Quite easily the most entertaining game the KC has seen this season, even though the result was wrong and City shouldered real blame for losing. But boy, did we get our money’s worth.

Wolves are good side, drizzled with pensionable legs around some precocious, well-marshalled youngsters and blessed with a year or two ahead on City to develop their style and tactical masterplan. But still City took them all the way.

Knowing his old chum Glenn Hoddle’s penchant for the wide-brimmed attacking outlook, Peter Taylor hung his hat on a formation alteration for the occasion, choosing just one orthodox central striker and enveloping him with a quintet in midfield. Mark Noble and Alan Rogers also made their home debuts, while Alton Thelwell’s appearance actually felt like his home debut. The applause for each as Steve Jordan announced their names was long and deserved, and all three reciprocated. So, Bo Myhill was shielded by Thelwell, Leon Cort (up against big brother Carl, with mum Yvette in the stands), Damien Delaney and the oblong-bodied Rogers; the five man midfield saw Keith Andrews as the scheming anchorman behind willing runners Noble and Stuart Green, with Stuart Elliott and Ryan France, back from a one-match ban, using the flanks to try to support the lone centre forward in Jon Parkin as best they could.

The first 20 minutes were just thrilling. City, thanks to the willing of Andrews, the outlet running of the wide men and the typically uncompromising attitude towards defenders of Parkin (the clash between the Beast and Wolves’ awesome rearguard lynchpin Joleon Lescott was keenly anticipated, and they didn’t disappoint), put on a tremendously dominant show, with just some patchwork offerings in return from the visitors. Chances were created. Quite a few of them, in fact.

Parkin sweetly turned on the corner of the box and tried a low curler which Stefan Postma gamely clung on to; Noble had a dip from distance which was deflected off target by desperate Wolf lunges; Andrews also peppered one just wide as a fluid midfield scampered and scurried aside and around the more ageing, constructive Wolves defence, for whom Darren Anderton was excellent but clearly unable to keep pace; and Paul Ince – touted as an absentee in all the pre-match bumph – passed by on several occasions. This was gripping.

On it went. Elliott was given room on the white line to cut in and try one of his howitzers which was well saved. Then the mesmeric Delaney robbed a sluggish Cort Snr on the halfway line and, with Wolfish types timidly backing away, decided to get within range and take a pop which wasn’t far wide.

Then came the first error. It makes me wince to think about it.

Noble is clearly a lad with a gift. Fit, ratty, controlled and confident, he appears at early glance to be another well-earned stripe on the sleeve of West Ham’s prolific Academy project. However, you can try too hard too quickly, and he’ll learn from the experience of helping Wolves ahead.

Collecting a ball towards the left flank just inside the City half, he had his back to goal and a defender exhaling into his collar, so the simple backward pass to Rogers was the obvious answer. But instead he tried to play a round-the-corner flick to Elliott and it never got near. Wolves swept it down and as Rogers was caught out of position, Jeremie Aliadiere – on his full Wolves debut – had a smooth path through, at pace, to draw the covering Delaney and plant a low one across Myhill, sending a loud but disappointingly half-filled away end into relieved raptures.

Very much against the run of play, and with City doing so well to that point, character was unmistakably going to play a part now as well as ability and demeanour. They initially struggled to regroup, and Myhill earned some fortune when he blocked a goalbound Kenny Miller shot with his kneecaps.

Although we were a goal down, this was still thrilling stuff. City were vibrant, eager and cocky, working as a team and also in possession of some real grit as they refused to let a mere goal against them ruin their prospects. Noble, anxious to make amends but still evidently a class act, swapped delightful one-twos with first Green and then the rejuvenated France before swiping his shot over the bar; then City gave themselves real opportunity for an unbegrudgable goal when Parkin and Lescott’s personal all-in wrestling bout surfaced yet again in a fascinating ball search, and when the Beast got ahead of his man at the byline, Lescott had no option but to use the splashdown. Parkin fell to earth, and as the groundsman contemplated purchasing the entire Sandhill Nursery peat stock to fill in the crater, the ref pointed to the spot.

Now, last time we got a penalty at home, Green took it as we sought a late equaliser against Watford, and he skied the bugger. We lost. We all remember it with a heavy heart, so when Green grasped the ball there was an awful sense of the inevitable, despite the superb chants of ‘Greeny’ as encouragement. Stand-in skipper Andrews, maybe a much more preferable candidate, seemed to offer Green a way out but all he could ultimately do was tap him on his fair head in a gesture of luck as Green placed the ball. Myhill couldn’t watch, preferring instead to crouch in front of the South Stand and gauge their reaction, a la Shilton v Poland 1973. Green strode forward. He planted it low. And very, horribly, wastefully, nastily wide.

