The Premier League – Sunday 22nd March 2009

It’s galling to lose when playing poorly; galling also to lose a game which was deeply uninspiring to begin with; perhaps the biggest gall to come from defeat at Wigan Athletic is that even in the upward echelon of the Premier League, next to nobody from Wigan cares.

“One nil, to the empty seats” they sang after Ben Watson robbed Dean Marney in the City box and chipped Matt Duke. A sense of self-awareness? Maybe. An indictment on a town that has the chance to adopt the best game in existence as its main event and chooses not to? Evidently.

City arrived at the JJB feeling confident and scorned in equal measure. The hoo-haa over events on and off the pitch in the Emirates had, we hoped, helped the players get even closer, purport to have a siege mentality, aided further by a smattering of rants of equal amusement and embarrassment from the manager, one of which managed to call a female 5 Live presenter “darling”.

But it didn’t happen. City were dire. Having no Ian Ashbee in the team didn’t assist, neither did the similarly injury-enforced absence of Anthony Gardner. The absence through simply not being picked of Nick Barmby was a surprise. The absence of Daniel Cousin, again with no explanation prior or subsequent to the match, got the rumouring tongues all of a wag.

So, here’s how we lined up – Duke; Ricketts, Turner, Zayatte, Dawson; Mendy, Marney, Geovanni, Kilbane; Fagan, Manucho. It’s a decent team. At least Turner’s playing and we have attacking options.

That said, attacking options did not seem to be high on the priority list for the entire wretched first half.

Wigan hit the woodwork - by accident – in the opening minute through Manuel Figueroa, who mishit one of those crosses that caught the swirling breeze and prompted Matt Duke into a spot of targetless scrambling. If only it had gone in; we may have responded…

Michael Brown robbed the hapless Marney in the centre and fed Charles N’Zogbia, who after seeing off Marney’s attempt to make amends with a blocking tackle, fired a low cross through City’s six yard box which Duke’s fingertips deflected enough to stop Watson tapping in.

You want more? None of it’s City, you know. Watson had another low shot which Duke held; Mido fired wastefully over after Hugo Rodallega’s incisive counter attack; then Rodallega himself put a free kick straight into Duke’s gloves after Kamil Zayatte and Sam Ricketts combined to bring N’Zogbia’s flowing run to a brick wall halt, for which Ricketts was booked and Zayatte was injured.

Brown then fed Mido for another skied chance and then Duke dived low to his right to save from Rodallega after another counter involving Brown. City’s sole contribution to the note-taking involved an injury to Andy Dawson, prompting Richard Garcia’s early summons from the bench and a reshuffle involving Mendy and Ricketts.

Half time and somehow it was still 0-0. One likes to think Phil ‘n’ Bri had a few words with the players.

Second half, and City are brighter as they attack the end housing the Tiger Nation. Fagan wins a corner off the immense Titus Bramble; Marney curls it on to Manucho’s head, and the strong goalbound header is tipped over excellently by Chris Kirkland.

Marney fired over and a Geovanni pass is deflected his way; then the Brazilian is sent to the left by Craig Fagan, eventually delivering a cross which clears Manucho’s run but reaches the late arriving Garcia, who heads over.

It would be churlish of me not to point that, by this stage, Garcia was by some distance City’s best performer. He starts against Portsmouth. He has to.

Zayatte finally succumbed to the pain and was replaced by Caleb Folan, with another shuffle prompting Ricketts to join Turner in the centre of defence and Kilbane dropping back. Folan had a rare chance to prove his worth – he was in the team, on the telly, against his old club and with a game still to be won, even if such a victory would be undeserved.

He was terrible.

Wigan return to the ascendancy. Watson’s close range effort is blocked by Duke after Mido’s miskicked shot rather fortunately falls into the ex-Palace midfielder’s path. A free kick is then won and Paul Scharner heads it too high.

City rally, kind of. Garcia breaks out of a melee and fires over the bar, having already negotiated to rough tackles and taken a boot across the knees from Bramble, who is booked.

A short corner routine does City again, and Watson deceptively (for those on the opposite side) finds the side netting. One or two supporters are still heard celebrating a goal as Duke lines up the dead ball. Mido then crosses for Rodallega to head against the post.

Fagan, getting angrier and already booked, is replaced by Peter Halmosi. No need for Barmby, it would seem. Instantly Halmosi runs the ball into touch. Not an auspicious beginning to his short contribution.

Finally the deadlock is broken. A long throw is hurled in by Mario Melchiot which Duke gets an unconvincing fist to. Marney fails to clear and trys to control, allowing Watson to steal the ball and put a deft and spontaneous chip over the head of everyone and in, despite the best efforts of Kilbane on the line.

Four minutes are added, during which time the referee, Mr Marriner, is replaced through injury by fourth official Mike Dean, whose one contribution is to cock up a competitive bounce ball near the Wigan area and instead take it back ten yards and then allow them to welt it back to Duke. Hopeless.

