The Premier League – Saturday 25th October 2008

As seven-eighths of the Hawthorns emptied and scurried home underneath slate Midlands skies, we loitered a little. That’s happened a few times this season, the sense of wanting to stay just a while longer, to thoroughly savour the latest triumph. We’ve been declaring every trip as the best we’ve ever been on for a while now, but what sticks in the mind from our West Brom glorying was a thunderous, fevered enquiry: “are you watching Lawrenson?”

The target was, of course, Mark Lawrenson – a leader member of the smug punditocracy on BBC Television whose hopelessly wrong-headed pre-season comments about the Tigers are unlikely to forgotten quickly. He wasn’t alone, of course. We were the New Derby, fated to endure a horrific nine months in the Premier League before returning from whence we came, and good bloody riddance.

But no. And to be fair to Mr Lawrenson and his ilk, his expectations for the season have been spectacularly wrong, but few of us can claim to have been wholly accurate. For as I write, the clocks have just gone back, winter’s coming yet still not here, and the Tigers are level on points at the top of the Premier League.

It’s been done with four straight wins, which have seen the same XI selected by Phil Brown. It’s been arranged in a 4-3-3 formation, which some consider to be a 4-3-1-2 – the “1” being Geovanni, floating in the “free role” that people often like to mentally assign to any creative player. It’s not inaccurate in this instance, although it’s not entirely right either. Geovanni is playing as an orthodox forward, mainly hovering on the left, and slightly withdrawn, and with a looser brief than his striking companions, but it doesn’t quite strike me as an entirely free role.

He is terrifying defences though, and there’s becoming something reassuring and familiar seeing the Tigers line up: Myhill; Ricketts, TurnerforEngland, Zayatte, Dawson; Ashbee (c), Marney, Boateng; King, Cousin, Geovanni. Also unchanged were Phil Brown’s seven substitutes – no place again for Deano.

For West Brom, whose own excellent start to the season had been (unfairly?) eclipsed in public attention by ours but whose reputation for attractive flowing football has been deservedly highlighted, they switched to a 4-4-2 line-up, with Ishael Miller accompanying Roman Bednar in attack. They had the better of the opening exchanges, chivvying away on the flanks, although the first shot of a blustery afternoon came from Geovanni – he picked up the ball twenty yards from goal and immediately fired it at goal, however Scott Carson saved easily.

West Brom had the next effort on goal, when a dangerous-looking free-kick about 22 yards from goal clipped the City wall and looped up safely for Myhill to collect the ball. The foul had come from a bad challenge by Andy Dawson, who injured himself making the tackle, and he limped back into the fray looking decidedly uncomfortable.

His reintroduction was almost a costly one, for when Boaz Myhill batted away a shot from distance by Valero, Dawson was unable to challenge Morrison for the rebound – with the City keeper grounded we were extremely fortunate that this follow-up effort hit the crossbar, and with bodies flying in the Tigers eventually survived the resulting goalmouth scramble.

Phil Brown swiftly withdrew the lame Dawson, bringing on Sam Ricketts in his place at left-back. West Brom were still on top though, and it needed a world-class tackle by Kamil Zayatte to foil Miller when the big striker looked set for a clear run on goal.

City’s only foray up front during this difficult period came when King collected the ball from Marney and shot from twenty yards on the right-hand side of the area, but his effort bobbled well wide.

Gradually, the match was becoming more even, evidenced by another nice move being fashioned by City which resulted in a tame attempt from Geovanni being easily held by Carson, although a moment of alarm came when a corner saw Ryan Donk head straight at Myhill from close range, when directing the ball a foot either side would have seriously test the Tigers’ goalkeeper.

Zayatte was a major influence through the game, and he had a spell of telling involvement when Miller was cautioned for a bad tackle on him, and moments later he ought to have done better when meeting a corner with his head, but the ball bounced two yards wide.

Back came the home side, and Valero fed Miller on the right the latter struck a shot which was slightly mishit but which still required a superb save by Myhill to flick the ball wide.

Ricketts entered Mr Probert’s book for a high tackle on Miller which drew blood and saw the welcome arrival of a comedy bandage being applied after treatment had been administered. The match was drifting slightly as half-time arrived, although when Bednar stole in ahead of his marker from a corner on the West Brom right he was unlucky to see his shot fly a foot over – that Myhill would have been able to prevent the ball flying in had it gone a shade lower was doubtful.

