienced First Division football during the Clarets’ glory days of the 1960s, and later saw spells at Blackburn and the Joyces’ home-town club Oldham. He retired to become a coach at Boundary Park and remained in football for many years.

After a lengthy and successful career for his father, Joyce junior had plenty to live up to. His first club was Bolton Wanders, for whom he signed in 1981 as a 16 year old. He began making a name for himself as a combative defensive midfield player.

His time at Burnden Park was happy for the young Joyce, despite the club mostly scuffling about in the lower leagues. He made over 200 appearances in six years before Lancastrian neighbours Preston paid £35,000 for him in October 1987, a move that united him with his father – he’d since moved to Deepdale in a coaching capacity. He continued to impress, spending five years there as Preston hauled themselves back towards respectability, having recently fallen into Division Four for the first time.

He was the Lillywhites’ Player of the Year in 1990 and was made club captain, but when Plymouth Argyle offered a hefty £150,000 for him in summer 1992 he was persuaded to head south to Home Park. It wasn’t the best of times however, and just a year later he returned to his native Lancashire to join Burnley, who paid £140,000 for the now 28-year old. He played over eighty times at Turf Moor in this spell, chipping in with a dozen goals – despite his customary deployment as a deep-lying midfielder, his ability to contribute a decent number of goals made him an important player.

Two years later came his first association with City, when Terry Dolan took him on loan in January 1995 as his Tigers made an unsuccessful attempt to reach the (new-ish) Second Division play-offs. He scored three times in nine games at Boothferry Park but returned to Turf Moor for Burnley’s doomed attempt to stay in the second tier. City were to finish eighth that season.

1995/6 saw Burnley achieve a mediocre 17th in the third division of English football, although Joyce’s contribution continued to be solid. However, they rarely threatened to make the play-offs and their season limped to an uninspiring conclusion.

Joyce returns to Boothferry Park

As Burnley sought to rebuild for promotion, Burnley agreed to sell him to City for £30,000 in July 1996, but the club he returned to was strikingly different. The Tigers had been relegated into the bottom division after a catastrophic season that culminated in the infamous Bradford riot, and a summer of bitter recrimination led to those remaining supporters declaring war on the Fish/Dolan axis of evil. It was amid this unpromising backdrop that Hell Tel installed Joyce as his captain. It was a thankless task. As Dolan’s representative in earth, he was a conduit for the abuse that rained down upon the regime as City struggled in the bottom half of the division, with the spectre of financial ruin continually stalking the club.

City’s season began with what we soon realised was false promise, as the Tigers remained unbeaten until October. It sounds better than it was. The football was drab and only Duane Darby’s goals made things vaguely bearable. When that unbeaten run ended at home to Scunthorpe, it gave fresh impetus to the protests as the supporters continued their struggle to the death with the now universally despised regime.

Plenty of the vitriol being spat from the terraces was directed at Warren Joyce. His role of captain compelled him to defend his manager, an awkward position for a man who could surely appreciate the harm that was being visited upon us. With hindsight, it was probably unfair to target Joyce over the dreadful wasters defiling City shirts at the time, though as Dolan’s choice of skipper and with the frustrations boiling over on a weekly basis, it was perhaps inevitable.

It is to his credit that he rarely complained about this. Perhaps the one manifestation of his feelings about the supporters’ treatment came in a memorable episode during a 3-0 win over Brighton in March 1997. After thudding home a volley from the edge of the area, he bounded over to “celebrate” his goal in front of the Kempton. In one of the sorriest symbols of the club’s gut-wrenching decay, this stood empty at the time, off-limits to all.

Yet Joyce sped over to its echoing terraces, aping the love-in that customarily occurs when a beloved scorer rushes to his adoring public, choosing to celebrate with broken concrete over his abusers. It was a potent gesture, one that split opinion. There were those who saw it was a comic riposte delivered in the only way he safely could, though many of those who harboured irreconcilable animosity towards The Regime viewed it with scorn and saw themselves further alienated from City’s captain.

Even at the time, it really was a tough action to correctly interpret. Many viewed it as a put-upon player expressing himself in an amusing fashion, a deserved indulgence for a proud man in an unwinnable war. Some were less understanding, seeing it as a rebuke to the ongoing campaign against the board and manager.

