I hate it when City concede a goal. Really, really hate it. The horrible moment when you can see the ball’s gone in, the awful realisation that the referee isn’t going to concoct a reason to disallow it, the cheering and joy of the other lot, the silent dismay of those around you – it’s really, truly vile.

 

I don’t know why I get so upset about it: it clearly doesn’t bother the players. Six days after rescuing a point at home to Manchester City, the Tigers recovered to equalise twice at Portsmouth, and bag another point to add to our healthy tally.

 

Phil Brown stuck with the same XI that was held by the world’s richest club last week, with the only change to the squad being the return of Dean Windass in place of the injured Caleb Folan, the Tigers lining up: Myhill; McShane, Turner, Zayatte, Dawson; Boateng, Ashbee (c), Marney; Geovanni, King, Cousin.

 

For Portsmouth, their new manager Tony Adams were without Jermaine Defoe, injured in England’s stirring midweek victory over Germany. The home side’s other England representatives, David James and Peter Crouch, also played, with Glenn Johnson also in the side.

 

Ian Ashbee called the toss and switched the sides around, with City kicking towards to the end that housed the away support in the first half. And we were almost behind immediately when a superb cross from the right by Johnson was met by Papa Bouba Diop – his header flew past Myhill’s outstretched paw and struck the bar; from the far end it looked in, but the watching linesman was unmoved and play continued.

 

An almighty let-off, but the direction of play was worryingly one-sided, with Peter Crouch a gangly nuisance and Portsmouth zestful play on the wings causing real trouble to City’s labouring 4-3-3 formation. Utaka had the next chance for the home side, but he headed wastefully over.

 

A goal was coming though, and it duly arrived after twenty minutes when Younes Kaboul fastened onto a shot that’d deflected towards the goal-line, and when he whipped in a speedy cross Crouch rose above the City defence without apparently leaving the floor to thud a header past Myhill.

 

A blow, but a deserved lead by Portsmouth. And as we have touched upon, it mattered not a jot to the Tigers. Indeed, it galvanised the side, and an equaliser should have arrived almost immediately when Cousin slid a ball to King in plenty of space twenty yards from goal – he had space to steady himself and shoot, but he hesitated and allowed a covering defender to insert a steely block on the ball.

 

Back came Portsmouth, and Diop flayed an effort dismally wide from inside the goal area with a two-goal lead his for the taking – and while City had rallied somewhat since falling behind, one suspects a heftier deficit may have proven insurmountable.

 

Moments before the break, with the game scrappy but even, Geovanni nearly added another entry to his own domination of the goal of the season competition when he smote a venomous thirty-five yarder at David James’ goal – the England keeper barely had time to react to the shot when it crashed into the corner of the goal-frame and bounced to safety.

 

That was it for the first half, and while the home side were good value for the lead, we reflected that a point was ours for the taking as we poured down the suffocating exits for the stadium.

 

Ah, Fratton Park. Many had anticipated this fixture more than most. In Portsmouth, we fancy that we see a little of ourselves – a proud, independent city with watery heritage, one of places routinely overlooked by effete media sorts. And so the city itself proved; sadly, its football was a disappointment.

 

The fabled Portsmouth atmosphere was wholly lacking, save for an insipid outbreak of noise shortly after each goal. Indeed, the club had erected for the biggest pair of morons a special area to the left of us which appeared to be the “band stand”, where the tedious self-publicist with the idiotic hat and bell rattled his tuneless instrument. He was totally ignored by everyone, and did nothing more than brainlessly interrupt the quietude of the home stands; beside him was a halfwit with a drum. A drum. Fuck’s sake.

 

More black marks to Portsmouth’s handling of away fans, too. Standing is not a crime. No statistical evidence exists that it is unsafe.  Football is exciting, and people like to stand when they’re making a noise. Treating away fans like hooligans is an unacceptable way to treat people who’ve paid £35 for entry, who expect a little more than tossers on a fluorescent-jacketed power trip exerting their “authority” and engage in a public sulk about having recently failed their traffic warden exams.

 

On with the football, methinks. It was a quiet, level opening to the second, with City looking more composed in possession and Portsmouth’s earlier dominance having being neutralised by Phil Brown once again implementing his favoured tactic of pulling Geovanni to the wide-left position in order to broaden the midfield. The home side neutralised, the Tigers began to creept forward, and with the half ten minutes old we equalised.

 

It was a goal that’ll knaw away at Tony Adams, too. A corner was won on the City left, swung in by Marney, flicked on by Zayatte at the near post and steered home by Turner stealing in at the far post. Breathtakingly simple; total Tiger mayhem erupted in the away end.

 

City nearly took the lead a minute later when Marlon King teed up a shooting chance for Dean Marney twenty yards from goal – his show was low and well struck, but David James isn’t the England keeper without reason and his diving save was superbly executed. It was engaging stuff now, the match a more open affair than the stolid first forty-five, with City slightly on top.

 

So, naturally, we conceded. But in some style – this column likes to think it reasonably fair minded towards those not fortunate enough to support the Tigers, so we tip our cap in the direction of Glenn Johnson. It was he who put the home side back in the lead with a stunning goal, bringing the ball under immediate control after a corner was partially cleared, then immediately volleying the ball over the helpless Myhill into the top corner. With his weaker left foot. A real “fuck”/“wow” moment.

 

It left the remainder of the game tantalisingly poised – City charging forward in pursuit of a second leveller, Portsmouth looking slightly edgy in the lead, unsure whether to stick or twist. Phil Brown made a double substitution, bringing off the unusually ineffective King for Dean Windass (we should note that a brief, manly handshake was exchanged by the pair), and Peter Halmosi for Boateng.

 

It was a frantic end to the game, with Geovanni sending two presentable shooting chances awry after Deano’s physical presence unnerved the Portsmouth defence into coughing up two soft free-kicks; meanwhile, Utaka should have scored with a clear shooting chance after being left unmarked following a dashing Pompey raid, but he blazed well over.

 

With two minutes left, Stelios forced a corner on the City right, and took the kick himself – Turner sent a header skywards, James came but shouldn’t, and in stormed Dean Windass to head home, via a very considerate deflection from Noe Paramot. He wheeled away in delight – the City fans 120 yards away gave the flimsy roof on the away end a stern examination.

 

Referee Attwell added five minutes and both sides lustily tore into each seeking a winner, but these hot-headed attempts ended in scrappy failure, and the game ended 2-2.

 

A fair result – the home side will curse sloppy defending from set pieces and their inability to fashion a two-goal lead. City will cite loose play on the flanks and Geovanni’s uncommonly quiet afternoon, and both sides can be content with a good point from a keenly contested game.