The Championship table looks very promising today, for the first time in ages and ages. City are now within gnashing distance of clambering from the bottom three thanks to a superb victory over free-falling Burnley and some results going our way.

This was a fabulous performance for the KC faithful, making a mockery of City’s struggle and strife through the back end of 2006. Phil Brown unflinchingly wielded his axe after the contemptible display against Leicester and was proved right, right and right again.

Right to put Nicky Barmby and Jon Parkin together up front. The returning Barmby was magnificent, truly superb, nothing short of sensational, beyond recognition from some of his earlier interest-lacking saunters of this season. Parkin, also returning, struggled for the pace after his injury and illness, but was nonetheless the fear-inducing, body-on-the-line talisman which delights the Tiger Nation so.

Right to play Ryan France at right back. I never thought I’d say this after some of the defensive mismanagement of France last season which gave left wingers far and wide the sort of room normally described by James May when he climbs aboard a new Jag. With Sam Ricketts controversially relegated to the bench, France was solid and unfussy in his back four duties, and proved a tireless, willing support act for wing-switching Craig Fagan, who suddenly has become many fans’ be-all and end-all for the season. More on that later.

Right to put Michael Turner back in defence. Okay, with Coles suspended and Collins (boy have we missed that brutish chap) injured for the season, Mr Brown had Hobson’s choice before him, but suddenly I’ve realised that Turner may just have been part of our defensive solution, not the problem. Perhaps the problem really is Coles. With Burnley against him, Turner was brave, authoritative, sometimes immense, but always there. Unlike Coles in recent weeks, Turner didn’t go missing against Burnley’s meatheaded striker Gifton Noel-Williams (or ‘Gifton Noel-Whatsisname’, as one bloke near me called him – somehow forgetting the easiest and commonest part of his name, berk) and such a positive outlook rendered Burnley’s route one option entirely impotent. The pairing of Turner with the flawless (and, as far as I’m concerned now, authentic, 24-carat hall of fame City player worthy of comparison with Jobson and Whittle) Damien Delaney was solidity personified at Leeds, as it was here against Burnley. And Turner has had his quality moments this season; anybody who saw his colossal one-man goal-protecting mission at Southend when they started peppering us from all angles at 3-2 will back that up. Maybe, just maybe, we’ve found our defensive duo for the remainder of this now salvageable campaign.

But enough of this elongated whimsy, you need the team, so here we go: Myhill; France, Turner, Delaney, Dawson; Marney, Ashbee, Livermore; Barmby, Parkin, Fagan. Kind of a 4-3-3, although Fagan switched flanks a lot and essentially went where he liked, with the roar of a hopeful crowd ringing in his ears when Steve Jordan announced his name. Ricketts was on the bench with Forster, Elliott, Duke and hobbledehoy Featherstone.

Burnley don’t especially offend me – I quite like the town, their pre-match attractions are pretty good and they admirably consume a third of the world’s Benedictine there; something which liqueur enthusiasts can mull over to their heart’s content. But I hate their goalkeeper. Jensen is a git. He strikes me as the sort of prissy custodian who doesn’t like getting his kit dirty and he uses every blade of grass to timewaste as much as he can. Yet in three games lately, we’d never scored against him, even though he’s obviously not very good. That had to change, if only for justice reasons.

It took six minutes. City were out of the blocks sharp, and Parkin had already headed a France overlapping cross too high by the time Fagan was set free to scamper through an abundance of semi-bothered Lancastrian boots down the left. Once he’d established that every seat-edge had been severely weighted down, he ignored the obvious lash across goal in the hope someone would get a touch, instead showing coolness and awareness rarely on show from Fagan at full pelt. The gorgeous pull back was gratefully received by Marney, who put away a tidy finish.