And so we arrived half-time, pleased with a decent showing to date. West Brom is a pleasing place at which to watch football, and despite the tiresome presence of a drummer spoiling things, there’s usually a decent atmosphere. We have the right-hand half of a large individual stand behind one goal, separated from the home fans by a beefy line of stewards, and it’s an arrangement that works well.

Underneath the stand, those needing a fag are accommodated with a open-air pen in which meat of dubious origin is hawked at three quid a time – a “burger”, they optimistically called it. I have my doubts.

Still, if we were content at the break, we were to be transported to the oft-visited heights of delirium early in the second half. Turner charged down a shot from Miller, and City swept upfield with breathtaking pace. The ball eventually reached King on the left, he squirmed into space close the goal-line and pulled it back to Geovanni. His shot took a nasty deflection and it took a superb one-handed save by the wrong-footed Carson to palm it wide for a corner.

Not that we were finished yet – from this corner on the right, Marney swung the ball in, the presumably sore Miller bottled his header and Zayatte cracked a beautiful volley past Carson. And yet again, the City portion of an away ground screamed in mad delight, and the season lurched further into bewildering insanity.

Moments later, with the City fans crowing about elevated league positions, Ian Ashbee picked up a costly caution that will see him suspended in the very near future. West Brom were unnerved but still positive in the approach, and Donk came close with a header from a corner that Ricketts watched onto the post he was guarding, although a corner was erroneously awarded and comfortable dealt with.

Myhill had had a fine afternoon to date, and when he produced a flying one-handed save from a 25 yard drive by Morrison, one sensed that another superb away win was to be ours – it looked great on the first viewing, and the replay on the stadium’s big screen confirmed what a truly outstanding piece of goalkeeping it was. And important too, for within the next five minutes the match was over.

Firstly, Geovanni flicked onto King, who expertly shattered West Brom’s offside trap, advanced on the left, and hooked the ball over the man covering in defence, where it fell perfectly for the returning Geovanni to steer a beautifully executed diving header past Carson. The away end went mental. Again. And this is a goal of rare skill and vision that we’ll never tire of seeing.

Myhill pulled off another terrific save from a long-range shot by Koren, and almost immediately we made it 3-0. A long clearance was met with a shocking header that King instantly fastened on to. He delightfully took hold of the ball by nudging it with the outside of his right foot before calmly steering it past the exposed Carson and triumphantly rushing over the single writhing mass of humanity that was previously 3,000 individual City fans.

Another great goal, made by an immaculate first touch and converted ruthlessly. And that was game over. Some of the less hardy home supporters scuttled away ’neath a torrent of Tiger scorn, while we gleefully cavorted and partied away the remaining twenty minutes.

Enquires were made as to whether Mr Lawrenson was observing our fourth away win in a row, and events on the field assumed a surreally peripheral air as the City fans, mostly stood, all singing, revelled in moments we’ll remember forever.

Ian Ashbee was withdrawn as Phil Brown decided to blood Bryan Hughes into the central midfield role he may assume in the impending absence of our skipper, while Geovanni sauntered off to a hero’s ovation for Richard Garcia.

City should have scored a fourth when a Marney free-kick found Turner unmarked at the far post – however, he went to head a low ball when perhaps a volley may have been wiser, and the ball went straight at Carson. Meanwhile, Morrison struck the outside of Myhill’s post with a twenty-yarder that curled just away from the goal.

Mowbray’s triple substitution in the 80^th minute was much too late to change the pattern of the game, which featured several instances of us crying “ole!” as ostentatious passing moves were served up for us – deliberately, one suspects, as our men played to the gallery. Mr Brown was asked for a wave – he did, we cheered. There was a classy chant of “one Brian Horton” too, and one hopes a man whose own football life has spent so much time bound up with City appreciated it as much as he is appreciated.

And with the home ends half-empty, Mr Probert ended proceedings after a brief period of injury time, and three more points were ours.

Twenty, we now have. No Premier League side has more, although the match between Chelsea and Liverpool will see at least one of our title rivals (heh) move clear. No matter; we’ll host Chelsea on Wednesday night at what is certain to be an engorged and intense Circle in third place.

When will it end? This is the question on so many lips now. Arsenal may reasonably have been viewed as the absolute pinnacle of our season, and although it’s unlikely we’ll gain such an incredible single victory again in 2008/9, that we’ve continued winning since then is deeply satisfying.

