An outstanding game and an epitome of Yorkshire derbydom, even though tragedy struck at the end.

Entertainment value was at an all-time high for City's season, despite Peter Taylor's men being second best for long periods. However, let us dwell on our manager for a moment. After all, plenty still choose to malign him. The occasional coldness, the negligible swaying towards fans' opinions, the money spent on two promotions without a League title in either. They are reasons.

Time for a break. This manager of ours became that ace coach and game reader yesterday. He'd picked a team which consisted of Boaz Myhill in goal, behind a defence of Alton Thelwell, Leon Cort, Damien Delaney and Andy Dawson, who was recalled because Alan Rogers had the gutsache. In midfield, Kevin Ellison and Billy Paynter stayed wide of Stuart Green (back in the middle because John Welsh was also suffering from the two-bobs) and skipper Keith Andrews, while Jon Parkin and Craig Fagan were there to be beastly and balletic up front.

It didn't work. So the manager bit the bullet and tried again. Just look at his choice of substitutions.

It wasn't so much that Stuart Elliott and Darryl Duffy came on; having gone two down with four minutes short of the hour elapsed, it was inevitable that our two most attack-minded benchwarmers would get the call. It was more the decisions made in who to remove.

The sight of Elliott removing his training gear and flexing his calves immediately led to the natural assumption that Ellison, after a semi-productive 56 minutes of head-down attacking and arms-out defending (heaven only knows who told him to adopt that stance in defence; he looks like a cryogenic version of one of those escaping birds from the Phoenix arcade game) would be the man withdrawn. But instead Mr Taylor withdrew Paynter from the right flank and shifted Ellison across to that square-peg-in-round-hole position on the right which he filled so gamely and, occasionally, humorously in recent times after Jason Price got flogged.

Duffy was put on for Fagan. The newest two of our many strikers were now paired up again, for the first time in a while. Elliott, despite bouts of chronically inept football this season, still is a player for the grand occasion. Duffy scores goals, no matter how well he settles into the geographical surroundings of the club which pays him to do it. Both had points to prove; within 13 minutes, they'd done it.

With the lumbersome Paynter no longer giving wife-thumbed Scouse heavy David Unsworth his easiest afternoon of football of the season, City had a real wide outlet thereon. Ellison, for all his lack of right-sidedness, has pace and a winger's instinct and his run took Unsworth away from Thelwell's progressive charge on the ball, giving the full back a chance and room to cross the ball for once. It avoided every shirted body in the six yard area as both strikers and all defenders anticipated the near post; however Elliott knew better - his clever hangback allowed him to trap Thelwell's ball when all others had been evaded, and time stood still for a moment as he unerringly clattered one past Paddy Kenny to get City's revival on course.

So, 2-1. And though we were back in it, really we'd not seen enough possession or opportunity in front of goal to suggest that little more than a five-minute frenzy of fruitlessness was ahead. Then Duffy broke one on one and fed the magnificent Green inside him as Kenny came in to kill. This he achieved, upending Green with cynicism and intent yet the referee - the same bloke who sent Myhill off at QPR - saw the headlines in the Sheffield Star about robbing a team of its Premiership status and foppishly waved away the penalty appeals. Kenny, in our only advantage gained from the incident, took a whack over his shaved head and was still grimacing as the ball was cleared. He responded to inevitable catcalls about his weight with a gloved signal of the Blades' advantageous scoreline.

Now maybe this put him off a bit, as City regained possession from the hoofed clearance and tried again to thrilling effect. Elliott sprayed a beautiful diagonal ball to Green on the right edge of the area, and the man of the moment instinctively slid one right across the wincing Kenny's no man's land with the defence not having a prayer of helping out. Duffy's impulse from two yards did the rest, and a fantastically loud and passionate travelling contingent went completely ape as the Scotsman fell to his knees and was promptly turned into the bottom row of a black-shirted pile of bodies.

What a turnaround. It was made all the more enjoyable (if that was possible when you were there) by Kenny's horizontal position on the turf for a good few minutes ("Kenny, what's the score?" bellowed the unforgiving masses from the East) as he received treatment for his knock. He'd been shocked considerably, especially as until Mr Taylor's substitutions he'd had little to do in terms of keeping a largely infertile City attack at bay, especially in a first half in which any neutral from Zog or Ulan Bator would have known who the team looking for promotion was.

City were restricted to long-distance snapshots from Andrews (just wide) and Ellison (fingertipped away) while Parkin scuffed one well wide from a decent position via route one. The Blades, a side intriguingly comprising of sheer pace and considerable obesity, were contrastingly dangerous every single time they got the ball.

Danny Webber, a genuinely excellent player who has the subtle touch to go with his rapidity, was utterly dominant of a sluggish City rearguard, and proved again that the one major problem with a Delaney-Cort duo, if we are permitted to be churlish for a sec, is their lead-in-boots approach when they come up against a striker who can really set off on one. Webber skipped and jinked and generally had a whale of a time on each occasion he was given possession, and his team-mates were happy to look for him in deep-lying positions, with the width of Phil Jagielka on the right and the impressively energetic Chris Armstrong on the left forever providing Webber et al with outlets and the City defence with lots to ponder.

