You've got to hand it to Phil Parkinson - the man has principles and wishes to stick to them, rightly ignoring what a bunch of pompous supporters who know best think.

He wants to play Danny Mills at centre back. He believes in Michael Turner as his top defender. He thinks Craig Fagan can work as a winger. He wants to have a strong, crowded midfield. He wants to accommodate Dean Marney. He wants to use Jon Parkin as a lone battering ram.

Last night he did - and City responded with a performance which, in terms of pure, unsullied guts, was better than any away win we had under Peter Taylor last season.

The scoreline, the circumstances and the facilities reminded me quite a lot of that superb win at Luton under our old gaffer. The difference here was that we came twice from behind to win it; we were down to ten men before we grabbed the lead; and we were in much deeper trouble than at any point under the soon-to-be-ex Palace manager last year.

Mr Parkinson selected another 4-5-1 which didn't look wholly appetising to the wandering City devotee, especially as it was revealed on local radio early enough for some fans to reconsider making the three-hour trip. I suspect they're now glad they decided to travel. I suspect they're now mortified they decided not to travel. Delete as appropriate, dear reader...

The teamsheet was marked thus: Myhill; Ricketts, Mills, Turner, Dawson; Fagan, Marney, Ashbee, Delaney, Elliott; Parkin. Four attackers on the bench too, thanks to the extra defender coming via Delaney's presence and a painless formation change. Elliott's restoration to the role he should never, ever, ever have been forced to relinquish against Sunderland was a relief. Marney's less so, but absolutely necessary within Mr Parkinson's grand plan thanks to the injury to Welsh.

City, dressed in the almost forgotten blue kit for the first time since Wolves in August last year, started brightly, attacking the rusting but very homely - and very full, predominantly of southern Tigers - away end which was just explosively loud for the whole 90 minutes. Parkin won a high ball in what looked a fair manner but the ref - a very good one, actually - opted for a handball as Delaney was about to pull the trigger.

City then won a free kick from reasonable enough distance to send the big men - well, Turner - forward. Mills clipped it in and Turner cleanly won the header and sent it spiralling, but Southend keeper Darryl Flahavan did well to punch clear as he risked a full-scale Beasting.

Parkin was in one of his brighter moods. Undoubtedly aware of the criticism he's had this season for holding back on his Beastly ways, at Roots Hall he had presence, ferocity, touch, grit and utter selflessness. His display reminded me of his one-man crusade in that otherwise woeful surrender at Leicester last season, not least when he chested down a cannoned Myhill upfield punt with the delicacy of a moth and issued a difficult snapshot towards Flahavan's net which the keeper kept a slippy grip on.

As for Marney, this was his best half of football in a City shirt. This isn't suggesting there's anything notable to compare it to - the only time I've previously been impressed with him was his second half sub appearance at Leicester - but there was a sense of belonging about him, enjoying the freedom he was obviously instructed by his manager to exploit, knowing that Delaney and Ashbee would be reassuring portcullis figures behind him.

Marney sprayed balls left and right with accuracy and timing, and even though there was still the odd error - which got backs up among the Tiger Nation - these were exceptions rather than rules, and the ultimate outcome meant they could be regarded as comic rather than horrific.

Marney got hold of a bouncing ball 25 yards out and made clever room for a shot, but the sting was removed by a deflection which looked agonising for the defender in question but made Flahavan's job more of a breeze. He then broke from a melee to send Fagan scampering well clear down the flank, but his low centre didn't quite make it Elliottwards as a late, late set of Shrimper studs scraped in to concede a corner. Marney took it and Turner won a header which dropped a matter of inches wide. Then Fagan broke again, defensivie poseur Efetobore Sodje - with his usual colour co-ordinated bandana and morose disposition - tried to claim a foul as City's faux-winger skipped past, but only conceded a corner, and was barracked over cheating claims by the Tiger Nation for the rest of the game.

All good stuff. Then Southend scored.