Four wins in a row. Four wins on the road out of five. Just a single defeat. Third in the table. Twenty points already gained, with twenty more certain to keep us up. Already thirteen clear of the relegation places. The statistics become no less remarkable for being regularly related.

More remarkable are the individual performances we’re seeing. Boaz Myhill looked an international goalkeeper yesterday, and not just for Wales. McShane was targeted by West Brom, who frequently doubled up on his flank, but he coped bravely. Ricketts put in a solid effort in an unusual position at club level. Michael Turner should be in the next England squad; Kamil Zayatte looks like he could star in any international squad.

Ian Ashbee is continuing to write one of the most extraordinary personal stories in the history of English football, Dean Marney’s fearsome workrate keeps the midfield permanently chugging away, George Boateng is the experience and intelligent glue welding the whole side together.

Marlon King is a strong, fast, menacing presence leading the line, Cousin likewise has fine stamina and pace, while Geovanni is reason enough to have kids, just so you can tell them you saw him play. They’re great, all of them, absolutely great.

And so we march on, and we prepare to face Chelsea next – and then a visit to Old Trafford that is no longer the chance to be a tourist, it’s the chance to claim the biggest scalp of them all. For we had one final chant at full-time: “who the fuck are Man United? When the Hull go marching on on on”. And you know what? We meant it. (AD)

Myhill 8.5; McShane 7; Turner 8; Zayatte 9; Dawson n/a; Marney 7.5; Ashbee 8; Boateng 7.5; Cousin 7.5; King 8; Geovanni 8; Ricketts 7; Hughes 7

The Premier League – Sunday 19th October 2008

The clocks go back soon, that final submission to the changing of the seasons, and winter looms unbidden on the horizon. Already a chill wind blows, but it brings more than the promise of colder, darker days – carried also is a sense of imminent, violet re-ordering of the old ways. Just as in those days before war, or revolution, this feeling is there but not visible, tangible yet unfelt, and though it remains beyond definition, we know that madness stalks the land.

The latest slice of insanity saw Hull City best London opposition for the fourth time in succession, victory over West Ham United propelling us back – back! – to third place in the Premier League, once more clambering to the upper reaches of the planet’s richest and most important league, and no amount of rubbing our eyes seems to amend this staggering fact.

The conundrum of which is North London’s best team (“Arsenal or Spurs? It’s actually Hull City, ha ha”) having been solved by a 4-3-3 formation, Phil Brown quite logically elected to give it another go – therefore, with Marlon King winning yet another fitness battle, we lined up on a mild autumn afternoon: Myhill; McShane, Zayatte, Turner, Dawson; Ashbee (c), Marney, Boateng; Geovanni, King, Cousin.

Craig Bellamy started for West Ham, with Carlton Cole spearheading the 4-5-1/4-3-3 formation preferred by new manager Gianfranco Zola. Diego Tristán, former star of La Liga side Deportivo La Coruña, was not considered close enough to match fitness to feature.

It was a pleasant, if overcast Sunday afternoon – the game having being put back a day to cater for Hull Fair, and we’re now five weeks since our last Saturday 3pm kick-off. Such are the sacrifices we must make at this level, however with 2,500 West Ham fans helping towards a record crowd of 24,896 at the Circle, one supposes this inconvenience is not proving too grave.

It was a cagey start by both teams – both sides seeming slightly unsure of what to expect from the other, and although City were enjoying slightly the better of the possession and territory attacking the North Stand, when the first chance arrived on 15 minutes the visitors should have taken the lead.

McShane rashly contested a loose ball with Craig Bellamy on the West Ham right, was beaten to it by the fleet-footed Welsh winger, who hared down the touchline in front of the anxious East Stand with Geovanni in desperate but futile pursuit. Ten yards from the goal-line he dragged the ball back to the unattended Cole, whose first time shot on his left was sweetly hit from about ten yards, but flew straight into Boaz Myhill’s grasp.

A major let-off. West Ham hadn’t deserved to lead, but this was a sweeping move of real class spoiled only by a poor finish. West Ham were buoyed by it, and had the ball in the back of Myhill’s goal a few minutes later. As Myhill advanced towards the edge of his area and threw the ball up to clear upfield, Herita Ilunga nicked it away from him and smartly hooked the ball over his own head and into the corner. Sadly for him, referee Chris Foy blew his whistle immediately, and them administered a harsh-looking caution.