I feel I should point out that such a simple finish can still yet establish the high-class credentials of Marney, credentials which are now starting to finally burst from their impenetrable cocoon of the autumn. It was calm, measured and placed. Livermore might have scored had it been him (think of his neat goal from a pull back at Birmingham) but I’m in no doubt that France would have miskicked and Ashbee would have ballooned it into the control box.

City settled and played some genuinely stunning passing football at times. Fagan was often involved, but so was Marney and the renaissance of France in a position which has often been something of a square-peg situation in the past was remarkable to watch. As if buoyed by one full back’s endeavour, Dawson too had more cause to attack than defend, and managed one run inside three Burnley mannequins of some note until the shot which was aching to be hit didn’t materialise at all as Dawson’s right foot has no known purpose in football.

Parkin was putting it about, despite some difficulty at times getting off the ground, which prompted some disgraceful slaggings from my bit of the East Stand. I wonder sometimes what folk expect of the Beast. He is immobile, but it’s kind of a natural, useful immobility, and for all his strength and bluster he is a guy who can trap a ball, pack a shot and give himself room to spray a pass. Yet if he loses an aerial battle he is slaughtered to high heaven by some. These lamebrains should remember that defenders too are capable of challenges based on height ‘n’ mass. And at least Parkin administered a Beasting of sorts to that dolt Jensen, which prompted a comic reaction of pique from the pristine keeper and a few words from the ref. I bet I know who blinked last.

City restored their possessional domination and gained a second goal after 22 minutes when Barmby was sent floorwards by the torso of Harley – whose three ex-clubs are all in the Premiership, while he isn’t – and Fagan stylishly slid a low penalty to Jensen’s left, wrongfooting the keeper completely.

From here, it honestly became about one thing and one thing only – how many City would score. Burnley were making no contribution at the City end whatsoever – Turner and Delaney butted absolutely everything away, challenged or not, and some of Ashbee’s ballwinning activity was worthy of your finest wince –and this aesthetic mauling by the Tigers prompted the perky visiting manager Steve Cotterill to make two substitutions on the half hour, both tactical. And both without effect.

Livermore, whose ability to control a game’s pace is fast becoming one of City’s key attributes, sent a glorious ball Faganwards for our hero with one foot out the door to chase, and his inside thread was immaculate for Barmby, but the touch was too strong and the chance rolled out of play.

Burnley, as if we were meant to be impressed, then force a corner. It proves dangerous as three successive visiting heads manage a bit of tennis in the vicinity of the City box before France does a heroic clearance off the line as Noel-Whatsisname turned the final nod towards our net. Barmby and Parkin then prove they can do this nutting lark too, placing three headers on each other’s bonces to give Dawson some room for a cross. Dawson instead chose to slap a volley from the touchline at goal, which almost caught Jensen napping at the wrong post. Would have been a hell of a goal for Dawson, and would have made Jensen look even more of a dweeb.

France joyously escaped a tackle to set Fagan scampering again, but Duff decided to chop his ankles away and picked up a yellow in precisely the scenario (and patch of grass) which earned Coles his red against Leicester. We were 2-0 up though, so the protests weren’t over-long, and the ref was probably right.

After a corner was cleared, Ashbee and Livermore then began a wonderful spell of injury time keep-ball which also involved Parkin, Barmby and Fagan, and eventually led to Turner, still up after the corner, heading over the bar. Half time, lots to talk about, lots to smile about, especially when the news came through that Leeds were not doing as well as us. At all. Reh!

Burnley brought on their third sub for the second half, but again the insignificance of the decision was immediately apparent. Barring a ten-minute burst at the start of the second half for the Lancastrians, City remained in charge, ruthless in maintenance of possession and always holding on to belief that they could extend their lead to three or four.