Folan flicked a late Mendy centre wide but it was a lukewarm, inept effort from the Tigers. The scoreline could easily have reflected the stamping Wigan handed out at the Circle back in August. A game to forget, although some would see it as a chance spurned thanks to results elsewhere at the weekend offering City potentially 11th place with a win. Not our finest hour, to say the least. (MR)

FA Cup Sixth Round – Tuesday 17th March 2009

Journeying through the northbound M1′s roadworks last night, I received a text message from one of Amber Nectar’s gruppenfuhrers (can we use that word now?) suggesting, without any sense of duress on his part (just an offer of burgling my house and snapping my shoulder blades if I didn’t) that when I listed the Arsenal team in this match report, I should add an extra name to it – Riley.

That’s absurd.

Firstly, because I never list the opposition team. House style, y’see.

Secondly, because Riley is English and would by definition look out of place.

The fact that Riley (Mike, natch) is a referee and would make a team consist of 12 players instead of the lawful 11 is actually less potent an argument. Because he was Arsenal, Arsenal, Arsenal all the way last night. One Arsenal player – their goalkeeper – was in a green shirt, so there’s no reason why another shouldn’t have been too.

I defended him a bit when he sent off four players against Burnley last season. I got hammered for it – fine. My belief was that the antecedence of the players in question kind of gave him little choice. I may have been wrong. It has been known.

However, he does, like clockwork, utterly arse (no pun intended, or indeed present) up our chances far more than the opposition do whenever we have the misfortune to be allocated him.

He has become the story. No referee, as good or bad as he may be, should ever find himself as a headline generator. This means he has done something woefully, shockingly, appallingly bad.

Riley’s very existence fitted that criteria at the Emirates.

Lots of people have bared their teeth at Arsenal’s own conduct last night. That doesn’t bother me. They’re footballers, they’re partisan, they’re paid tremendous wages to create advantages for their team through fair means or otherwise. I can cope with that.

Referees are there to observe, uphold the laws and treat the two teams as the equals that the very nature of sport dictates they have to be.

Riley was not such. A fussy, strutting, starstruck figure, he garnered sympathy the other year when Ashley Cole refused to look at him while receiving a lecture. Suddenly I find myself in rare sympathy with one of the more odious footballers on the planet.

In the second half at the Emirates, Riley proceeded to wave play on at spiteful fouls, caution City players for daring to breathe and then allow a winning goal which was the clearest offside call since, frankly, Geovanni against Middlesbrough.

Yes, we got away with it that day. But we accepted it with grace and repentance and acknowledgement that we got some luck. This time we didn’t. Bad officiating, but not Arsenal’s fault. Same as Geovanni’s offside run for that goal wasn’t Hull City’s fault.

Yet even allowing this 83rd minute winning goal - a back header from William Gallas who was a couple of clear yards offside from Johan Djourou’s help-on header from a set-piece - wasn’t Riley’s most chronic misdemeanour.

His decision to book Hull City players for offences which were either indecipherable or non-existent showcased a man who loves his authority and reacts to the surroundings he finds himself in.

These surroundings were that of the most glamorous club stadium in English football, with 55,000 people telling him what to do, led by a myopic Frenchman whose blessed skills as a coach are considerably tarnished by his utterly graceless, humourless disposition when faced with anything that dares stop his team from silkily steamrollering the opposition.

Riley’s activities as he produced card after card reminded me of Rowan Atkinson and Griff Rhys-Jones sending up institutional racism within the Met in 1980, as Constable Savage is berated for arresting the same man for petty offences that didn’t actually appear in the Stones Justices’ Manual. The petty offences which Riley chose to greet with yellows certainly didn’t seem obvious to anyone with even a mild knowledge of the list of punishable felons in football.

So maybe Boaz Myhill was booked for loitering with intent to use a pedestrian crossing, while Andy Dawson got done for urinating in a public convenience, Ryan France for possession of an offensive wife and as for Manucho - well, anyone who knows the sketch can guess which offence he could have been done for. I won’t repeat it.

The sketch ends with Savage being transferred (to his delight) to the SPG. It’s a pity that has now disbanded and its range of coshes and baseball bats long pushed through the incinerator. I’d send Riley to the SPG and tell everyone therein that he is Blair Peach’s brother.

As for all the post-match tomfoolery, sadly Brian Horton can’t prove that Cesc Fabregas spat at him. Phil Brown will be hauled over the coals for his raging comments about Fabregas, Riley and Arsenal. Although aimed spitting is the worst offence a footballer can commit, I find myself less bothered about justice there. We wouldn’t get it anyway. I want Riley’s performance, however, to be studied again. I doubt that will happen either.

