Hull City 0 Crystal Palace 1

Tuesday 17th March 1981. We lost 1-0 at home to Colchester. It’s a game I recall whenever I’m asked which was truly the most dismal ghastly Hull City performance I’ve ever witnessed. And given the natural sense of lugubriousness that pervades our city, albeit nowadays in a cultured sense of course, that is a question that doesn’t go long unasked when Tigers fans assemble. We revel in our despair. It’s in our genes. That Colchester game was quite horrible: thoroughly ordinary opposition against which we made scarcely a chance and duly tottered to inexcusably meek capitulation.   Fans of a more recent vintage might choose to go back to December 2002 when, for all the teary-eyed emotion generated by our departure from Boothferry Park, an afternoon of grindingly awful poverty-stricken football was on show. Lost. 1-0. To Darlington. We revel in the gloom. Ornate decoration, pretty promises, gift-wrapped treats – no thank you, that is not the Hull way. The freezing pinched-face wind ripping off the North Sea. That is where we belong, that is what defines us.   Palace at home in November 2013. Add it to the list.   I’m struggling to revel.   This was just dreadful.   Looking nothing remotely like a Premier League side were:  

                           McGregor
Elmohamady  Davies  McShane  Figeuroa
Koren    Huddlestone    Livermore  Boyd   Brady
                          Sagbo

    Or, as ever, something like that. Boyd, Brady and Koren attempted at different times and in different ways to push forward to support Sagbo and to provide the midfielders in behind with extra attacking options. But there was no difference in outcome. All were hopelessly haplessly ineffective as Palace resisted our limp forays with ease. Commendably honest toilers though Danny Gabbidon and Damien Delaney, the Lion of Cork, certainly are, they are no more than competent mid-table Championship centre backs and should have been given a more searching examination than we managed yesterday. Palace, to be clear, looked what they are – bottom of the table and spent of confidence.   I’m struggling to revel.   By far the most entertaining action during the first half involved the circulation of the ‘City Till [sic] We Die’ banner, which was paraded to general acclaim, in part because the football wasn’t worthy of attention but mainly because of a strong and (I think) increasing sense that our owner’s foolish name-changing stunt needs closing down before our club is seriously undermined from within. Well done to those who have given up time and money and directed their passion at preserving our club’s good name. As far as I could tell, the peaceful protest was brought to an end by some violent and grossly disproportionate interventions by stewards down near the corner between East and North Stands.   Football? Well, both McShane and Chamakh acquired complex bandages after an early clash of heads.   O, that’s not strictly football is it? Well ….   There wasn’t any.   Really. None.   Palace defended deep and stuffily, we lacked energy, vigour, invention, wit, and it was just miserable to watch.   Suddenly the team looks tentative and lacking in confidence. Not-so-suddenly we carry no goal threat.   Sagbo’s game has improved thrillingly as the season has progressed, but yesterday he looked forlorn, starved of service but worryingly incapable of coming even remotely close to upsetting the Palace defence with his undoubted physical power. Boyd too has looked a better player lately than we could ever have expected of a man previously unknown to the top flight, but he was half-paced, frail and ineffective yesterday. I hope Brady wasn’t fully fit, because, unless he has that excuse, he seems to be moving in the wrong direction – a player who looked full of ideas and shining self-belief at the beginning of the season but now hesitant and slow to find space. Koren too: off the pace and not a hint of the moments of bewitching skill that turned games as tight as this one our way last season.   Half time. Graham comes on for Brady.   Graham’s first few games revealed plenty of hard running but no goal threat. The second bit remains evident. The first bit, not so much. There seems to be nothing useful about Graham now at all.   The game’s astonishingly poor. On 51 Boyd manages to set up Sagbo but his effort is blocked and Palace break quickly, leading to a shot which McGregor saves to his left. Two sights on goal within a minute. Riches beyond price. It’s deception. The pattern resumes. Poor, poor, poor. Rotten first touches, worse second ones.   McShane off, Rosenoir on. Figueroa to centre back.   Palace, for whom Jedinak, a busy midfielder, performed as impressively as anyone, look briefly interested in netting three points rather than just the one, and on 67 Cameron Jerome, a talent wasted by lack of guts and application, wanders lazily though our inattentive defence before punting a shot over the bar. But when, on 78, Bolasie lunges clumsily at Livermore and is sent off, the assumption round the ground is that the visitors will tuck in, defend and hang on to the single point. There is, sad to report, no sense at all that Palace going down to ten men will invigorate our team. The sour dour tone is set too deep for that. The game deserves to end scoreless.   But the afternoon does have a winning goal in it and ten men Palace probably surprise themselves by getting it. Push down the left, low ball into our box, lack of urgency in our defending and weasel-impersonating Scottish midfielder Barry Bannan forces the ball home before fleeing in search of celebration with the jubilant knot of 500 or so travelling Palace fans.   Gedo is on for Koren. We’ve got lots of possession. We’ve got no imagination.   I’m not revelling in this.   The four added minutes spur glimpses of the attacking force we’ve failed to summon consistently. Livermore heads goalwards but the ball is scrambled away by a whirling combination of defensive arms and legs. Rosenoir – Rosenoir! – thumps a shot against Speroni’s left-hand post. Too little, too late. FAR too little.   On this evidence, and that which I’ve gathered second-hand over the course of the season, I’d expect Palace to go down. On the evidence of Hull City’s performances so far this season, I don’t expect us to go down. If I confine my assessment to our last two fixtures, though, I can only be deeply fearful. It’s an alarming dip.   I might revel in how outstandingly memorably atrocious this match truly was when I look back at it in twenty years time. Maybe even in May next year, after we’ve secured safety in this Division, I might raise a smile about how we have recovered from the depths plumbed at home to Palace on a cold winter’s day. Right now, I don’t revel. That was a horrible game