City, outplayed by their opponents for three quarters of a truly gripping advert for Championship football, came from a goal down – yes, we came from a goal down – to score three times away from home for the second game in a row – yes, that’s another three-upper on the road – and hung on as the opposition invaded our penalty area in search of retribution – yeah, we hung on. Heroically, in actual fact.

Trudging away from their ramshackle rustpit of a ground, Luton fans could be heard muttering about the points going to the wrong team. Well, only the blindly partisan would disagree. But frankly, this is the real world and you can’t always get what you want, especially when relegation is an issue. City scored three, defended colossally when necessary and did enough. We suspect a distracted Luton won’t dwell on this too long, what with their rather good manager being linked with a move away and more crap being fed to them over the alleged new stadium which will probably never happen.

And boy, do they need one. In its tightly-residential, largely ethnic surroundings, the Kenilworth Road ground represents a bygone age of football that one assumes has long gone in this age of prawn sandwiches and concourse TV sets. One single door for visiting fans, one turnstile, staircases attached to the adjacent housing backyards, a single tier behind the goal with seats crudely tacked on to the old shallow step-terracing, it was like something from a twilight zone.

Once a chair had been chosen (for every away fan, Luton represents the best way of getting on the telly, such is the proximity of the goal to the seatage) one could watch the players warming up and assess the changes, if any, which Mr Taylor had decided to ring in the shadow of the midweek white flag against Coventry.

There were none in the starting XI. Craig Fagan was recalled to the bench, but that was it. So the insanely left-footed Kevin Ellison stayed on the right, and the newbie duo of Darryl Duffy and Jon Parkin remained as the furrow ploughers up top. Boaz Myhill was protected by Damien Delaney, skipper Sam Collins, Leon Cort and Ryan France; Ellison was joined in the midfield by John Welsh, Keith Andrews and Stuart Elliott; Parkin and Duffy were on the scoring watch.

A brilliantly noisy Tiger travelling contingent raucously opened its lungs as the game got underway, exchanging early banter with the Luton fans over who had bragging rights after last season’s two-horse race for the League One title. Luton took an early grasp on the game with some penetrating runs from Rowan Vine, one of many genuine talented attack-minded players in an impressive, upwardly-mobile squad. Vine’s quick sizing up of City’s defensive foible on the left flank bore timely fruit when he got between Ellison and France to chip a cross on to the head of Keith Keane, and Myhill was unable to get a glove to the ball as it sailed across him and nestled into the corner. First blood.

You could hear the hearts sink behind the goal as the home fans noisily hailed Keane, who leapt into Vine’s arms in real joy. We’re not too adept at coming from behind at home, never mind on our travels. Still, we got some feet on the ball and started to look for missing links in the Luton rearguard, although the first true effort on goal came when City clocked the first of a few free kicks round the Luton area and Andrews wildly sliced his drive into the top tier.

Then he made amends with another training ground routine which, considering City tried an identical version against Coventry, raises questions about Luton’s scouting system. Andrews shaped to shoot but clipped the ball sideways to Elliott’s decoy run, and a wonderful shot of power and placing roared past Marlon Beresford to square it up.

Such a rapid response knocked the stuffing out of the plastic Hatters and City began a dominant 20 minute spell which was only marred by the fact that it was occurring at the opposite end to us, meaning we couldn’t see a thing half the time and had to – gulp – take the officials’ word for it if a flag went up or a goal kick was plumped for. That’s not feasible…

The lead was achieved just past the half hour when Elliott doggedly skipped through the challenges on the Luton byline and thumped a cross-shot through the bodies, with Duffy instinctively poaching the scraps from six inches for his second City goal.

We had barely taken the time to goad Luton’s fans for losing their lead (the same chant Coventry chucked at us in midweek) before, implausibly, we got a third. This one was down to the confidence of Ellison.

With a manager who believes in him, even when impossibly out of position, Ellison is slowly showing signs of coming good in more than the fits and starts of Southampton and Reading. Clearly a player in need of an arm round his shoulders, he responded to his manager’s faith with a devastating piece of wingplay which even his main detractors – amidst their delirium – had to admit was impressive.