Mr Ilunga was the recipient of some more generous officiating moments later, when a very untidy challenge on the City right was punished only with a free-kick, when a caution may ordinarily have resulted.

With half an hour on the stadium clock and the match entering a slightly sluggish phase, Dean Marney had a difficult shooting chance when a King cross found him at the far post, however he was unable to hook his foot around the ball and it flew safely wide of Robert Green’s left-hand post.

West Ham were maintaining a loose kind of superiority as half-time neared, and eventually the interval was reached via a skied effort from Bellamy – the Tigers had been slightly bettered in the first half, with West Ham’s wide men troubling us and their numerical advantage in midfield forcing our central three into something of a holding operation.

Something needed changing, and though some favoured a change of personnel Phil Brown’s response was much more cute, shifting Geovanni wide on the left to bolster and broaden our midfield.

We looked a much stiffer prospect straight away, and had a couple of efforts on Green’s goal in the first five minutes of the second forty-five – a harmless long-range effort by Boateng and King’s snap-shot from a Marney cross, and although these came to naught City had wrested the initiative from West Ham…and the opening goal was just moments away.

A corner on the City right was given away by the visitors, Dawson’s inswinging corner saw Turner’s clever run and forceful leap completely overpower Matthew Upson, and the ball flew cleanly into the goal. The Circle roared its approval, West Ham presumably cursed giving away a goal to a set piece, and we were leading yet again.

The game had rarely been more than medium-paced, more Angus Fraser than Shoaib Akhtar, but we were now seeing a much zippier tempo. Geovanni had a tough chance to double the lead when King freed him, but the ball was always moving away from him and he fired tamely wide.

Back came West Ham, and when Cole expertly turned Turner in the six yard box and fired the ball against the underside of Myhill’s crossbar – it bounced to safety, with no other West Ham player close enough to capitalise.

It elevated the atmosphere in the ground to a suitably febrile level, and one fancies the structural foundations of the Circle would have received a stern examination had Kamil Zayatte’s 50 run and 25 yard piledriver gone a couple of feet lower – we simply guffawed at the sheer lunacy of a City centre-back rampaging half the length of the pitch and crashing a marvelous shot on goal…not since Damien Delaney’s epic surge upfield several years ago we seen such a sight – and that was only against Rochdale.

The game calmed down a little after this, probably to City’s benefit. A frenetic game suits a team seeking a goal more than one seeking a calm conclusion to events. Phil Brown capitalized in the protracted lull in proceedings by introducing Bryan Hughes for the tiring Boateng, and Hughes’ unfussy style was exactly what City needed.

However, West Ham did have an excellent chance to equalise with fifteen minutes left when a free-kick was conceded 22 yards from goal. It looked horribly, gut-wrenchingly presentable, dead central with either corner equally appealing targets; the shot was obligingly spannered into the wall and the ball hastily transferred far from goal.

Halmosi came on for Geovanni to introduce some fresh legs and pace to a wilting City midfield, while Faubert came on for Di Michele for the increasingly exasperated visitors.

In the 83^rd minute, former Hammer Richard Garcia came on for the shattered Cousin; West Ham swiftly replied by withdrawing the quiet Etherington for Sears, and we steeled ourselves for a frantic finale.

I’m not quite sure why; City’s feted resilience carried us to promotion last season by closing out games, and it’s not been lost during the summer. And closed out this game was, three minutes of injury time from Mr Foy being perhaps fractionally on the fortunate side, and they were navigated with ease.

It’s getting all a little familiar now, the cries of relief and satisfaction at the end of a game, celebratory handshakes and hugs, raucous applause for another job well done. This was an impressive win from a slightly pedestrian performance, and while the perfectionist Mr Brown will take pleasure from the former and disappointment at the latter, it is a quite remarkable achievement for us to be capable of taking three points from a top-half Premiership side despite not playing well.

That we can do is largely down to Mr Brown’s tactics, and the superb execution of them by his charges. Our 4-3-3 may seem narrow, and it may invite pressure on the flanks in midfield, but with McShane a solid presence at right-back and Andy Dawson in the kind of form even his greatest advocates cannot have thought him capable of, crosses are invariably smothered at source, or simply nodded clear by the imperious Turner or Zayatte.

Aah, Michael Turner. Never before have our entreaties for England representation to be bestowed upon one of our own carried such credibility. Phil Parkinson may be a discredited figure among the City fans, and rightly so, but in handing over £350,000 of Adam Pearson’s money to Brentford to bring Turner to the Tigers, it may be that he made one of the most extraordinarily successful transfers in our history. And if Fabio Capello is not watching the progress of this player, he and England are missing out.