The misery continued, with Joyce chugging along in a thoroughly unappreciated fashion as the warring factions continued to fight for control of the club. City were to finish 17th in Division Four, then our lowest ever finish. Our prospects looked heart-rendingly bleak.

Post-Dolan

The summer of 1997 was a momentous one for City, and also for Joyce. Fish sold to the Tim Wilby/David Lloyd consortium, which immediately sacked Dolan and installed former England striker Mark Hateley as player-manager. This fuelled wild dreams of imminent glory among the success-starved fans, although ultimately the Tigers finished in a new-record low of 22nd. The desperate times for City were continuing and even worsening off the pitch…but about Joyce, opinions were shifting.

The experienced influence in City’s hopelessly brittle midfield, he held the side together on numerous occasions with his unfussy play and quiet determination. When one considers that his team-mates for Hateley’s first game at Mansfield included Tony Brien, Gregor Rioch, Michael Quigley and Simon Trevitt, one marvels that we didn’t challenge the stricken Doncaster for relegation.

As a player, Joyce was fairly undemonstrative. Not for him the flashy slide-tackle that brutalises an opponent and gains throaty cheers irrespective of the outcome – his method of containment showed a more cerebral preference for blocking an adversary’s easiest route forwards. Always half-a-second faster to understand a situation than most of his team-mates, he was able to impede the opposition by finding himself in the right position and could intercept a pass with a flash of instinctive manoeuvring.

That is not to suggest that he was nothing but a spoiling player. He was effective in possession, seeing greater value in its retention than attempting a spectacular pass with little chance of success. He also took many of City’s set-pieces, imparting a deceptive curl upon a ball that gained him a couple of fortuitous goals during his time at Boothferry Park. All teams need a Warren Joyce – a calm and composed player, thinking his way through a game rather than rashly surrendering to the impulse for manic activity.

The season 1997/8 was not without incident, and even sporadic enjoyment. A staggering afternoon in August 1997 saw City defeat Swansea 7-4, while a two-legged Steve Wilson-inspired League Cup success over Premier League Crystal Palace earned City a trip to Newcastle, where Warren Joyce played in City’s creditable 2-0 defeat.

However, in other competitions things were grim. A 4-1 home defeat to Shrewsbury was followed up by a 2-0 Cup exit to Hednesford, a dire afternoon that provided sickening amusement to the smug Match of the Day interlopers and no little satisfaction to referee G Laws, now and forever the only game in which I have genuinely doubted the motivations of an official.

With dissent building against absentee chairman David Lloyd and with Tim Wilby mysteriously no longer with us, City aimlessly stumbled along in the bottom three of English football’s fourth tier.

Thank fuck for Donny Rovers” was a regular refrain among the exasperated supporters, with their spectacular implosion keeping City and Brighton mercifully free of the relegation concerns that our awful form would have generated in any other season. The Tigers were thrashed 5-1 at Torquay, a low point of early 1998, but yet another nadir appeared to have been reached at Belle Vue. City travelled to Doncaster knowing a win would relegate the South Yorkshire club…and promptly lost 1-0 in a match delayed several times by incursions onto the pitch by both sets of fans, Gregor Rioch even attempting a pass to a home fan. Throughout these desperate times, one man’s stock was steadily rising. Cries of “Warren Joyce Joyce Joyce” rang out from the same Bunkers that used to scorn him as Dolan’s pet. In a season filled with sloth and incompetence, Joyce was among our best players. His redemption on the pitch was complete. However, his finest hour was still to come.

Joyce as manager

1998/9 was a season viewed with trepidation from the very beginning. Mark Hateley’s unsuitability as a manager was painfully obvious, though he remained in place. So too did David Lloyd, whose popularity was sinking rapidly. The campaign began indifferently, but plans by Lloyd to shift City to the Boulevard while building a super-stadium for his Tiger-Sharks (and how we cringe at that term) lost him any lingering goodwill and open dissent could once again be heard.

The vivid tennis ball protest instigated by Amber Nectar and City Independent collusion that held up a League Cup tie at Bolton was the tipping point for the thin-skinned southerner, who shrilly bailed out as a new group took charge of City. Genial pig-farmer Tom Belton assumed the chairman’s role, with the backing of “colourful” company law criminal Stephen Hinchliffe (and future jailbird) together with fellow Sheffield lowlife Nick Buchanan.