Why they managed to score I've no idea. Although a quick team, they clearly weren't good; they showed little inclination - or, indeed, ability - to create a chance, preferring to sponge up everything City had chucked at them. They reminded me of us against Sunderland - choosing to play at home for a meagre point, an unforgivable attitude, especially when ensconsed at the bottom. But, from nowhere, Mark Gower got the better of Sam Ricketts in a wide position and crossed low for Matt Harrold to bundle the ball through Myhill's flailing gloves and into the net. It was a very soft goal. It was very undeserved. It was loudly celebrated - largely from a home contingent with no interest whatsoever in Southend United, but with an interest in picking up a voucher for when a Manchester United team full of Stockport County's future stars turn up in the Carling Cup.

Southend United play Hey Baby by DJ Otzi when they score a goal. The man at the mixing desk yanks down the fader to allow the supporters to chant the scorer's name over the 'hey baby' bit.

Now, I didn't despise Southend before. But for that, and that alone, I despise them greatly. It was grotesque. It should be illegal.

City were on top and behind. It wasn't was going right for us, again. Yet something stirred in the blue-shirted Tigers. They wanted the ball back and kept their cool, maintaining the plan of exploting Southend for Fagan's pace and Parkin's obvious power. They knew it was a shaky defence dealing with us and in no time, we were level.

Fagan, another player resolutely backed by Parkinson, was having the half of his life. He still isn't a winger, but clearly there is an outlet to be exploited there if he feels like playing football (which he regularly doesn't) and the opposition full back is a bit girly against him (which Southend's was). At Roots Hall, with the City crowd baying and egging him on, he found the formula. Marney put him through to the byline with the full back seeing stars, and Fagan gently and meticulously clipped the ball backwards for Parkin to steer home.

In the bedlam which followed this quick, precious and thoroughly merited equaliser, Amber Nectar emperor Andy lost his watch. An old fellow next to me - the kind who winced every time an expletive was uttered in song - lost his hat. And I lost my balance as Amber Nectar's own human petrol dispenser Cropper decided to crowd surf over my head. I apologise to the lady in her early twenties who unwittingly broke my fall with the aid of her neck and breasts. But only a bit.

City could have had a penalty immediately afterwards, as a Southend palm seemed to connect significantly with another through ball from Marney. It wasn't given and the complaints weren't vociferous. The ref smiled at us as he shook his head. I'll find his name in a minute, as I think he deserves identification - he was a fine referee.

Ashbee had space to cross from a wide position towards Elliott, who won one of many fatigue-free down ward headers for Delaney to zip a left footer through to Flahavan. City were easily in the ascendancy on possession, chances and actual ideas. As the whistle went, however, we weren't ahead on the stat that mattered, but the game was ready to be won and we were truly superb. Raucous applause followed the team back into the tunnel as a bunch of dubiously-aged cheerleaders came on to strut in the mud. Andy found his watch. The kiosk did a brisk trade in curry pies. Onwards!

The opening spell of the second half was a lifeless affair, as if City had desperately wanted to carry on playing so as to not lose momentum. This was awfully exposed when Southend re-established their lead.

It was the only time the City defence looked frail or incapable, but nonetheless the way Sodje - yes, Sodje - was able to run from deep with the ball, not find anyone willing to remove it forcibly from his ankles, and slip a pass through the eye of a needle - and a gap the size of Skidby - into the path of auburn-haired clothes peg fetishist Freddy Eastwood was criminal, and a worrying indication of City's dark defensive misdemeanours all over again. Eastwood scored, comfortably. He's a proper finisher. I'd like him to play for us, please.

So, City had allowed a gap to open, therefore beginning a new defensive headache just as the old one - proper ballwinning in the air - seemed to be curing itself. But let us not dwell on that. After all, thanks to a free kick, we were level again within five minutes.

Elliott, in a carbon copy of Luton again, ran on to a blindside touch to his left and slapped the ball through the wall and in. The joy of seeing the Ulster missionary's cartwheel once again is something to which mere words cannot do justice.