Green flatters to deceive as we know, and I’d rather do the critique thing on his whole contribution to the team rather than a penalty, which any good player – not to mention a whole lorryload of fantastically chronic ones – is capable of missing. But don’t give him the ball again when we get a spot kick. Elliott, Andrews, the Beast – any of them will do. Not Green now or again.

Immediately, an undoubtedly mortified Green nearly made terrific amends, darting intuitively off the ball to reach a Parkin knock down and prod an instant shot just inches wide of a struggling Postma’s far post. But the fact was that we were a goal down and with a missed penalty on the stats register when the referee (incidentally, this was also easily the best refereeing performance we’ve had all season – well done Mr Williamson of Berkshire) blew his whistle for the break. One team was winning the battle, the other the war.

During the interval, there was a kids’ penalty competition. Some noticed the irony.

Much of the same application was desired by the City fans, who were heartened by the performance as they munched on their hot dogs and baltis amidst the smoky KC concourses. A few mild complaints about Green’s penalty were tempered by the admission that he’d played well in a strong, disciplined midfield five. We really looked good and surely Mr Taylor was going to ask for more of the same.

Well, it didn’t happen straightaway, as Wolves tried and succeeded in doing a containment job for the first five minutes, before France skipped balletically through his marker – complete with nutmeg – and laid it back for Parkin, whose shot was blocked for a corner. The first one was put back from whence it came; so Green tried again. The clearance-of-sorts somehow found Cort Jnr on the edge of the box and he thundered home a crisp, divine volley to make his watching mum even more proud and finally grant City the leveller they deserved.

Now we were ready to take ‘em. The completely ace Rogers, built like a more mobile (and talented, and docile) Michael Keane, hurled a tasty long throw on to the vast Parkin chest, and the Beast swivelled to hook his shot just over. The talismanic centre forward then turned provider, using his ogreish frame to beat off random defenders and lay one back for Andrews, whose shot was netbound until a deflection ricocheted it over. And quickly City were having another go, this time building from the back as Myhill plucked a wayward Wolves cross out of the air and sent Elliott away down the left. His centre avoided the busybody France and reached Parkin, but instead of smacking it first time, he tried to cut inside and Lescott got a desperate thwarting toe-end to the ball.

Thrilling, exhilarating football of real quality. This is what they want!

Then Wolves scored again.

Astonishing to think that we never had parity for more than eight minutes considering the amount of ruthless offensive work we inflicted on our visitors between Cort’s volley and the fortuitous goal which restored Wolves’ lead.

It wasn’t fortuitous from Wolves’ playing viewpoint; Miller scuttled through a backpedalling Cort Jnr with some help from Aliadiere and firmly wellied the chance away from Myhill’s outstretched palm. But, again, it all stemmed from the wrong pass and the wrong decision when City were in unpressurised possession. Andrews does this sometimes – for all his brotherly control over a midfield and orchestration of a team’s attacking habits, occasionally he plays a turkey pass which puts City in the brown stuff. This he did here, underhitting a square ball to Thelwell which rendered the City right back off-balance and out of position as Miller nipped in to steal, create and destroy.

Wolves then took off the tiring Anderton (that’s tautology, surely? - Ed) and replenished their midfield with Mark Kennedy. Ince decided here to do the chase-everything routine which he perfected so well a decade ago, and thumped a volley wide after a lung-bursting run, belying the wrinkles, although he generally wasn’t as impressive as Anderton and neither held a candle to the way Dennis Wise walked all over City a smattering of weeks back.

City strained and sweated but the fight was evaporating. We needed fresh blood, so Mr Taylor withdrew an exhausted Thelwell – polished and assured, despite not being fully sharp yet – and chucked Darryl Duffy into the fray, prompting the regulatory switch back to defence for France, which was mildly disappointing as France has had some truly stinky goes at right back lately and looked contrastingly liberated and sparkling in his more favoured position. Then, with a surprised crowd expecting Green to be next, Elliott was withdrawn as Craig Fagan’s pace was given to Wolves as a late examination.

City started over, keeping possession (and fair play to Green and his late revival for pivotally adopting this role alongside Andrews) but the clear-cut chances were proving more and more sparse. Then we reaped the benefit of the most impossible own goal of City’s season, or possibly anyone else’s. Soccer AM’s taxi has surely already hooked up its meter.