Ifill endeared himself to the City following with the funniest miskick we've seen this season (though Ellison would come close with a second half wafter which hit the top tier of our stand) before Myhill made the first of a fine series of stops when he fisted clear a typically bulleted free kick from the dense left boot of Unsworth. Back in the groove, the City gloveman with the plaster on his head earned thunderous applause from those behind him when he got his legs in the way of a goalbound Jagielka shot after Ifill had made room for the centre, and then recovered swiftly to grab the loose ball practically on the line as big-boned striker Neil Shipperley's studs came in to finish the job.

Probing full back Rob Kozluk aimed a header wide from an Unsworth centre, then Thelwell became the latest victim of Webber's sprinting tenacity as the Blades countered with considerable quickness, but the impressive striker's final attempt zoomed well wide.

City's few long-distance opportunities came sporadically during this period of complete Blades assertiveness, but even with 35 minutes gone and a settled air around Bramall Lane, it was only a question of time. This was borne out when Webber again danced into enough space, this time ahead of Dawson, and clipped a ball in to reach Shipperley's measured run across Cort. His touch was directed beyond an unsighted Myhill's right hand and the deadlock was finally busted.

I wish clubs would stop playing Tom Hark after goals. It's all wrong. Stop it.

City regrouped but, in truth, the rest of the half was all about keeping the score down to just one. This nearly didn't happen when Delaney was caught impossibly out of position after a surging but unwise run which saw custody of the ball relinquished and a space ready to be exploited by the swift Blades counter attack. Myhill came to the rescue with a superb tip-over of Webber's snappy 20-yarder.

Half time then, and 1-0 down. It was more than justified in terms of possession, chances and tactics. City had no real individuals on show, which is fine if the team ethic forms part of your success, but City do rely on individual players to play their game as a contribution to the team effort. It's a sum of parts. Cogs and wheels, But too many weren't quite on the ball. The most obvious example of this was Parkin.

Bless the Beast. He's a complete hero already. His arrival has largely saved us. So he was always due a stinker at this level and it finally arrived. His usual endeavour and facility to annoy, distract and pummel any defender whose backside didn't shape up was present, but he met his match. Craig Short took every jolt in the ribs and gave a stronger one back every time. Just about level at the break between the two, but Short lorded it over Parkin afterwards and he had his quietest half of football since joining the Tigers' cause.

There's also a real right flank problem. It was good to see Ryan France on the recovery road by making the bench, even though he ultimately wasn't risked, because the decision to use the paceless Paynter down there was possibly the most redundant use of any footballer by City this season. Paynter has talent and character, but not on the flank. He's a striker, and a specific one at that. Accommodating him since Parkin's arrival has been a real problem and for the most part, harshly but rightly, Taylor has not bothered. The two aren't ever going to be a partnership up front due to similarity (and immobility) reasons, so the belief that swapping Paynter with Fagan through yesterday's formation was not the answer either. Unless work is done on Paynter's actual ballwork and visionary potential, he probably shouldn't play much when a fit Parkin is about. France's return is a good sign, and Green has done a sturdy job there in recent times, but one hopes that a proper right-sided midfielder with a creative spark and a defensive bent is at the helm of Mr Taylor's shopping plans for the summer months.

After a thoroughly entertaining kids' five-a-side game at the interval, the teams re-emerged to the theme of Star Wars (it's better than Tom Hark, even though we don't get the actual relevance) and we were away again. City, as always when they're behind at the restart, got going quicker with some crisp passing and intelligent running, especially from the completely rehabilitated Green. He's had every label and insult chucked at him via terraces and webpages this season - the politest one here was "the biggest enigma of them all", I think - but now it's hard to imagine the team without him. Positive, impish, fit, quick, calm, confident - he has everything back in his being that was missing during those feetfinding months when it was agony to watch and must have been more agonising to play alongside. The nadir was the offer accepted by City from Franchise FC, and Green did his reputation and his football the world of good by saying no.

So, naturally, after an early period on top, we conceded again. This will prompt extra defensive work on the training ground because it was rottenly done by the Tigers, all told. Harrowing to observe. The Blades set Webber free down the left and he had all the time he wanted to switch to his right foot, light a cigar, redecorate a room and then put a sweet one on to the onrushing Ifill's glancing head, with City also wholly unaware of the burly midfielder's run. There should have been someone closing Webber down. There should have been someone else checking Ifill's dart, obstructing him if necessary. There was neither. Myhill didn't have a prayer.