The spell of Burnley pressure included a swipe over in space and then a shot saved by Myhill from Noel-Whatsisname. And that was about it. Once City had got over this predictable stint from the visitors, they turned the screw a little tighter. Fagan smacked a cleanly hit shot straight at Jensen after Parkin’s flick set him free. Barmby created so much – not just chances with his passing, but also some unquenchable desire from his team-mates as a consequence of some good old-fashioned harrying, sliding tackles and lip. He was up for this. It was a quite fantastic performance, the type which reminds all the Barmby doubters of the man’s class and the reason he enjoys his fine brand of footballing pedigree.

Burnley forced four straight corners without managing to do anything noteworthy from them, then were handed a chance on a plate when Parkin played Dawson short and winger Elliott interceded, only to ultimately sweep a poor shot a long way wide.

City then created proper chances which should have been in the back of Burnley net with Jensen weeping like a girl. Dawson was sent clear by Ashbee but somehow Parkin’s free, close-range shot from the glorious low cross was smacked straight at the flailing Burnley keeper; then a horrific Burnley backpass gave Fagan his opportunity, but angles were against him and he was crowded out as he tried to find room for the shot. An irked Barmby was then withdrawn as he continued to berate Burnley sub Mahon for getting him booked, before having words with Cotterill too as he grabbed his floorbound tracky top.

Forster was the replacement, and he should have had two by the game’s end. Just after Fagan smacked the upright at the near post with an instant swing at Marney’s handsome cross, Forster was sent clear by Livermore’s inviting pinpoint pass, but the shot was belted right at Jensen. Amid all this frenzied and fiendish mauling by the Tigers, Marney was violently studded by Elliott and was ready to sacrifice his status on the park to have a pop back, until Ashbee rather superbly dived across (literally) to divert the furious ex-Spurs schemer from the target of his fists. He got yellow, as did Elliott. Oh, and our Elliott came on for Parkin, to the delight of the know-nowt numbskulls sitting near me. And someone else near me called the linesman a ‘dimwit’ – adopting the criminally underused Enid Blyton approach to footballing insults.

Fagan was subbed for young Featherstone to grab his debut (a joy to see a new City product in the first team picture at last) and the applause was long and loud for the departing hero. I’m not Fagan’s biggest fan, but I can’t not acknowledge the major impact he has had on the team in the last dozen games or so when he’s felt like it, and we don’t have anyone else who scares defenders for pace quite like he does. On balance, I’d like him to stay. However, I’d like Myhill, who finally made a save in this game late on when he stretched inhumanly to tip a deflected Elliott shot over his bar, to stay far more, and if a 250k offer came in for Fagan, I’d take it and thank him for his hard work. Of course, the lad himself could sign a new contract – assuming one has been offered since the summer. It’s not just about who wants Fagan, it’s about who Fagan wants. Does he want us?

One person who won’t be Fagan’s replacement is Forster. Having already clubbed one terrific one-on-one chance right into the keeper’s chops, he was given another free run at goal right at the end but was caught between shooting for goal and taking Jensen on. He spectacularly failed to achieve either and just looked a bit of an idiot, all told. There’s no doubt Forster is a decent pro and a worker, but he looks like he’s on his last legs as both athlete and striker, and as the most obvious symbol of the Parkinson era, he will surely be shipped out with a few quid in his pocket before long, especially with McPhee now back in for the kill and the rejuvenated Duffy scoring for fun two divisions below.

On the final whistle, the joy at victory and performance was obvious. But there was relief too, especially when it was realised that City’s efforts had double-whammyed their way – we’d won and Leeds had lost. Barnsley’s defeat we already knew about, and the incentive was capitalised upon with devastating effect.

We’re in touching distance of a climb away from the drop now, with winnable games against Palace, QPR and Leeds ahead. January is simply going to be a month of mammoth consequences, whichever way it goes. Meanwhile, snatching at least a point at Hillsborough and enjoying the FA Cup tie with Middlesbrough are the next items on the City agenda for the Great Escape Part Two – unless our pondering chairman decides to add to the Any Other Business section for the 2007 Grand Plan by giving Phil Brown the job he now so clearly deserves. (MR)