France twanged a steepling cross to the far post and in truth it was probably too far. This didn’t stop a snarling Parkin chasing it, startling the hapless Rob Edwards in the process. The perturbed full back’s attempted volley clearance turned into a gorgeous, slow-mo backwards hook (believe me, no sod could do this if they practised forever) which gently eased its way over Postma’s aghast head and dropped into the net without hint of apology.

What a way to equalise. We deserved it for guts, if not for the aesthetics of the manner with which we’d gone at Wolves after they went 2-1 up. It was truly ludicrous, and Hoddle was seen to go mental at Edwards, seconds after the ball nestled under the bar.

Now, could we win it? More to the point, would we try? If ever we had the criteria for the ‘sit back and preserve the point’ policy which we’ve used at countless instances this season, it was here. 2-2 against Wolves, eight minutes left, twice returning from a goal down. Hang on, surely? Hmmm, it would appear not.

Parkin, the complete legend he now is, wanted to win it on his own, although he had the support of Fagan’s chasing and the overlapping potential of France and especially Rogers, who also showed that he packed a decent long throw in Sam Collins’ absence. However, the clear-cut chance we needed for the Beast or some other black and amber icon-in-waiting never emerged.

The consolation I take as I now ponder the chronicling of Wolves’ winning goal was that firstly it came with City trying to win, rather than trying not to lose. It’s also fair to say that there was no repeat of the Noble/Andrews aberrations which had given Wolves their other two. Pickiness says that France could have got tighter to sub Rohan Ricketts as he looked to deliver a ball in from the left, and Cort Snr got between his brother and Delaney to sidefoot the volley past Myhill from close range. Yvette Cort later said on Radio Humberside she’d have liked that to have been an equaliser rather than a winner, so that both her beloved boys had scored and the game had ended all square. Life, eh? And again, weirdly, City had only been level for eight minutes.

Even in the five minutes added on, City could have got the point they obviously deserved when Rogers’ long throw was cleared to Green on the edge, and he hit a spinning volley which Postma did well to get rid of.

When the final whistle blew, there was clear disappointment as City had lost; but this was qualified substantially by a real sense of achievement at the way they outstripped illustrious, richer and more schooled opponents for long periods, especially when you consider the dire home form going into the game. Losses like this, fighting and contributing, are easier to take than those endured after a toothless performance such as that demoralising second half against Coventry.

We still have no KC victory in 2006, but with Plymouth and Crewe due – respectfully, they’re not Wolves – it hopefully is imminent. Meanwhile, we can look at a shedload of positives from this wonderfully entertaining game.

Rogers looked fit, strapping and completely unforgiving down our left flank; and the renaissance of Thelwell means that with two proper full backs now in place, our defence can feel settled and less deterred. Noble looks a really fine player, error notwithstanding, and it’d be nice to see him and the equally forward-thinking John Welsh given a go together, even though Andrews has overall slotted into the ratter’s role with aplomb.

Delaney and Cort are back, back, back – and with the unfortunate Collins now joining Danny Coles on the season-long absentee list, maybe they’re, ahem, back for good, even though Mr Taylor’s after a loan signing in the event of further upheaval. Parkin really doesn’t care about reputations and is making a real name for himself with some top-notch performances which mix real subtlety with even-tempered brutality. Lescott was in a real game, and they were a joy and pleasure to watch as they paired and squared without ever getting uppity with one another.

The five man midfield worked better than many expected, with Elliott and especially France relishing the role of line-hogging chaser and supporters-in-chief to the Beast. Green should go nowhere near a penalty again, but he was on song for once as the game wore on, never shy of the ball but this time actually having to an end product to all his calling and pointing, and he never hid after the spot kick debacle either. And behind them all, Myhill had no chance with the goals but was as solid and unswerving as ever. Bit of a shame Robert Green kept Sven’s call – wonder if Bo, amidst all the chanting, has ever come under real international consideration?

City can be grateful that Brighton and Millwall also came unstuck and that the gap to the trapdoor remains at a manageable nine points. Next week’s visit to Leicester City is one our understating manager will nevertheless be ultra-keen to win for reasons beyond survival, and frankly we should. We were better than Wolves in all but score; we surely can outstrip a watertreading Leicester who are below us in the table, especially as we’ve been a bit good on our jaunts of late. Meanwhile, when we hopefully consider another season of Championship football in the coming weeks, we can look back on the visit of Wolves as a perverse highlight of this campaign, despite the fact we lost. It was just simply a really good game of football. (MR)