So, it was all going right once more. And still we were the better team. But within a minute of Elliott throwing the lifebelt, Ashbee was given a straight red card for putting his studs heavily into Harrold's back. Although the skipper cleared the ball first, the follow through was abundant and calculated and absolutely nobody - players and fans of a City persuasion included - could complain when Mr Joslin - for 'twas he, our good ref - dismissed him. And indeed, nobody did complain. Ashbee looked a bit irritated with himself as he sauntered away, handing Delaney the armband as he went. And now we really did wonder whether we could merely hold out for a point.

Yet the dismissal of Ashbee was the vindication, ultimately, of Mr Parkinson. We'd lost our captain and leader, but we still were left with two banks of four. Delaney and Parkin would have to work harder, and Marney would see less of the ball - indeed, Ashbee's red card rendered Marney anonymous for the rest of the game through no fault of his own - but City still had the basis to defend in numbers. There was now no hope of a sub coming on to atone for Ashbee's indiscretion - they were all attackers, only deployable if Parkin were out on his feet - and so City prepared themselves for a proper fight, with the faithful behind them all the way, loud and proud.

It wasn't much of a fight. Southend gave up, more so when the ten men heroically grabbed the lead for the first time, fewer than ten minutes after seeing their numbers weakened. And this one was all about Fagan.

Andy Dawson's cross was deflected across the edge of the area to the square peg winger, who'd cut inside to join the target practice for Dawson's ball. He turned superbly on the freely bouncing ball, fed the overlapping Ricketts who was filling the gap he'd left behind, and raced to the near post to meet the return ball and place it past Flahavan.

The reaction at the other end, where the Tiger Nation were cooped, was dynamite. Immediately after the restart, a chant of "we're just too good for you" transmogrified naturally into "we're not as shit as you", and then the welcome return of "E I E I E I O, up the Football League we go" a song we've rarely had cause to hear this season. Finally, the Great Escape theme began, and continued, and continued, and continued.

The home side sent two attacking subs on, and yet even though there were still 25 minutes left for them to exploit their advantage in personnel, they were patently incapable of doing so. Myhill dealt with the odd hopeful dig which came in his direction in an almost relaxed fashion. They looked dead in the water.

They weren't without chances entirely, mind. Myhill fisted out a vicious Gary Hooper shot on to Harrold's head, but he diverted it wide, and Eastwood fizzed one from a narrow angle which the keeper dealt with in some style. Four minutes were added on, and the whole four minutes were spent with City defending corner after corner. Indeed, City defended their lead overall like the heroes they had such a chance to become - and this is where Turner, the man of the match among the Amber Nectar quintet who headed home in joyous mood afterwards, came to the fore. In Ashbee's absence, he took heart from Mills' applause of encouragement next to him and became an organiser and leader at all the set-pieces, won countless headers and got in the way of everything. It was as if Parkinson had said that his long-time faith in him was slipping, and now was the time to show the division who he really was. Remember Sam Collins at Leicester? This was like that. Absolutely superb.

The Great Escape melodies continued to be harmonised by an especially tuneful and smiley Tiger Nation as we awaited the whistle. When it came? Oh, the relief, the cheers, the emotion. It took your breath away. Seriously. The players felt it - Fagan, Myhill, Marney, Dawson all did elongated clench fist salutes at our end as the team came over to issue its thanks to what was, dare I say it, a travelling support which was unquestioning in its faith in this team and this performance. The players responded, all of them. And when Mr Parkinson came over, his name was yelled to the point where the folk of Basildon and Chelmsford might have had to turn their TVs up. It took ages to get out of Roots Hall - not just because there was only one side exit and staircase, but also because nobody actually wanted to go.

So, we're off the bottom of the table, and managed it by coming from behind twice to win, going down to ten men, feeling the enormous pressure on everyone's shoulders after the non-displays of Sunderland and Burnley, and not using any substitutes. The visit to Southampton on Saturday poses a problem, as Ashbee and Mills are both banned and, with Livermore, Welsh, Collins and Coles all still crocked, we do not, at this stage, have enough players who can naturally fill those vacancies. This is where Mr Parkinson's coaching ideals and creativity will really come to the fore but, just for a little while at least, the belief in him to do the right thing by the Tigers is back. Brilliant. (MR)