Some people don’t like “ugly wins”. After all, football is the beautiful game, capable of producing sublime moments and breathtaking instances of skill and artistry unmatched in any another sport. One doesn’t watch a televised match hoping one team will grind out a gritty one-nil victory; one views in the hope of witnessing a fiesta of attacking play and half a dozen goals of outrageously improbable quality. Anyone of a neutral persuasion who turned up at Home Park for City’s 1-0 victory over Plymouth thanks to a two-yard tap in will not have been entirely satisfied with their £20+ investment.

Sod them. For those of a Tigery persuasion, this was a stodgy game whose outcome was wildly celebrated. Ugly wins? Rack ’em up, City. 

The Tigers’ previous away game was also a trek down to Plymouth, which saw a much weakened City side lose 3-2. Already, four members of the side that played that game have been moved on – David Livermore, St Stuart, Sam Collins and Damien Delaney all departing The Circle. Indeed, only two players in the Cup XI started yesterday’s game at Home Park, Phil Brown electing line up with: Myhill, Ricketts, TurnerBrown, Pedersen; Garcia, Ashbee (c), Walton; Windass, Campbell. This meant two changes from the eleven that laboured to a midweek win against Coventry, Marney and Dawson making way after Ashbee recovered from ’flu and Dawson was unavailable through injury.

Plymouth made one change from their Tuesday night draw at Ipswich, Summerfield replacing Folly as they lined up in a 4-4-2 formation mirroring that of City, the experienced Lilian Nalis skippering the side and serial cheat of yesteryear Steve MacLean lining up in attack.

The splendidly scenic journey across Dartmoor had treated us to a light accumulation of snow, settled during flurries the previous day, although none was evident in Plymouth and the game was played in cold, blustery but unthreatening conditions. City began attacking away from the away support, numerically small but earnest in support, and quickly drew the first caution of the afternoon from referee Paul Armstrong Krisztian Timar was booked for an ugly lunge on Richard Garcia.

Mr Armstrong was then involved in an episode that highlighted precisely why music after goals is a sinful and fuckwitted practice, when Plymouth forced the ball into City’s goal from a corner. Happily the referee had already blown for a free-kick for shirt-pulling before contact was made with the ball, but the divvy responsible for massacring footballing tradition in this part of the country failed to acknowledge the official’s intervention, and as City prepared to take their free-kick poor quality music continued to blare out.

The City fans laughed long and hard at this outbreak of towering stupidity, gleefully enquiring “where’s your music gone”? Not that the comedy was restricted to a halfwit with a clumsy digit hovering permanently over a Play button – a particularly well-padded fellow in the stand to our left had attracted our collective attention, and he was invited to unveil his manbreasts – he obliged, and was rewarded with loud chortles. Sadly he departed during the second half. Perhaps McDonalds had a happy hour on.

Back to the football, which in truth wasn’t that great. Plymouth looked very much like a side in poor form who’d just sold their decent players, while City appeared a little short on creativity – Ashbee and Walton were working hard in midfield, but whatever qualities they possess, the ability to carve open the opposition is not one.

No matter though, because in Richard Garcia we have a real talent on the right wing, and he nearly assisted in opening the scoring – a burst down the right left his marker trailing once again and he cross perfectly found Fraizer Campbell, who was unable to connect properly and his shot trickled into the grateful arms of Luke McCormick.

This saw the beginning of our first real pressure of the afternoon, and Campbell had a chance soon after to score his seventh goal for City after being slipped in by Deano, but he could only toe-poke the ball wide.

At the other end, Plymouth’s main threat came from Halmosi’s corners on the Plymouth right, the left-footed delivery providing City with some seriously difficulties and Myhill, the victim of unpunished obstruction at several of these, looked a little hesitant in dealing with these, although ultimately the danger was repelled from them all. They had the effect of encouraging the home side to be a little more adventurous though, MacLean and Summerfield both directing efforts off target in the following minutes.

City survived this mini-onslaught to regain the ascendancy, and just as half-time approached we finally took the lead. Campbell supplied Ricketts with the ball in an advanced position on right, he strode forward and fed in a low hard cross that struck Deano and trickled over the line.