Not that we’re a one-man team – of course not. Geovanni’s new-found appetite for teamwork saw him put in a manful stint on the wing, unveiling abilities not commonly associated with the stereotype of a Brazilian midfielder. The Ian Ashbee of Division Four has been seamlessly upgraded to the Premier League -  and be sure that we mean that as a compliment of the highest order.

The rest? Superb. For City now lie third in the Premier League, 17 points having been accrued from eight games – or if you prefer, with only seven points dropped so far, fewer than one per game.

It won’t last, it surely can’t last – but fewer than 25 more points are required for certain safety, and the nation stands agape at our achievements. We’ll revel in cocky Champions League references, about hoping Chelsea and Liverpool draw next week in the big game between our title rivals, and we’ll affect to scoff at lowly also-rans such as reigning European Champions Manchester United, Arsenal and the world’s richest club, all vainly trying to keep pace with a club that lay 92^nd in the League ten short years ago.

And yes, we’ll enjoy the adulation from the entire footballing world, bask in the glory of our achievements, but not until many months and perhaps years have passed can we realistically hope to make sense of it all. For this is all so hopelessly, wonderful mad that we can do nothing more than laugh at the sheer craziness of it all. (AD)

Myhill 7; McShane 6.5; Turner 9; Zayatte 8; Dawson 7.5; Marney 7.5; Ashbee 7.5; Boateng 7; Cousin 6.5; King 7; Geovanni 7

The Premier League – Sunday 5th October 2008

DWWW, reads our away record this season. Unbeaten on the road, having harvested ten points from an available twelve, having scalped a Champions League participant and the League Cup holders in the past week, these are good days to follow the Tigers on the road.

Our second trip to the capital in a week took us to Tottenham Hotspur, and we duly scooped three points into our swagbag and ventured merrily back to the North – this is how we did it.

Phil Brown justifiably opined that a side capable of beating Arsenal might consider itself worthy of taking on Spurs, marooned at the bottom of the table after a rotten, winless start to the season – so under leaden skies in one of London’s less appealing areas (and that’s saying something) the Tigers lined up: Myhill; McShane, Turner, Zayatte, Dawson; Ashbee (c), Marney, Boateng; Geovanni, Cousin, King.

The inclusion of King was a major relief – he’d been struggling with a back injury throughout the week, and his selection meant that Phil Brown was able to field the same front three that so thrillingly fired us to victory at Arsenal last week.

For Spurs and their beleaguered manager Juande Ramos, £15m signing David Bentley was on the bench, while £8.5m signing Vedran Corluka started – also featuring was ex-Tiger Fraizer Campbell (of whom more later) alongside £14m signing Roman Pavlyuchenko, plus £5m signing Gareth Bale. And £8m signing Gomes in goal, £17m signing Modric in midfield and £8m signing Didier Zakora. Oh, and £8m signing Jonathan Woodgate, and £7m signing Jermaine Jenas.

And if that sounds like a gratuitous way of highlighting the cost at which Spurs’ first team has been assembled, it is. Tens of millions of pounds of talent faced us, guided by a man with a European trophy on his CV, all gathered at one of English football’s biggest clubs, preparing to take on us, dwarfing our resources by a vast margin. And boy, did we fancy our chances.

The Tigers began the game kicking award from the 3,000 City fans huddled together in a corner of a sold out White Hart Lane, but the first action of the game took place just in front of us when a Jenas corner was headed goalwards by Bale – Andy Dawson was in position and stoutly headed clear.

It was a zippy opening on a sodden surface, and a minute later Boateng pinged a shot from distance at Gomes, which was easily held by the Brazilian goalkeeper. City should have taken the lead with the game’s third effort in three minutes when Geovanni fastened onto a neat first-time pass by Cousin, but his shot from ten yards flew harmlessly over.

This was, we suspect, owing to its proximity. For Geovanni Deiberson Maurício Gómez is a scorer of great goals, goals few other players are capable of. And so with fewer than ten minutes on the clock, we were treated to another. King was fouled in the Spurs half, thirty-five yards from goal and slightly to the left of the centre of the field. City pushed Turner forward as Geovanni and Dawson debated, briefly, ownership of the set piece, while Spurs assembled a flimsy three-man wall.

