If the fly which perched high on the wall of the Hull City dressing room at about ten to four could talk, he’d make a bomb.

He would have information of dynamite proportions for the many disgruntled supporters in black and amber sheltering from the cold climate and colder first half display.

I’ll have a stab at what was said by Peter Taylor when the players trudged in after 45 minutes of the least compelling football we have seen all season. Expletives aside, it might have been something like this…

“Duffy, you’re got your back to goal too much. Get changed. Fagan, you’re on. Let’s start running at them, not hiding behind them.”

“Welsh, you’re too deep. Get changed. We need more energy in the midfield. Noble, you’re on. Start supporting the front two.”

“Andrews, you can tackle, so start. You’re the deep midfielder, so do the work of one rather than flouncing around looking for passes which don’t come off.”

“Green, dear oh dear. Keep it simple, and stay out on the right more.”

This probably bears no resemblance to what really went on, but clearly something did, as the humdrum City of the first half had nothing in common with the bountiful, diligent group of men who dominated the second against a cheerless and pedestrian Plymouth team, typical of the thinking reputation of Tony Pulis.

City made some chances in the first half, but the lack of a cutting edge in front of goal, despite the recall of Darryl Duffy to play alongside Jon Parkin up front, was evident. Duffy was poor, really. After a seemingly unburdened start to City life – goals at Stoke and Luton, a natural instinct for the net and for making intelligent diagonal bursts – he’s hit a rough spell where his posture and general demeanour suggests he’s struggling to keep the pace. He’s talented and will come good again, but for now we can be grateful that the rocket up Fagan’s jacksy has worked, because his second half display was just terrific.

It was on 54 minutes that Fagan broke City through against these cynical, deeply unexciting opponents, with Andrews beginning the move which would also herald the best half he’s had to date in a City shirt.

Winning a clean and impeccably timed challenge (at last he looked a bit like Ian Ashbee) on halfway against the sissyish Lilian Nalis, Andrews moved swiftly to get Parkin going at another petrified pair of centre backs, and Fagan was quickly observed to delay and stunt his run – Lineker-stylee – to make sure he was onside when the inevitable pass was slotted through the gap and into his lightning stride. Parkin obliged, and Fagan was clean through for pace, although there was still work to do as Plymouth keeper Romain Larrieu scuttled out for a workaday bout of angle-narrowing.

Fagan duly spanked a stunning left foot fizzer past the poseurish Plymouth custodian and happily took the yellow card which came his way as he ripped off his shirt and wheeled away in complete raptures towards the West Stand.

Job done?

No. This is City. Yes, we led for the first time since a two and a bit minute spell at Millwall, but we’re exceptional at conceding equalisers, particularly at home. And our capacity to go almost horizontal in retreat and shout at the opposition to come and have a go remains a worrying trait, especially when we spent a fair bit of the first half doing that and only had Plymouth’s unwillingness to take a pop sparing us.

God, that was an awful half. Mr Taylor had re-thought his strategy after the Leicester surrender and that, coupled with the absence through injury of Ryan France, meant a return to 4-4-2 from that occasionally good but largely bamboozling 4-5-1 (or 4-3-3, depending on whether or not Stuart Elliott feels like it) formation. John Welsh was recalled to the midfield with Green supposedly going wide in France’s absence; and Scott Wiseman was surprisingly and pleasingly given a rare start at right back in place of the shattered Alton Thelwell. City therefore began with Bo Myhill protected by a back four of Wiseman, Leon Cort, Damien Delaney and Alan Rogers; Green began on the right, with Welsh, Andrews and Elliott to his left; Duffy jogged around Parkin at the helm. Fagan and Noble were joined on the bench by Billy Paynter (whom some had tipped to start), Mark Lynch (Thelwell really must be bushed then) and keeper Matt Duke.

What positives there were came from Parkin’s continuing volition to kick and be kicked in his pursuit of the quickest-ever inauguration into City’s Hall of Fame. The Beast was, yet again, just glorious. Every pass aimed his way was divinely controlled and without fail he was able to bring in a team-mate as soon as his chest or thigh had made the ball his own.

The first chance was his as he took a through ball from Andrews down the inside left channel and saw Larrieu deal with the shot; he then charged agreeably down the same route to tee up Elliott whose howitzer was on target but well pushed away. Duffy’s only real chance came when Elliott supplied yet another Parkin chase, and the gleeful flick of the Beast’s heel made room for the Scot’s shot which soared well over.

As for Plymouth, well there’s little doubt that a rather botched first half for the Championship’s good name was in no small way down to their scant contribution. When Crystal Palace came to the Circle on a timewasting ticket, at least they had the sporting grace to take the lead before delaying the goalkicks and throw-ins and faking the injuries. Plymouth were at it from the start – an 800 mile round trip for a goalless draw? I felt for Plymouth’s fans. A bit.

This profligacy was epitomised by the most negative corner kick I have ever seen in my whole life (aside from those you expect in injury time when protecting a lead). Former City loanee David Norris (“City reject!” sang one – yes, one – East Stand regular) clipped the ball to the edge of the area from the flag where Nalis, under no pressure from anyone, promptly pointed his eyes towards his own goal and passed to Paul Wotton, the one Plymouth player who stayed back. To have this as a tactic away from home when you’re not even ahead in the game, with a few hundred paying good money to traverse the country and watch you (some of whom came with a flag with P.A.F.C. GONADS emblazoned on it), is nothing short of a scandal.

