Another late goal denied City a win we barely deserved in a battle of two mediocre Championship teams who can’t defend to save their lives. Sound fun?
The pre-match atmosphere was dead. The pub – once buzzing with anticipation before matches – barely hummed. The announcement of a game of dominoes or a meat raffle would have taken the excitement up a notch. The walk to the ground was desolate. Inside, it was understandably sombre given this was the game chosen for remembrance but we were 35 minutes into the game before anyone realised the minute’s silence was over.
Tomori – Dawson – Hector – Aina
Stewart – Larsson
Bowen – Henriken – Grosicki
Max Clark bore the brunt of the recent calamities leaving Daws to nurse the three from Chelsea. It didn’t solve the problem. Hector gave away three free kicks in the first quarter, Aina developed a Shaun Smith-like talent for slicing the ball into the West Stand and Tomori’s dreadful header lead to the opening goal. McGregor has brilliantly pushed away a shot from the irritating Joe Garner when David McGoldrick punished Tomori’s gaffe with a low shot from the resulting corner [0-1].
The response took half an hour to come. City being lucky that Ipswich are a limited mob whose interest was in breaking up the game with cheap fouls. We displayed the same flaws we’ve seen all season. We’re wide open at the back, we’re riddled with errors all over the pitch (unforced errors they’d call it in Tennis) and we’ve got the wettest midfield imaginable. For various reasons, this was the first time I’d seen Kevin Stewart since the Nantes friendly. He was unimpressive. Larsson wasn’t a patch on the player who was so brave in a Yellow shirt last week. Henriksen is comfortably among the weakest (physically) players I’ve ever seen in our colours.
Out of nowhere we equalised when Grosicki turned nicely in the box and crossed, slightly deflected, for Bowen to poach at the far post [1-1]. That was Bowen’s ninth league goal of the season. In any other season, a home developed player scoring nine goals in sixteen games would be more lauded. Against the tide of grief this season and with the inevitability of his departure when a bigger club shows interest, it’s being lost somewhat. It shouldn’t be – he’s tremendous.
City improve with the momentum from the goal. Henriksen is tripped on his way to goal and the ref decides it’s a yellow card rather than red. From the free kick the ball is played of the City player standing in front of the wall to create a shooting opportunity for Grosicki (blocked) which I the first sign of a bit of creativity at set piece we’ve seen for ages. Dicko’s touch is heavy when he races into their half after a mistake by Webster. Despite the last few minutes, it was a wretched half.
Half time: Hull City 1 Ipswich Town 1
The start to the second half is as slow as the first and McGregor is called upon again to palm away a shot from Celina. But it quickly turns after good pressure on the right hand side. A ball over the top has them struggling at the back and Dicko and Aina dart in front of them. Dicko take control and slides nicely past Bialkowski [2-1]. It was a composed finish from Dicko who had a decent game doing the hard graft up front and holding up the ball well. Too often he was asked to compete in the air when there was no-one near him even if he won it but he was always willing.
Grosicki should have made it three when he cut in from the left and dragged a shot wide. Dicko shot wide when Henriksen played him in – though Grosicki on the left was the better pass. Ipwich were racking up the yellow cards at this point. Their breaking up the game tactic turned into pettiness at losing. Dirty bastards. Garner got a yellow for a raised arm and almost immediately threw Hector in trying to retrieve the ball. The ref bottled the decision but was probably helped by Hector spending a minute on the floor pretending he’d been hurt by it. Dicko then just fails to pounce on an under-hit back pass and Bowen heads in the wrong direction form an excellent Larsson delivery.
Out of nowhere, they get a penalty. Stewart coughs up possession and then runs into the back of their man while trying to correct his error. Really poor play. Whatever “wor achilles heel” was under Steve Bruce, under Slutsky it’s our ability to be the opposition’ best attacker. The penalty is taken by McGoldrick and is poor but McGregor reads it and pushes it away. Our player of the season is him or Jarrod Bowen by several million miles. I hear a little kid behind me, probably aged 5 or 6, sing “He dives to the left, he dives to the right…” but sadly I couldn’t hear the rest.
All that’s left is for us to see the game out. Slutsky had already taken off Grosicki for Irvine. I found that one puzzling. For his many faults, Grosicki is still one of our best weapons, particularly on the counter. Meyler then replaced Larsson when Stewart was having a mare. We looked pretty comfortable though and Irvine brought some energy to the wide areas and we threatened to break several times. Then Hector conceded the cheapest of free kicks to Garner, they took it while everyone was getting organised and crossed it in. The header looked utterly harmless but took a nick on it’ way through and squirmed in beyond McGregor [2-2].
We should still have won. Diomande replaced Dicko straight after the equaliser and after Bowen had kept Henriksen’s pass alive, Meyler crossed for Dio, unmarked at the far post with half the goal open, to head wide from 5 yards.
Full time: Hull City 2 Ipswich 2
It was another poor result, though it does stop the run of defeats. Everything wouldn’t have been rosy if we’d won. We’ve only beaten poor sides this season and Ipswich were another terrible outfit. They do have some bottle though and got a point they merited on account of us also being rubbish.