The match? It was immensely entertaining when permitted to be. Arsenal’s multicultural protagonists produced multiple cultured play, a joy to watch at times, brilliantly frustrating at others as City ground their bones into the Emirates turf with their defensive ardour. Some of the tackles and blocks and self-hurling - kudos especially to Sam Ricketts and Kamil Zayatte here - was almost beyond the call of duty at times.

And all this without Michael Turner.

News of an injury had spread prior to the game and, given that we really would like England’s future No.5 to be in the team when we got to Wigan on Sunday, he was rested. For the first time ever, the two £2.5m centre backs in Zayatte and Anthony Gardner partnered each other. Ricketts stayed on the right, Andy Dawson made his inevitable return in place of the Cup-tied Kevin Kilbane, while Nick Barmby played in an advanced midfield role with Manucho ahead of him and Geovanni scheming and buzzing around, all protected by Ian Ashbee. Peter Halmosi, so successful (at last) in the previous round, got a rare go on the left while the irresistible Craig Fagan carried on scampering and chipping away down the right. Boaz Myhill was in goal.

(Oh, go on then – Fabianski, Sagna, Gallas, Djourou, Gibbs, Walcott, Song, Diaby, Vela, Van Persie, Arshavin, Riley. Can you please now remove these electrodes from my testicles?)

City began well, with Manucho going through on a terrific counter attack and making sure Djourou was on his backside as he chased the long ball. Cutting in on to his left foot, he seemed ready to shoot but, er, didn’t. Why I’m not sure. He hesitated, passed and defenders got back.

Not to worry. City would soon claim the opening goal and transform the travelling fans into the type of insane capering mess that only a goal at Arsenal can produce. Dawson clipped a ball forward towards Barmby in a withdrawn inside left position, but the ex-Spurs player had an appreciation of the ball’s bounce and issued a glorious lob which, helped by Djourou’s slight deflection, frisbeed over Fabianski and into the net.

Well, I never. We’ve only gone and scored against Arsenal.

This wasn’t in the script that everyone had written prior to the game. What was supposed to happen? Little ol’ Hull would feel grateful for being there, Arsenal would be allowed to score lots of goals and feel grand, and the global support and media and sponsors would all get their favoured semi-final against Chelsea for which the ticket template had already been designed.

But that’s not happening. Oh no!

Oh wait, hold on. Mike Riley’s reffing. It’ll be okay. It may take a while, but it’ll sort itself out.

Grrr.

Manucho flies down the touchline superbly, makes room for Geovanni who slaps a shot just over the bar.

Cor, we’re good.

Halmosi then went on a glorious flowing run from inside his own half, finally to be checked by Gallas on the edge of the box. Gallas is booked. Riley got it right. Dramatic three-note sound effect optional. Geovanni sweeps the kick up and over the wall and it’s in the top corner, no question - only for Fabianski, dang it, to spring upwards and sideways to make the best save I’ve seen against City this season since Jaaskelainen Day.

Arsenal decide to join in a bit. Arshavin – he’s good – makes a mockery of two City tackles as he cuts in from the left, but his low shot is cut out by Gardner for a corner, with Myhill having it covered anyway. City defend well.

Theo Walcott, already robbed once by Dawson, tries a narrower run away from his nemesis marker and gets into the box, only for Zayatte to leap in with a crunching and yet subtle tackle of such perfection that I’m sure the applause can be heard at Holloway Road. There was more like this to come, as Walcott crosses low for Arshavin at the far post and his shot, so obviously goalbound, so clearly the equaliser in mid-flight, is blocked by the torso of a plunging Ricketts. Heroic.

City get the ball in the net again, as a flurry of chances reaches Dawson, whose shot – on target or not, I’ve no idea – is deflected in from a yard or so by Barmby. The offside flag went up, rightly in all probability. We’ll return to that linesman’s standard of streamlined eyesight later.

Arshavin smacks a narrow-angled volley just wide in first half injury time but as the whistle goes for the break, it becomes apparent that all those teams who struggle at the Emirates have something inherently wrong with them, because we simply don’t. We’re winning again. 135 minutes of football at Arsenal this season thus far and still none of their players had scored against us.

The second half starts a little worryingly as Bryan Hughes is introduced for Ashbee for reasons obviously lacking in clarity at the time. Rumours of a knock and a precaution, a la Turner, for Wigan have since come to the domain. Fine, then. But it is Hughes, correctly deemed not good enough for 45 minutes – or indeed, five minutes – in 99% of this season’s games but is now suddenly expected to be Ashbee-esque against one of Europe’s most talented teams in our first FA Cup quarter final in 38 years and with Wembley shouting our way again.

Ulp.

For the first 20 minutes of the second half, Arsenal piled it on. They seriously piled it on. It was like any away game in the Third Division under Peter Taylor after we’d nicked a goal. But we coped. We got in their way, we got up their noses, we got on their wicks, we got the ball in orbit.

Diaby had one go which he put well wide after Arshavin had fed him in space. Good chance. Spurned. C’mon.