By this time, City’s plight on the pitch had become desperate. Hateley was finally sacked, and things were typified by a 2-0 home defeat against a numerically-deficient Brighton side, the fans mocking their own side with a rendition of “they’ve only got nine men” in recognition of the visitors’ comfortable win despite seeing a brace of red cards.

Marooned at the bottom of the Football League, relegation into the non-league abyss stared us in the face. Joyce had taken temporary charge for the Brighton debacle, but Belton appointed him permanently as the player-manager, bringing in former European Cup winner John McGovern to assist him.

Joyce’s first game in long-term charge of City came at Salisbury Town in the first round of the FA Cup, City edging to a nervy 2-0 win over the Wiltshire part-timers. This was followed up shortly after with a stirring 2-1 win at Luton, then eighth in the division above. However, our league form remained wretched and many questioned the sense in appointing a total rookie as player-manager. Another meaningless cup win was achieved, this time a 1-0 victory in the Auto Windscreens Shield at Notts County, but a Yuletide loss at Shrewsbury left City stranded six points adrift of safety. Demotion out of the League now looked inevitable.

An FA Cup jolly at Aston Villa saw City lose 3-0, a game notable for pitting 1st in the League against 92nd. Three days later, Joyce’s men feebly lost 2-1 against Wrexham in the Auto-thingy in front of 2,331 cold and miserable souls at Boothferry Park…and while this may not sound like one of the more consequential games in City’s century-long history, some continue to see it as a pivotal moment in a pivotal season.

Joyce reportedly read his hapless squad the riot act for the first time after this fixture, finally asserting himself as the manager and not merely a player. He began earnestly recruiting for the task of keeping City in the league, and in the first few weeks of 1999 he made two signings, Justin Whittle and Gary Brabin. Added to the Lincoln duo of Jon Whitney and Jason Perry, and suddenly he had brought together a side of battle-scarred winners instead of timid losers.

City began scraping together a few results. Mark Bonner scored the only goal in his only game for City against Rotherham to keep us at least in touch, while a 4-0 thumping of Hartlepool the following week gave us genuine hope of a miraculous escape.

Suddenly we were on a run. A 2-0 win at leaders Brentford, inspired by debutant Colin Alcide (criminally under-rated, now and then) took us off the bottom, prompting delirious cries of “we are ninety-first” at Griffin Park.

There were setbacks – the televised trauma at Spotland, a miserable loss at Cambridge – but we finally believed that salvation could be ours. Joyce has expertly assembled a side of winners, and their conviction flooded onto the terraces. A streaky 1-0 win at Southend was characterised by incessant renditions of The Great Escape, which became both the title and the theme tune for our improbable rescue act.

In our place had fallen Carlisle and Scarborough, the latter coming to Boothferry Park in April for a game that they had to win. Officially, 13,949 squeezed into the old place for the game, only a few hundred over capacity, although the actual attendance must have exceeded comfortably 16-17,000. We drew the game in a white-hot atmosphere, a trifle disappointingly, but by now safety was almost assured as our North Yorkshire neighbours hit a bad run of form from which they could not escape.

Finally, on the penultimate day of the season, Joyce’s City side secured a 1-0 win over Torquay United that guaranteed The Great Escape. He signed a new contract on the pitch, the fans cheered wildly, there was untold glory ahead.

There is no possible way in which Warren Joyce’s achievements in 1998/9 can be underestimated. Heading into the New Year, the Tigers were a broken side, adrift at the bottom of the table, morale at rock-bottom, their supporters bleakly resigned dropping into the Conference. What followed was fairytale stuff, all thanks to Warren Joyce. He took over a shattered squad, bought superbly and guided us to the giddy heights of 18th. It is a contribution to our story that deserves the very highest of commendation.

After the Great Escape

Were this a piece of fiction, the script would require Warren Joyce to lead us to promotion the following season. City started among the favourites to go up, and he was given cash to spend, recruiting Swales, Harper and Harris among others.

Sadly, it was not so. Our success of the Great Escape was based upon shuddering commitment, tireless effort and heroics in defence and midfield. Joyce failed to alter the side sufficiently to allow for a serious tilt at promotion, relying (perhaps understandably) upon the same attributes that had clawed us to safety. However, battling for a point is different to working out how to win a game, and City hovered frustratingly in midtable.