And with Gomes situating himself for a cross and everyone in the stadium following his lead, Geovanni approached and caressed the ball, and sent it curling at pace into the top corner. And while we had a near-perfect view of this moment of genius, it still took a moment to register before the away end detonated. Geovanni sped off to the touchline before being mobbed by his jubilant and slightly awestruck team-mates, we simply gloried in a moment of absolute magic.

Spurs were shaken, and another chunk of their brittle confidence was sloughed off. The next ten minutes were fairly uneventful, as City cleverly calmed the game down after its frantic opening, starving Spurs of any chance for a swift reply. However, they came close to an equaliser midway through the half – Ashbee was cautioned by referee Rob Styles for a clumsy trip on Aaron Lennon, and Gareth Bale’s resulting free-kick was tipped onto the top of the crossbar by Boaz Myhill. An excellent shot, an excellent save.

Tottenham were beginning to come into the game more and more by this stage, though their attempts to level the game was tinged by slight desperation, embodied by a disgraceful dive by Modric on the edge of the City area that Mr Styles did not fall for, but charitably opted not to punish with the deserved caution.

Jermaine Jenas did see yellow later in the half for a foul on Ashbee as the half wore on and City remained largely in control, if not always in possession, before the hopelessly ineffective Pavlyuchenko (did we mention he cost £14,000,000?) limped rather suspiciously from the field to be replaced by Darren Bent – we note it was suspicious because he’d spent 34 minutes looking desperate to be anywhere else. If that’s what you get for fourteen million pounds, one assumes that Geovanni’s worth can only be displayed using scientific notation.

With half-time approaching and City largely content to sit back and let Tottenham attacks founder on the rock that is Michael Turner, suddenly a sparkling move was unveiled of such beauty that it may have rivaled the opening goal in aesthetic appeal.

A series of one-touch passes saw Boateng backheel the ball to Marney, with his back to goal twenty yards out. He span in a flash and aimed a low shot at goal which flew past the motionless Gomes but which bounced back off the post. A heart-stopping moment – had City gone in two goals up at the break one senses the game would have been finished, but simply for the skill and speed of the move it deserved a goal.

City were ending the half the better side, and King sent a rasping shot that Gomes ineptly dealt with, but the half arrived with some half-hearted boos from the stunningly quiescent home support and lusty approval from the City fans.

Not that we should let the home support sour our view of White Hart Lane. We know from our days of yore that being the “big club” at home to a lesser side can make generating an atmosphere difficult. Who truthfully relished a home game against Macclesfield or Bury when we were in Division Four? Perhaps the same applied to Spurs. Or maybe we’re being patronisingly kind given their current travails.

Whatever – it’s a lovely, traditional ground, and one senses it COULD create a marvellous atmosphere. Our view from the upper tier of the corner was a good one, it was sensibly stewarded (requests to sit down were made, ignored, then finally so were we) and without the ludicrous no-man’s land that we still suffer. The only drawback was a lack of alcohol at half-time.

No matter – City provide all the intoxication we need these days. As the players bounded out for the second half and rain eased, we wondered if we could really make it six points from North London.

It wasn’t to be easy – Spurs took the ball early in the half, and refused to give it back. Lennon was fighting an epic duel with Andy Dawson on the Spurs right, Ashbee was haring around after Jermaine Jenas with superhuman energy, Michael Turner and Kamil Zayatte were unbreachable in defence, King was all power and pace up front, but my word, we were being given an object lesson in keeping the ball as Spurs swarmed forward.

Yet…they were doing very little with it. It took nearly fifteen minutes for the chance to come, and when it did, they should have scored. Bent was put through by Modric, and inexplicably he was allowed to run through unattended. Myhill raced from his line to close the angle, Bent chipped the ball over him, and from 130 yards we held our collective breath as the ball bounced goalwards…and bobbled less than a yard wide.

A massive let-off, but we were creaking somewhat now, and something simply had to change. Bentley had come on for Gunter, and was curiously deployed at right-back. Phil Brown responded by withdrawing Cousin, who’d been uninvolved for some time, in favour of Bernard Mendy as a ploy to bolster our midfield. It only half-worked, although again Spurs frantic nature manifested itself when they kept the ball after it was put out following an injury to Boateng, sustained by an illegal but unpunished challenge.

City were now adopting a 4-5-1 formation as Geovanni was hauled back, and while one may not expect to find tigerish defence featuring too highly among his list of qualities, he did his job splendidly, assisting the overworked Andy Dawson.