The Russian himself then made room for a shot which Zayatte – again – leapt in the way of in a manner which defied physics. From the corner there’s a spot of confusion, Myhill is out of position, and Song turns and volleys inches wide. C’mon.

Then an incident which Brown afterwards would claim turned the match entirely Arsenal’s way. Myhill was booked for timewasting.

Now, we had been a little economical with our speed once we’d scored. But Riley’s issuing of a yellow card to the City keeper came despite the fact he wasn’t even taking the free kick that had been given our way. He was not in charge of the ball. Plus there was the whingeing Wenger factor, which seemed to act as catalyst for Riley saying “yessir!” to the morose, spoilt Frenchman and giving everything he possibly could to the home side.

Barmby fouls Diaby, according to Riley, Van Persie swerves the free kick low round the ball and Myhill dives low and rapid to palm it out. A wondrous save. C’mon.

Arsenal get a corner. Arshavin takes, Gallas leaps, the ball touches the bar on the way over. Fewer than 20 minutes left. C’mon.

By now Halmosi, industrious though uninfluential aside from that one lung-burster in the first half, has been replaced by Bernard Mendy. Fagan swaps to the left.

Arsenal try again and this time they succeed via the method they know best – walking the ball in. Bendtner, also on as a sub, shakes off Hughes too easily and crosses for Arshavin at the far post. He should score but instead re-squares it for Van Persie who belts it home from close range.

We held on for so long. A replay would be an achievement, we know that. But for a referee not affected by showbiz or with the concept of the “correct” semi-final line-up in his head, we might have got it. We weren’t going to win this game now. But we deserved another go at them before a Hull crowd.

Barmby goes off, shattered and vindicated, and France trots on. We’re playing Hughes and France against Arsenal now. Looking at the rest of the bench, it was Hobson’s choice once it was clear that Barmby couldn’t continue. Nicky Featherstone’s inexperience didn’t tally with such an occasion and at such a stage, while Caleb Folan wasn’t going to get much ball to chase, although given that the entire game was now being played in our half of the pitch, he wouldn’t have been caught offside either.

A slight chance for City, as Fagan manages a deft knockdown for Geovanni to size up and hit, finding the outside of the stanchion. Could he have done better? Maybe, but that’s beyond churlish. Van Persie then volleys right at Myhill from Bendtner’s flick. There are ten minutes left. C’mon.

Walcott goes on a charge down the wing and crosses. Myhill collects, flaps, drops. Gumph. Then the City custodian makes glorious amends by diving bravely in the way of Bendtner’s goalbound follow-up. C’mon.

Arshavin, the best player on the pitch by an absolute mile, then slithers a delicious pass for youthful left back Gibbs to chase. Being a youthful left back (and an Englishman, therefore largely unfamiliar with the act of kicking a football) he panics when the goal appears in his line of vision and prods a weakling’s effort right into Myhill’s hands. C’mon.

Then the moment. City concede a free kick, dubiously. Nasri, another sub, chips it in. Myhill comes to collect, doesn’t. Djourou flicks goalwards and Gallas aims a back header into the net. Everyone knows he’s offside. Everyone. Bloody well everyone. The players. The crowd. The coaching staff on both benches.

Riley gives the goal. And Arsenal’s big screen shows a replay which turns City fans collectively vitriolic. From sad headshakes to the venomous demanding of Riley’s bladder on a cheeseboard. The remaining minutes of the game – seven plus stoppages – are formless. City are crestfallen, mugged. The occasion can’t stoop any lower, though Riley has a go with more bookings for nondescript or unidentifiable crimes.

Geovanni is clearly fouled on the edge of the Arsenal box and nothing is given. Gardner, pushed forward as an emergency striker, gets a shot in which could have been blocked by a hand. If you think we’re getting even a legitimate nailed-on penalty in injury time at the Emirates when the world demands an Arsenal v Chelsea semi-final you can think again.

The final whistle brought out all the emotions that City fans have been used to down the years. Pride, sorrow, anger, recrimination. The players were absolutely magnificent. The Cup run as a whole has been a rare treat, a generously dramatic, eventful and worthwhile excursion, worth all the pennies which four rounds and six games have taken from our wallets.

It is simply a pity that while losing to Arsenal is far from a disgrace, we eventually lost more to the allegedly incomprehensible idea of Arsenal going out of the competition than we did to their flowing football or exquisite teamwork. Riley, you are a total sod. Just do the decent thing and retire instantly. (MR)

The Premier League – Saturday 14th March 2009

A point gained, or two dropped? In the immediate aftermath, it is difficult to assess. Certainly, we have inched a little closer to safety, and deprived a relegation rival of winning a winnable game; yet a nagging voice insists that failing to beat such a shocking side as Newcastle at home may be one of those things we look back ruefully on in the summer if the worst happens.