Joyce brought the Jamaican duo of Theodore Whitmore and Ian Goodison to Boothferry Park in an attempt to bring greater fluidity to our staid football, but the effect was only temporary. Having drawn Liverpool in the League Cup earlier in the season, another run to the Third Round of the FA Cup brought Premiership Chelsea to the Ark, although an anti-climatic 6-1 cuffing was served up. City’s fun in the cups wasn’t really covering for our disappointing League form…but by now, familiar storm clouds were brewing.

Nick Buchanan had assumed the role of chairman in a boardroom coup that toppled the popular Tom Belton, and his shady accomplice Stephen Hinchliffe had become City’s Vice-President – he was banned from acting as a company director for various malpractices throughout the years, though he lingered on the periphery like a fetid stench. And the money had totally dried up, with many questioning exactly where it was going – “South Yorkshire” being a popular source of suspicion.

However, while previous evildoing regimes were universally despised and fought against, the Buchliffe tyranny was not. Many didn’t have the heart for a third war against their own club, many simply refused to believe that they were deliberately acting against City’s best interests. They may repent now, they may amend history to disguise this, but the sad fact is that City fans were again divided.

Caught in the middle was Warren Joyce, Belton’s choice of manager but evidently not favoured by the Sheffield Stealers. A 3-0 gubbing at Rotherham finally saw some vocal discontent uttered against the owners, although plenty of derision was also aimed at the team. Even Joyce wasn’t immune. A 4-0 win at Carlisle the following month was too late to ignite a run to the play-offs, and with no ability to strengthen the side and no support from the board forthcoming, Joyce was finally sacked by Nick Buchanan, with Brian Little his high-profile replacement.

After City

Warren Joyce was badly treated by the nefarious duo who had taken over City, of that there is no doubt. It was – again – to his credit that he refused to speak out in public, remaining as ever the consummate professional. His standing in the game was recognised by Leeds United, with the (then) Premiership side appointing him as a youth coach within a week of his dismissal at Boothferry Park. He went on to work in a coaching capacity with Royal Antwerp via Manchester United, the Belgian club who have established close links with Old Trafford.

He was recently invited to speak on a DVD produced by City celebrating the Great Escape he masterminded. His media performances while the Tigers’ boss saw a reserved, almost shy man – a demeanour even echoed when speaking during an interview with Amber Nectar. However, now in his 40s and a highly-regarded coach, he spoke fluently about his time at City, appearing to show a genuine affection for the club he helped to save.

Some time after leaving Boothferry Park, and perhaps embittered by his shabby treatment, he affected to have no desire to re-enter management. This remained the case until invited to become the manager of Royal Antwerp – one of Belgium’s most famous clubs, yet marooned in the Second Division. He took them to fourth in his first season and quickly became a popular manager. When he brought his side to the Circle in August 2007 for a pre-season friendly, all four sides of the ground hailed him. One hopes he realises that however badly a wicked pair treated him, his contribution remains sincerely appreciated by those stood on the terraces and watched as he worked a miracle.

Joyce’s legacy

City’s eventual recovery to the club we now see was long and often painful. It necessitated the removal of another hateful regime, financial ruin, exclusion from our own ground, the arrival of another saviour, a change of stadium and several different managers. We finally escaped Division Four, stormed through Division Three and now sit in what most would regard as our natural position, a middling second-tier club.

None of this would have been possible without Warren Joyce. Yes, it is fair to say that relegation to the Conference need not finish a club, although Scarborough fans may question that. However, by the end of the 90s, City were in a near-terminal decline. We cannot be certain that swapping the terrible football of the basement for the even more terrible football of the Conference would suddenly have seen us conquer all. It is not hard to imagine a scenario in which City would have continued to slide, failing to get back into the League several times in succession, particularly with only one promotion spot to aim for. With financial crisis a constant companion for so long, the ultimate disaster of no more professional football in Hull could never have been entirely ruled out.

We’ll never know. Thank goodness we never had to find out. And while the Great Escape of 1999 did not immediately set us on the path to restoring our standing in the football world, it at least meant we still had a club that we could eventually nurse back to health. For that, and for one of the most thrilling half-seasons we’ll ever know, for playing the game in a committed and intelligent fashion, and for being a decent and honest man amid a succession of liars, chancers, inadequates and thieves, we give our eternal thanks to Warren Joyce – an authentic Hull City hero.

Andy Dalton