Yet still Spurs were creating little. City’s obdurate defence was typified by a thudding block by Michael Turner when it seemed Bent had fashioned a yard of space for himself in the area, and with twenty minutes remaining, it seemed a genuine possibility that we could hold on to the game.

Geovanni was withdrawn to a tumultuous ovation which he milked by leaving the field with a walk so slow one could have nipped to the gents, bought a pie and placed a bet on the concourse without missing its conclusion – Peter Halmosi was his replacement.

The home fans made themselves heard when Aaron Lennon was brought off for Giovani dos Santos, a lesser version of the real thing. Boos rang out around White Hart Lane, presumably directed at Juande Ramos – Lennon had been a real threat, and while he may have been tiring, or carrying a knock, it was a move that we were pleased to see.

City had offered very little as an attacking force, but when we did it was a peach of a move that nearly saw us settle the match. Halmosi intelligently fed King, who’d found space on the left and cut in towards Gomes. The Spurs keeper had moved smartly from his line and he was able to smother King’s low shot – a good save.

Folan came on for the shattered and uncomfortable-looking King, Bent was booked for a crude foul on Dawson, and the ball is a near-permanent fixture in our final third. Still we hold on.

There was a major alarm when Boateng challenged Fraizer Campbell in the area – it looked a fair challenge from our perspective, and we are sorry to report that Campbell made a little more of the challenge than was necessary, but Rob Styles’ presence on the pitch added to our concerns. He did the right thing, and were exhaled in relief.

Four minutes of injury time were awarded, and in the very last of these, the victory was nearly snatched from us. A foul twenty-yards from goal, dead centre, a saw Gareth Bale line up a free-kick. To this observer’s chagrin, no City players were deployed on the post despite the certainty of a shot. Bale directed it goalwards, Myhill stood, watched…and it can only have missed by inches. And that was it.

What a lovely place North London is. Okay, it’s actually a shit-hole, but it’s seen our points tally rise from a promising 8 to a magnificent 14 in the space of a week. Two stirring away displays, different in their execution yet with a golden thread of bloody-minded resilience running through both, have given us third spot in the Premier League. And this just six years from when we were in the bottom third of the Fourth Division.

City look hard to beat. Turner and Zayatte are imperious at the heart of the defence; McShane and Dawson are the scampering scourges of wingers; Ashbee, Marney and Boateng are tireless in midfield, thoughtful in possession and unflinchingly determined. King and Cousin are quick and skilful.

And there’s Geovanni. Michael Turner was the man of this match, and there’s increasingly something in our “Turner for England” chants…but it was Geovanni’s genius that settled the game. To think that City have a Brazilian international who evidently loves playing for our club, who scores goals from thirty yards in the top-flight for the Tigers – it’s gone well beyond a dream into some kind of insane nirvana.

Several weeks ago, we were prepared to pay £7m for Fraizer Campbell. His name was sung by the City fans several times, a classy touch and one that you suspect may have made him pine for better than the shambles he finds himself unwillingly a part of. He was subdued yesterday, ruthlessly shackled by his former team-mates. One felt for him. Without his goals and craft last season, none of this would be possible, and he’ll be sure of a good reception whenever our paths cross.

But remarkably, we’re not missing him. We’re not missing Craig Fagan either, despite the dismay that heralded his enforced departure from the team. This is meant as no criticism as either man. Instead, it is a nod in the direction of Phil Brown, Steve Parkin and Brian Horton, who’ve galvanised an entire squad and created a whole that is many times greater than the sum of its parts.

Who knows how far we can go now? Avoiding relegation remains the primary mission, of course. Fourteen points already gained mean that another twenty-something should about do it. Stoke already look in deep trouble, while Spurs and Newcastle both need something new in order to avoid getting sucked into a protracted battle. Of course, four defeats in a row will put us back among the bottom third. But as we prepare for a week off, with the city of Hull represented in third place of the planet’s greatest sporting competition, a top half finish a legitimate aim, while bringing untold pride to an entire county…well, Mr Duffen introduced the phrase “dare to dream”. He can hardly blame us if we do exactly that. (AD)

Myhill 7.5; McShane 8; Turner 9; Zayatte 8; Dawson 7.5; Marney 7.5; Ashbee 8; Boateng 7.5; Cousin 6.5; King 7.5; Geovanni 8; Mendy 7; Halmosi 7