Not that the game will stick in the mind for any other reason, for it was a turgid affair. Both sides were stricken by the fear of losing, both accepted a point long before they should have done, and the sorry truth is that each team looked like one looking down rather than up.

Not that actually went down yesterday, even so much as a place. Rather, we moved up one. Ensuring a rise to twelfth in the Premier League were: Duke; Ricketts, Turner, Gardner, Kilbane; Mendy, Ashbee (c), Zayatte, Geovanni; Cousin, Fagan. It was an attack-minded XI selected by Phil Brown, and we afford him due credit for it.

Newcastle were again being guided by Chris Hughton in the absence Joe Kinnear, and he was able to recall former England striker Michael Owen to the side, with his partner for the afternoon the ever-unpredictable Obafemi Martins. Also appearing for the visitors were, Alan Smith, Nicky Butt and the magnificent manes of Fabricio Colloccini and Jonas Gutierrez. Individually a good side, but as evidenced during our previous three meetings, not that great a team.

We began in a suitably attack-minded spirit too, attacking the North Stand towards which a stiff breeze was intermittently swirling and the curiously unengaged Newcastle fans were housed, and it took eight minutes for them get the best view in the stadium of the opening goal.

Fagan fastened onto a pass from Zayatte and scampered – he always scampers, doesn’t he? – down the left and send over a delicious cross that evaded the retreating Newcastle defence but found Geovanni, who thumped an unstoppable header past Steve Harper. The Circle went nuts as Geovanni, our golden boy again, celebrated with infectious delight.

City had started with vivid energy, but the early goal seemed to confuse the team. Push on for a second against a desperately poor Newcastle side, or sit back? Sadly, but given the nerves on show perhaps understandably, it was the latter. The away side came close to equalising minutes later when Martins lashed narrowly over after being fed by Martins.

City’s initial surge petered out quickly, but with Newcastle unable to capitalise, the game disintegrated as a spectacle, and attacking verve was by a sullen midfield battle. Craig Fagan was cautioned for having the temerity to complain to referee Howard Webb about being elbowed in the head; Mr Webb had a poor evening at Upton Park lately, and he was faring little better this time around.

Geremi followed Fagan into Mr Webb’s notebook after felling Kamil Zayatte, and both sides resorted to outright trench warfare; save for one man. One day, reader, I shall wax lyrical to the youth of the future about a man named Geovanni. His first instinct is forward, his running with the ball is a joy to behold, his skill quickens the pulse. If that sounds preposterously fanciful, you’ve not seen him in full flight.

And so it was that our Brazilian provided just about the only flashes of invention as the match glumly plodded along. He nearly pinched a deserved goal with a free-kick from 25 yards that flew about a foot wide of Harper’s right-hand post. However, the game turned seven minutes before the break when Newcastle unexpected equalised.

It was a dismayingly soft goal too – a cross from the right by Butt found Taylor in space, and he instinctively hooked the ball past Matt Duke. It finally woke up the Newcastle fans, but it didn’t notably improve the game, whose only remaining incident of note before half-time was Coloccini being booked for a foul on Cousin.

If City had the better of the second, so Newcastle shaded the second. Things commenced with Alan Smith, looking every inch the scuffling lower-league player he has for some time, being booked for reacting petulantly to Geovanni zipping past him in midfield. After ten chanceless minutes, Phil Brown brought Cousin off in favour of Manucho, the hero of Fulham.

He fashioned a shooting chance for himself within a few minutes, but was foiled by an alert save by Harper. Gutierrez then blazed over a great chance for the visitors despite having the time and space to do considerably better. A curious fellow, Gutierrez – often impressive on the television, yet frankly hopeless yesterday. Perhaps he flatters to deceive in the way so many of his colleagues do.

Not that we were doing much better, and with twenty minutes remaining the game was dying. The final rites were delivered by Bernard Mendy, who was released on the right by Fagan. He had the simple job of squaring the ball to the unmarked Manucho for an easy tap-in; he spannered the ball into Harper’s hands, to the intense frustration of all. We’d have no further opportunities.

Craig Fagan had not had an enjoyable afternoon, chipped away relentlessly at by the Newcastle players evidently intent on exploiting his propensity for ill-temper, and with a second yellow card perhaps just one more transgression away Phil Brown wisely withdrew him for Richard Garcia. Michael Owen, perhaps the most anonymous man on the pitch and a man whose England days are now surely behind him, suffered the indignity of being replaced by Shola Ameobi, while Nick Barmby came on for the badly off-form Mendy.

Garcia’s first contribution was to be booked by Mr Webb for being fouled, though in defence of the referee Garcia’s exaggeration of the incident didn’t help his cause. Any further chances were restricted to a handful cleared crosses, and the match was finally over.