So, we get to where we came in. Two down, opponents coasting, and City relying on players who were either off-colour or impossibly out of their depth. Fagan, who looked tasty in the first ten minutes, turned in a disinterested display and it was only a surprise to see his withdrawal because of the pace issue. Certainly his success on the park didn't warrant further participation. So, we got Duffy and Elliott on, Fagan and Paynter off, and Ellison swapping flanks. We got on Blade backs. We scored. We claimed a penalty which never came. We scored again. We went berserk. It was now everything we'd hoped for. It was knocking on the door for game of the season. It was certainly comeback of the season. Two nil down at the home of a team coasting, apparently, towards the Premiership, only to claw it back to two each? Give them the award now. It's over. Get the band on.

Of course, with 20 minutes still to play after Duffy's equaliser, there was little doubt that the home side would still probably win it if we didn't then go for the battering job for five minutes thereon. We had no more to lose - it wasn't a six pointer. We're not Crewe, nor are we Preston, so issues of status weren't relevant. Safety and consolidation achieved, now it was time to start hurting a few folk and showing them we have learned a lot and can be boss.

Green began to dictate the play, and Ellison's endeavour down the right was flawless again, even though he really can't defend and sometimes overhits. His occasional explosive tendency makes him a potential matchwinner in situations like this, however, and this was easily observed in the last ten minutes at Bramall Lane. With Parkin shut out, Green and Andrews began feeding the flanks more, and Ellison got plenty of ball and ample help behind him from Thelwell. Elliott and Dawson were similarly deployed at the other side. Meanwhile, the fans gleefully contented themselves with continuing to ask Kenny the score.

With five minutes left, the Blades took a raucous howl of complaint from their three stands and stepped up again. It was hard on a purely visual basis to tell from behind a goal whether we sat back and beckoned them, but as we're Hull City it's more likely than not. Webber kept dashing about and Cort - on the end of his first real hammering of the season - was given further strife when Neil Warnock made his only substitution when he threw on the meatheaded Steve Kabba for Ifill.

Nails disappeared into the clutches of molars at one end as the Blades began to bombard Myhill's goal. Knowing that a draw would give hope to the teams below them in the quest for the Premiership, they got the kitchen sink into position. Unsworth - lest we forget, a former England international - rattled one against the outside of our post and we seemed safe as the board went up for the added minutage.

Five. Yes, five. Urggh.

No surprise and no cause for complaint, as Kenny had spent forever in a reclined position as a consequence of tripping Green for the penalty which the ref was too scared to give. Exacerbation of his cranial knock came when he dived in a futile manner at Duffy's feet at equalising time, so the five minutes were probably right. But it gets a crowd boosted. It gets a home team boosted. So Kenny's injury maybe, indirectly, helped his side to victory.

Grabbing at straws? Yeah, okay. But it was a tragic, heartbreaking end.

Myhill saved wonderfully with his legs from Kabba's shot and a corner was forced. Swung in, Kabba got a head on it, blocked on the line, Unsworth followed up to score. The simplest and least pretty of all the goals on show, but it's doubtful whether the Blades have scored a more crucial one. The keyed-up Kenny chose to gesture the scoreline back at the supporters who'd relentlessly teased him, and one idiot took exception and tried to have a pop on the pitch. The stewards saw to him. The rest of us just tried to piece our hearts back together.

We still forced a corner from the restart but it came to nothing and the final whistle produced an almight roar from three ends and some thunderous applause of appreciation from the fourth end, ours. What a long way we've come.

Defeat, but no disgrace. This was a good, seasoned and well-constructed team we were facing, and although we got fortunate in putting our chances away when we did, we had a match for them. I can't wait for next season because it's clear that all the lessons which needed learning from August through to the New Year have been taken on board, dissolved into the mindset and on an even playing field, in a new campaign, we have so much we can achieve as a result.

The positives individually were plentiful; Green was exceptional, Dawson made a good, industrious return (although Rogers will probably be recalled when the medicine does its job) and the impact of the two subs was as devastating and as inspired as it could ever be when you're two down. Mr Taylor probably won't take the credit, but he should. Ellison worked as hard as ever, even though he was luckless with his final ball; Thelwell loooked far better in the second half when Paynter had been removed from his eyeline; and the fluctuating Andrews was steady and vocal and showed proper leadership - this was evident in the first half especially as he briskly organised the defence for the many Blades set-pieces. And Myhill, despite conceding thrice, was colossal, often enriching. Player of the Season? Maybe, especially as the defensive duo who offer real competition for the prize didn't do themselves any favours.

This was Cort and Delaney's toughest game as a partnership and they'll learn much about positioning and timing from it. Both simply came up against strikers who have to be on fire week on week because, among more sensible reasons, they're playing for a boss with a known fetish for centre forwards. Elsewhere, Paynter showed once and for all that sticking him on the right wing is a bad idea, while Fagan sullied a bright opening with a largely lifeless display, and Parkin met his first match of the Championship.

An extraordinary game, an atmosphere of quite stunning fanfare-esque loudness and a dramatic, if sad, ending. We can console ourselves with the knowledge that we have a team with guts, and that this fine derby game, a staple fixture of the last generation of City at this level, will soon be back on the fixture list, as this Sheffield United side is not going to survive the Premiership in a million years. (MR)