Still, back to the important stuff. More impotent than important, really, as City made a smattering of further chances but were foiled by a bad final ball or some truly dire finishing. Elliott sliced one shot into an adjacent postal district before Plymouth, in dramatic try-to-score-a-goal moment, nearly, er, scored. Myhill went to challenge the burly but largely ineffectual Vincent Pericard as a Tony Capaldi free kick swung over and found himself comically out of position as a consequence when the rubbishy clearance reached Nalis. The shot was true and goalbound until Cort stuck out a limb, any limb, and somehow managed to get a kneebone’s worth of deflection on the ball to send it an inch or two over. The applause for such spontaneous and damned fortunate defending was long and loud.

Prior to the relieving blast of the half time whistle, Green made his first significant contribution beyond the shoddily-placed set-pieces when he made a wily run through two defenders to feed the Beast, but this time Parkin’s awareness let him down, and his shot at Larrieu was rushed and tame when time was more on his side.

Booing was heard in some quarters when the team traipsed to the powder room for their tea and tantrums. For all the half deserved to be consigned to the dustbin, booing was a little harsh…

Mr Taylor’s changes and tactical rethink was, even to his bigger detractors, flawless. Duffy’s lethargy was replaced by Fagan’s new-found desire; Welsh’s anonymity was switched for Mark Noble’s inclination to harass opponents both with and without ball. Prior to Fagan’s moment in the sun (it was just peeking through the north west corner in place of the mini-blizzards we’d endured at the start), City were a team possessed, clearly responsive to the manager’s mixture of encouragement and ruthless alteration. Delaney hit a fine volley from a half-cleared Andrews free kick which was ricocheted over; then Cort headed the resulting corner a yard or so too high.

Once the lead had been established, City took a firmer hold, a somewhat more pleasing and prosperous way of reacting to a goal than getting all new-underpants-please-mum scared and offering the enemy a chance to level up. Parkin, in all his majesty, nearly cracked home a fantastic second when he turned and volleyed from a daft angle which only a fool or superior type of player, comfortable in his confidence and skills, would have even attempted. And the Beast is no fool.

Next to Parkin, the other player to impress to a great extent was Rogers, so it seems rather unfortunate that he has yet to be mentioned… until now. Built like a barrel and undoubtedly capable of emptying one, the left back has given Andy Dawson serious food for thought with a handful of positive, decisive and battle-hardened displays. He looks the part, as opposed to Gary Megson’s misguided view that he looked a part.

Rogers combined in a rather groovy manner with Green down the left to get Elliott to the byline, but his cross was just too long for the Beast’s outstretched toes, and he could only divert the ball behind the goal. Parkin then latched on to a bouncing ball from the utterly fantastic Andrews but was foiled by a fast-moving Larrieu from close in. City were on top by some considerable margin… and then Plymouth started to realise they were only one shot away, potentially, from a point.

Myhill had been quietly kicking his goalposts in the second half, while also keeping an eye out for shots from 45 yards out, but with fewer than ten minutes left, Plymouth threw on Nick Chadwick – once a City target – and began laying siege with three centre forwards. Hands up if you were worried. Liar.

Fellow sub Akos Buzsaky (it’s not a name, more a bad Scrabble hand) wasted a good chance when he scuffed an unchallenged volley straight at City’s shivering keeper; then a vile-looking long throw was dealt with palpably, and Bojan Djordjic (maybe Pulis stands to win a bet with these names) slapped a shot back goalwards, where Pericard got a crucial deflection with his eyebrows. Myhill’s reflexes biffed the chance away, and the consequent ovation was lengthy and deserved. Myhill for England…

Brief respite came when an Elliott header from Rogers’ corner was cleared off the line without much judgement; but then Plymouth got back at City with a ludicrous melée in the six yard box which went on until next year, before City managed to scramble it away. Four minutes of injuries were signalled and six were played, but the Plymouth spirit – having materialised so late in the game – was gone again. Their cynicism at 0-0 could have proved their downfall, and the most gratifying sight during the added on time was that of Wiseman maturely sacrificing the chance of a run at goal after winning a challenge on halfway, instead walking the ball into the corner. When finally it was booted on to his ankles for a goalkick, he was roundly applauded by an impressed East Stand. Plymouth had one last go when Djordjic was put through on the right hand side of the box, but shot straight at a grateful goalie.

The feeling at the final whistle was multi-fold. Relief that we’d won at home for the first time in 2006; gratitude that we’d not faced more optimistic opposition who wouldn’t have been fazed by going a goal down; pleasure at the clean sheet; and, of course, sheer joy once we’d heard that neither Sheffield Wednesday nor Millwall had managed to win their games. And it’s our first double of the season.

Parkin and Rogers were the only players who accepted the cause for the whole 90 minutes; however, the likes of Elliott, Green, Fagan, Wiseman and especially Andrews can feel thoroughly satisfied with their displays after the break. And fair play to Mr Taylor for clearly saying and doing the right things. He perhaps needs to establish why Welsh and Duffy are suffering right now, while we look forward to Nicky Barmby’s imminent return – how he can combine with the Beast is something which will supply great intrigue.

A good win, with perspective thrown in - beating a fight-free, watertreading Plymouth at home surely allows us more than hope that Crewe, despite their mini-scrap from the bottom of late, will be put similarly to one side next week. Two more wins minimum should be enough; but let’s just try to win them all, eh? (MR)