Perhaps upon reflection the above sounds a little uncharitable, but it’s hard not to be a trifle frustrated at permitting as abysmal a side as Newcastle to deny us three points. Unfortunately just too many players had average days. The defence was largely fine and Newcastle rarely threatened, while Ashbee was strikingly effective in midfield. However, with Cousin quiet, Fagan undermined by his hot-headedness (and a lack of assistance from Mr Webb), Mendy poor, Zayatte inconsistent, it was left to Geovanni to provide the sparkle.

And while he did, we needed a little more. But no matter; we’ll take a draw that retains the four-point cushion over third bottom place, now occupied by Stoke after their latest failure on the road. Newcastle will rue this result more than us, particularly given that their next two fixtures are against two of the top four. We’re off for an FA Cup Quarter Final jolly at Arsenal on Tuesday before a trip to Wigan – given our perverse preference for away matches and Wigan’s already-assured safety, it’s hard not to approach that game with confidence. (AD)

Ratings- Duke 7; Ricketts 6.5; Turner 7.5; Gardner 7.5; Kilbane 7; Mendy 5; Ashbee (c); 7; Zayatte 6.5; Fagan 7; Cousin 6.5; Geovanni 8; Manucho 6

The Premier League – Wednesday 4th March 2009

Michael Turner is leaping on anyone in a grey shirt that he can find, Kamil Zayette is jumping up and down like he’s on a trampoline, Boaz Myhill is celebrating so insanely it seems as if his eyeballs might pop out of his head, Geovanni and Phil Brown are embracing like teenage virgins in an unrealistic Channel 4 teen drama, from 50 yards or so away you can see the veins protruding from Ian Ashbee’s forearms in a manner that can only afflict someone who has Hull City streaming through his blood and has just led his team in his usual lion-hearted way to a crucial, unlikely, vital and dizzyingly brilliant win. The scenes at the final whistle at Craven Cottage were comparable with Wembley, Watford in the home play-off leg and the Emirates, and with the wild celebrations you could feel a massive weight being lifted from a few thousand shoulders.

In a picturesque Craven Cottage, Phil Brown located his marbles and his balls, as City lined up with a that’s-more-like-it team of…

Duke
Ricketts, Turner, Gardner, Kilbane
Mendy, Ashbee, Zayatte, Geovanni
Fagan, Cousin

Common sense had prevailed, and though at the time it seemed that Garcia could count himself unlucky to be relegated to the bench instead of taking up right-wing duties, it actually turned out that Phil Brown had a masterplan. Did any of us doubt him? Er…

As the game kicked off, it became clear that a poor surface wasn’t going to lend itself to a classic game of football. The opening stages were scrappy, with Geovanni looking eager, perhaps a little too eager, to impress after his misdemeanours of Sunday. His early surges brought about a few more renditions of that moronic chant too. Please stop it. We’re better than that. Anyway, on four minutes, Bernard Mendy wins a cheap free-kick which Geo lines up and plants narrowly wide of Mark Schwarzer’s right post. That was about as near as we were going to get to scoring for the next 88 minutes.

On eight minutes, a Turner header from a free-kick finds Craig Fagan, who heads well wide. Fulham haven’t settled, and it is the 12th minute before Etuhu produces their first effort of note as he breaks into the box and shoots over. The match then descends into a game of head tennis, as we seem content with lumping the ball up to man mountain Hangeland to defend with ease, and Fulham are happy to do the same with Michael Turner. Indeed it is the 25th minute until the home side threaten again, as a Paul Konchesky cross is turned wastefully wide by the busy Andy Johnson. A minute later a Dempsey break and cross falls to just behind Johnson, only to see the ball fall to Simon Davies. As the Welsh winger hits the ball goalward, Ian Ashbee steams in to clear.

By this point, we’ve stopped threatening as an attacking force, Gardner, Mendy and Zayatte are giving the ball away at will, and Phil Brown isn’t responding to the “Give us a wave” chants. All the makings of another West Ham/Everton seem to be in place. We’re defending resolutely, but Fulham’s attacks are becoming more and more dangerous. In the minutes before half-time Davies shoots over from a good position, Turner gets in a last-ditch tackle to prevent Zamora a clean run on goal, and Mendy stupidly loses possession down the right to launch a Fulham attack that ends with Johnson shooting narrowly wide. The half-time whistle is welcomed by the City players and fans, grateful to get in at 0-0.

Hopes of a half-time improvement are ended as Fulham come flying out of the blocks. Duke immediately has to palm over a Johnson shot after Gardner gifts Fulham possession, Kilbane is lucky not to concede a penalty after he grapples with Zamora, Dempsey tries a speculative long shot that Duke does well to palm over, and from the resulting corner Mendy clears a tame Johnson header from off the line. Konchesky then forces another good save from Duke. The half is only 10 minutes old. Our response, a wayward Cousin shot from an excellent Fagan run, doesn’t calm the nerves much. Neither does a 62nd-minute Davies cross that somehow evades Johnson and Dempsey, thanks in no small part to Sam Ricketts making a vital intervention.