I think. From our distant vantage point it was impossible to discern with any certainty how the ball went in – indeed, until Deano spun away with his alarm aloft in that time-honoured strikers’ gesture of triumph, we were not entirely sure it’d gone in and didn’t want to look as retarded as the PA dweeb in prematurely claiming a goal. The City players’ reactions supplied us with the longed-for confirmation, and we leapt about with that delicious type of delirium particular to celebrations many miles from home.

Seconds later Mr Armstrong blew for half-time, we applauded rapturously and headed for the beer queues as the home players slunk off – our amber troops strode off with chests puffed out. Telling.

Plymouth emerged after the interval with the air of a side that’s just been given a severe bollocking and knows it should at least pretend to believe they can salvage the situation – but it was very unconvincing. Fifteen minutes passed with the serene lack of action last seen in a House of Lords debate about acceptable pen lid dimensions on a slow Friday afternoon in high summer, City needing only to retain their shape and discipline to foil Plymouth’s weak endeavours and succeeding emphatically in doing so.

Walton had a chance to score his first for City when McCormick generously dropped the ball to him, but he was off-balance and the shot went narrowly wide. Paul Sturrock, cutting a curiously deflated figure on the sidelines, had made two changes with the half just eleven minutes old (Fallon and Summerfield off, Easter and Abdou on) but it had failed to materially alter the pattern of the game. It was scrappy and lacking fluency, ideal for the side leading on the road, exasperating for a team trailing at home.

Not that there weren’t outbreaks of prettiness amid the general drudgery. Sadly for the Plymouth fans they were mostly fashioned by City, some of whom had now taken to venting their frustrations among the latter-day SS officers who masquerade as stewards - one of whom, interestingly, was observed drinking at 1130am, which one supposes is not an action sanctioned by his employers. Campbell had another chance to score when he wriggled free on the left, but a superb covering challenge by a home defender rescued the situation.

Walton was booked for an agricultural challenge, Deano was withdrawn to the customary tumultuous ovation to be replaced by Folan, and Garcia was the next to come close to scoring, a great pass by Campbell finding him in space on the edge of the area but he blazed this wonderful opportunity over. The disconsolate Sturrock introduced Jutkiewicz for Clark, but he must have sensed this was not to be his day, the home side having failed so far to create a single presentable chance in the second half.

With eight minutes left Barmby replaced Cambpell, and Folan was the next to have a go at sealing the points, but he dithered in possession instead of shooting and was dispossessed by Timar.

Richard Garcia was withdrawn with injury time approaching and Ryan France invited to add some fresh legs on the right flank that had seen so much success for City, and Plymouth finally tested Boaz Myhill with a stinging shot Abdou. A bored bystander for much of the game, his concentration levels hadn’t dropped and he tipped the ball around the post.

Three minutes of injury time passed uneventfully before Mr Armstrong concluded the game, and the City players came over to beam cheerfully as delighted applause was showered upon them.

An unforgettable game, but a priceless win. It’s becoming something of a cliché now, but this was the sort of game we weren’t winning a year ago, likewise Coventry on Tuesday. Won them we have, and we sit six points better off for our week’s efforts.

We deserved it, too. Most of the adventure came from City, the only goal was ours, and even when things were growing scrappy the players kept solidly to their jobs and worked hard for the win. As supporters undertaking a return journey in excess of 700 miles, you can’t really ask for much more than that.

Look at where we are now! City sit eighth in the Championship, a single point behind Ipswich in sixth. Better still, we have a game in hand on every team around us, which is an extremely winnable against Colchester, who are beginning to acquire the unmistakeable stench of death at the foot of the table. Assuming that match had already been played and three points had been collected, we’d be fifth. Hell, we’d only be five points from second.

And suddenly, talk of the play-offs is looking less and less fanciful. Most sides in the top half that aren’t called West Brom are approximately equal in terms of quality. Whether that aggregate quality is more or less than in recent years (though majority opinion tends towards the latter) is irrelevant. Four of those teams have to make the play-offs.

Could we sneak under the radar and claim a chance to make the top flight for the first time in our history? Who knows. Defeat at the Circle next weekend by the Rest Home for City Rejects alternatively known as Blackpool FC, would inject a massive dose of reality into dreams we are only just beginning to dare to articulate. But if we win again...