Andrews sought him out with a pinpoint high pass which Ellison was forced to control with his chest from the touchline. The angle of the ball gave Keane the chance to risk a caution by propelling the Scouse winger into the crowd, but Ellison kept his slithering feet brilliantly to skip away from the full back, work through another challenge to the byline and then calmly feed the beast. Parkin steered the chance home and it was 3-1.

We didn’t fully deserve this, but this is a results business, as the tedious Alan Shearer pointed out this week, and we had devastatingly made the most of our spell in possession. Considerable applause and hollering from a thrilled to bits City faithful rang in the players’ ears as they retreated to the half time dressing room, ready to put the regular ‘sit back’ plan B into action.

It’s doubtful that any human being in black and amber would have expected another City goal in the second half, knowing our ultra-cautious approach to preserving advantages. Initial intrigue was prompted by the withdrawal of France during the interval and generous applause greeted Scott Wiseman’s introduction to the fray without a need for formation alterations. Wiseman, most City fans’ choice for right back and not as prone to scampering forward as France, provided an unwitting outlet for Vine to have a fresh go at City’s flank, and Luton started the half brightly.

Although City were considerably outperformed in the second half, it was an impressive barricade they put up as Luton chucked numerous centres, slide-rule passes and set-piece howitzers into the mixer. Delaney did more sliding into challenges than he could have ever anticipated; Cort was massive against the troublesome Steve Howard; and fair play to the maligned Collins for the most assured, effective display in a City shirt since his earliest outings. Mike Newell, in a panic-stricken state, threw on three subs at once (always a sign you’ve run completely out of ideas, although the excellent Warren Feeney will always cause problems) and prompted a rethink from our bench too. Duffy took his leave to hearty clapping and was replaced by the rehabilitated Craig Fagan, whose pace and extra keenness to make amends set back Luton’s resurrection bid by ten minutes.

City had one good chance to extend the lead when a half cleared free kick landed on Ellison’s left peg, and he fizzed a low volley towards Beresford’s near post, though the keeper held on well. When the exhausted Ellison was replaced by Billy Paynter on 80 minutes, he received a magnificent standing ovation that was entirely deserved. If a limited player, put in an alien position, responds with fire in his belly and mature gratitude for the opportunity, he can still achieve so much – Ellison’s example to Fagan and others is highlighted once again. All we need now is for the home-only fans with half a tale to get off his case.

Luton applied extra pressure with an array of well-timed plunges to fool the officials, and the free kicks were well dealt with by City’s portcullis. Large cheers were raised every time someone put a boot through a ball and sent it back towards Beresford, who was so unused in the second half he frequently found opportunity to banter with the City fans.

Finally, the goal Luton’s spirit had deserved came on 85 minutes when Chris Coyne stooped to nod a low one past Myhill, who had remarkably needed to make few saves thanks to the plethora of tackling and blockages going on ahead of him. The three minutes of injury time seemed to be spent entirely in City’s six yard box, but the blade never came down and we hung on to our heads for three unexpected, crucial, grafting points.

It was a swashbuckling, enjoyable, picky game of football but City’s purple patch in the first half, complete ruthlessness with chances and astounding self-protection policy in the second half got them through. The back four – and especially the two central defenders – deserve considerable credit for their single-mindedness in keeping Luton locked out, while Andrews, after a second half against Coventry he and everyone else would want to erase sharply from the memory, was a superb commandant in the middle of the park, aided by Welsh’s tenacity and willingness to be the unnoticed one every so often. Duffy ran hard and offered himself; Parkin frightened people a lot. That’s the way.

But let’s give pride of place to Ellison. Okay, he’s still not the long-term answer to the right flank issue and does have those circus clown moments which send the impatient into despair. Acknowledgement of his success at Luton is, to some, a backhanded approval of Mr Taylor’s decision to play him there instead of Fagan or France, both of whom seem infinitely more suitable for the role at face value. But Ellison has an obvious facility to jump out of nowhere and create a goal or secure a point, and this can’t be underestimated, especially on days when City aren’t firing on the requisite cylinders elsewhere. Against Luton, he was great. Strong, tough, composed, absolutely battle-hardened and, wonderfully, his will paid off with a stunning piece of football to set up the goal which ultimately separated the two sides. Maybe he should start spending a few hours kicking tennis balls against a wall with his right foot, just in case… (MR)