However, Fulham’s initial surge seems to peter out and the threat from Johnson, Zamora and Dempsey begins to fade. Zayatte tries a comical shot from 35 yards that goes 40 yards wide, Geo is continuing to cause alarms by running at the heart of the Fulham defence, and Fagan’s boundless energy is giving the home team a few headaches.

Then, on 75 minutes, Phil Brown brings off a fairly ineffective Cousin for the so-far underwhelming Manucho. And we start to look a little better. Not brilliant, but Fulham seem to be settling for a point. Hangeland chops down Zayatte to receive a harsh booking in the 77th minute. Three minutes later Etuhu’s booking for a foul on Geo is much more deserved. The free-kick from Kilbane goes narrowly wide. Manucho is holding the ball up and finding space. And then we’re brought back down to earth as Davies forces yet another excellent save from Duke in the 83rd minute. The draw still seems a long way away (though Craig Fagan bizarrely sitting on the ball for a good 30 seconds helps wind down the clock).

On 88 minutes Phil Brown brings on Richard Garcia, who is about to give the most important five-minute cameo of his life. After a Davies booking, Garcia immediately shoots over. Geo then gets a very harsh booking as the game enters three minutes of injury time.

Just as the injury time board goes up, a Michael Turner mistake – woah, let’s just stop there. A Michael Turner mistake? Don’t talk rubbish. That just doesn’t happen. You hear me? DOES NOT HAPPEN – no, really, a Michael Turner mistake lets in Johnson seemingly with a clear run on goal. Except when Michael Turner makes a mistake, Michael Turner is usually on hand to mop up, and that’s what happened. The future England number five executes an incredible tackle to stop Johnson in his tracks. Barmby comes on for Geo…

The 92nd minute begins. Richard Garcia exchanges passes with Kamil Zayatte. The ball won’t seem to come down for Garcia, who keeps hitting it over Fulham defenders but is running towards the left corner flag. There’s no danger of anything happening here, apart from Garcia wasting a few seconds. But no. Garcia somehow gets in a cross that defies science. He’s running in the opposite direction to the direction of the cross he’s just produced. And it’s a good cross. Hangeland and Schwarzer don’t want to know about it. Manucho does. The beautiful, wonderful, incredible Manucho arrives on the back post and hammers the ball past Schwarzer. Everyone connected with Hull City in the ground goes crazy. Everyone in Hull listening to their radios goes crazy. City fans around the world go crazy. But there is still a minute to negotiate.

A couple of horrible, gut-wrenching Fulham corners are dealt with and the gorgeous-sounding final whistle is blown. The scenes are something that we might have gotten used to in the past five years. We’ve seen them at Yeovil, at Bradford, in the home game against Swindon, at Stoke, at Cardiff, at Barnsley, at home to Palace, in the two play-off games, at Wembley, at the Emirates, but we’ll never get used to them. You can’t, you just can’t. Because moments like this are priceless. If we stay up, tonight will be the turning point.

Of the players, Duke was outstanding. The mistake against Blackburn hasn’t harmed his confidence. Ricketts showed that he is our best right-back by some distance. Gardner looked shaky for much of the game but did a good job against an energetic forward line. Kilbane showed his worth. £600k. A bargain. He’s not the match-winner a few people strangely thought he might be, but no one else in the squad could have done as composed a job as he did at left-back last night. Zayatte and Mendy were both poor. Zayatte improved in the final 15 minutes, but both seemed incapable of keeping possession. And they don’t just lose it, they launch counter-attacks for the opposition. Mendy’s work-rate was below what we’d expect too. He’s better used as an impact sub. Cousin worked hard but was ineffective. Of the starters that just leaves Turner, Ashbee, Geovanni and Fagan. This quartet ran themselves into the ground last night. If relegation survival was decided by heart and courage, this four would see us safe quite comfortably. They scrapped for everything and didn’t let Fulham settle. We are lucky to have them. Garcia was obviously outstanding, and that just leaves maligned loanee Manucho. Could Phil Brown and Alex Ferguson really both be wrong about a player? Maybe not. Last night he went from Craig Faulconbridge to Craig Dudley. And there might just be a Fraizer Campbell in him yet.                                                                                                                                                                                                        (Richard Gardham)

The Premier League – Sunday 1st March 2009

Where now for City? The glib answer of “The Championship” contains a worrying note of truth, but our concerns are more immediate. Can this season be rescued? Or are we destined to become an interesting future quiz question: “in 2009, which team were relegated from the Premier League despite accumulating 20 points from their first nine games?”

I’d rather not be a curiosity. Of course, if City get relegated, anyone with a pre-KC Stadium heritage can place this into context with what went before. Dropping from the Premier League to the Championship wouldn’t make the top twenty Bad Stuff That’s Happened list. That’s not the point though. Right now is what matters, and as the season collapses around us, all that concerns us whether Phil Brown and his shell-shocked charges can put it back together again.

Lining up against a predictably workmanlike and organised Blackburn Rovers side on a Spring-like afternoon at the Circle were: Duke; Doyle, Turner, Zayatte, Dawson; Mendy, Ashbee (c), Marney, Kilbane; Geovanni, Garcia. Nick Barmby was on the bench despite starring in Thursday’s Cup win over Sheffield United, while fellow forwards Manucho, Cousin and Fagan.

Given the deeply irritating Sunday 12.30pm kick-off, the atmosphere inside the ground wasn’t too bad at kick-off. Blackburn had travelled in small but relatively enthusiastic numbers, and the game opened at a fairly brisk pace, City looking slightly the better of the two sides. It took just thirty seconds for the first episode of note when Bernard Mendy flew down the right wing and drew a clumsy foul from Stephen Warnock – referee Martin Atkinson flourished a yellow card.

The first half-chance fell to the visitors Diouf saw a sight of goal, but his lofted shot was easily pouched by Matt Duke. Moments later Geovanni should have opened the scoring when a pass by Mendy found him in space twenty yards from goal and no covering defender, but his first touch was atrocious and Paul Robinson scampered from his line to gather the ball.

The game settled after this, though Robinson produced a marvellous save from a Turner header, though the linesman’s flag had beaten the England goalkeeper into ensuring the chance was foiled. With the game flagging badly as a spectacle, Blackburn scored after 34 minutes.

A cross was spilled by Duke, Roque Santa Cruz pounced on the loose ball and shifted it back to Warnock – his finish was simple, he made no mistake, and City trailed to a shockingly soft goal. It was to get worse a minute later.

Doyle was left standing by Warnock on the Blackburn left, his cross was fired across goal past Duke, where of all people Keith Andrews was on hand to slam the ball home from three years. From 0-0 to 0-2 in two minutes, and the first real murmurs of discord could be heard.

With City in need of half-time, Turner was booked for an incident involved Robinson that the referee originally disregarded, brandishing yellow only when he realised Robinson was hurt. No friend of ours, Mr Atkinson. One suspects the boos at half-time were not just for the team.

Jason Brown replaced Beverley’s Number One at half-time, though Phil Brown opted to give his chose XI some time to rescue the situation. However, City looked dazed and disoriented with precious little in the way of threat up front. Garcia was working hard but clearly no striker at this level, while the midfield was outfought with dismaying ease.

Brown waited eight minutes to change things, a fair call by the City manager. Also a fair call was withdrawing Geovanni, whose contribution amounted to a couple of piercing runs that ended either in a dive or Blackburn receiving possession, and the wasting of our best chance. He deserved to be brought off, but a torrent of scorn fell upon the City manager as Barmby came on for him. Also being exchanged was the poor Kilbane for Cousin, but this went unnoticed as, despicably, some morons the greatest City manager of all-time “you don’t know what you’re doing”.

It’s almost impossible to express just how unutterably stupid this was. Phil Brown clearly heard, and stood defiantly and just a little shocked in his technical area. City continued to flounder, and the afternoon become our most depressing of the evening.

It got worse. With some City fans singing the name of Geovanni (whose reaction at being brought off was a disgrace, let the record show), Dean Marney was sent off for a petulant stamp after being fouled by Pedersen. The Blackburn man was cautioned, Marney was sent off. He slunk off, obviously upset. The City fans looked on aghast as a season of glittering promise continued to collapse.

Halfway through the second half Fagan replaced Doyle, and things brightened up fractionally when Pedersen was sent off after his foul on Kamil Zayatte drew a second caution. City were enjoying their best spell of the game as the game neared its end, and pulled one back when a short corner – ironically, given our problems with them last week – was worked to pick out Ashbee, and the captain powered home a great volley.

This gave City and the crowd some hope, and the tension was increased further when Andy Dawson was cautioned for a harshly-awarded foul on all-round twat on Diouf in front of the East Stand.

As the game entered the five minutes of injury Michael Turner was moved up front, but City continued to lack the guile to break down Sam Allardyce’s well-drilled outfit and the match ended in a deeply worrying defeat.

Without question our worst afternoon of the season, and the lowest this observer has felt since the 0-4 defeat at Southampton in 2007. Phil Brown’s puzzling team selection, the awful display on the pitch, the crowd’s unacceptable reaction to Geovanni’s substitution, a defeat that leaves us hurtling back to the Championship.

It’s simply too depressing for in-depth analysis. The league and form tables tell us all we need to know. A mighty difficult trip to Fulham awaits on Wednesday. A vast improvement is needed, otherwise those once unspoken fears about us being one season wonders will be hidden no longer. Deep breaths, City. Recover your nerve, purpose and poise and all may not yet be lost. However, it’s currently hard not to fear the worst. (AD)