I don’t know what the answer is. The manager is constantly under question but I still maintain that he’s shuffling a deck of duff cards. What he’s been left with defensively is a bloody travesty. Elsewhere, another manager might get more out of some talented players but he’d still have a lack of leadership, no balls in midfield and three strikers who are talented but all too similar. Defensively we don’t look like improving. Some of that is the manager’s responsibility. Other things, like a lack of composure, you don’t coach. It will either come or it won’t from playing games. You can carry some inexperienced players and they’ll develop. We’ve got too many. Regardless of age, they’re rusty, they’re learning and they’re everywhere. Mistakes are inevitable. But they’re making key ones every week. Not for the first time this season – I’ll just be happy if we stay up.
|Steve Weatherill reports on another season opener that promised much, but ended in disappointment|
|And how was your Summer of Sport? So many thrilling moments of splendour, etching the memory like diamond on speckled slate. The World Cup – the sight of a million and more jubilant Koreans thronging Seoul’s City Square like a lava flow of molten red or, on the pitch, the resurgent genius of Ronaldo, the breathtaking delicacy of the Borghetti bonce, or the fluidity of that gorgeous Turkish midfield. Cricket – the faultless stroke-making of Marcus Trescothick and, you know, at one stage I do believe I spied a Yorkshire bowler who wasn’t injured. Wimbledon, and the heartache of a nation discovering to general astonishment that Tim Henman would get turfed out of the tournament just as soon as he ran across someone who didn’t treat grass as a giraffe would the polar ice-sheet. The Commonweath Games, and the extraordinary feats of Ian Thorpe, the unstoppable front-running of dainty Paula Radcliffe and those mesmerising tiny shiny yellow skirts favoured by the victorious Australian netball team. And always looming on the misty horizon was the shrill bell that would awaken us from our reverie and send us trudging back to our daily bread.Southend at home was the uninspiring verdict of the fixture list, and now season 2002/03 is under way and … well! how about that!… so far it looks remarkably similar to season 2001/02. Bright and lively at the beginning, brimming with flair and promise, only to deteriorate messily and ultimately to deliver horrid disappointment. City led twice, Southend equalised twice, on the second occasion as the game laboured through the three minutes added on at the end of the ninety for the sole purpose of torturing the anguished home support. Meet the new boss ….
Mr Molby is touted as a devout 4-3-3 man, but the starting line-up looked more nuanced that that from where I was standing:
Glennon Edwards Strong Anderson Smith Ashbee Greaves Green Williams Elliott Dudfield
A diamond formation, if you like: Green played directly behind Dudfield, with Williams and Elliott operating consistently close to the touch-line, while the burly Ashbee and the fit-again Greaves performed the holding job in the centre of the pitch, a role that was our most obvious (but far from only) omission from last season’s tactical thinking. The positive elements to take from yesterday’s game? The attack. Dudfield, Elliott and Green were all excellent and, since we have injured bludgeon Gary Alexander to restore to the side sooner rather later, yesterday’s evidence provided a strong case that we will score a lot of goals this campaign and that we will do so on a rising tide of flowing, attractive football. Young Green, on a season’s loan from Newcastle, is a remarkably intelligent footballer. He passes well and, off the ball, he moves into space with a guileful awareness which far surpasses most of what we’ve had to endure from this Division’s midfield hammer-throwers in recent seasons. File under “let’s hope we don’t drag him down to our level”. Elliott is a splendid accomplice. He is fast, sharp-thinking and confident on the ball. He too looks a cut above the normal drudgery of this Division, and his wing-play should terrorise defences this season. And though you would be entitled to comment wryly that much the same was being breathlessly said of Beresford this time last year, I get the strong impression that Elliott is a much more complete footballer than could ever have been imagined of that departed one-trick pony speed merchant. Of Dudfield we know plenty already, and I am glad to be able to report that yesterday Lawrie revelled in this sparklingly fluent environment by producing the brand of trickily elegant football that in the course of the first half of last season stamped him as our most skilful non-Jamaican player since Garry Parker. The negative elements to take from yesterday’s game? The defence. Smith, Anderson, Strong and Edwards all had disappointing games on an individual level – I list them in order from “most” to “least” in the hierarchy of disappointment – and, furthermore, at no stage did they look convincing as a unit. Southend were allowed far too much room to devise attacking options, even deep inside the final third of the pitch. Smith, in particular, rarely seemed positionally alert and far too many Southend advances were carried unopposed deep down his flank. Strong and Anderson look ugly, as all true central defenders must, but their play is too restrained for my liking. Curdle my blood with your challenges if you please, gentlemen. Well, off we went, on the sunny afternoon that is the prerogative of the first day of any season, and a pleasingly lively opening to the fun was crowned by a very fine Tiger goal, rippling the North Stand net. Dudfield won the ball with a vigorous challenge and promptly released a superbly weighted pass into the box where Scott Green, sprinting forward on a run that was delightfully judged and quite enough to elude Southend’s baffled cover, converted the chance crisply with an accurate shot into the far corner from twelve or so yards out. A crowd of over 10,000, all but 300 of amber and black fidelity, roared, and settled back for more of the same. And there was more. A neat interchange between Dudfield and Williams provided space for the latter to dart clear of the visitors’ lumbering back-line – Cort and Phil Whelan? Built for speed they aren’t. Elliott cleverly pulled another defender away from the danger area with a nippy run off-the-ball, allowing Ryan space for a good shooting chance, but he rolled his shot the wrong side of the near post. Then a defensive mis-header invited Dudfield to shoot, but his low effort was saved by the competent Shrimp netman, Flahavan. The absence of comedy keeper Mel Capleton was one of several issues on which stubborn Southend refused to provide us with maximum entertainment value yesterday. Things got a bit silly for a while. A tackle which nowadays has players and fans howling “Two-footed! Over the ball!” sent a Tiger to the turf, whereupon several of our team surrounded the offender and jostled him. More Southend players scurried up, so did more of City’s, and soon enough most of the players on the pitch were performing the ritual “don’t you shove me like a tart, or I’ll shove you back like a slightly bigger tart”. I mean, I love watching this sort of daft melee, but, honestly, the tackle in question wouldn’t even have been treated as a foul back in the days of Duncan Forbes and Eddie Colquhoun. Nobody was hurt, either from tackle or subsequent pastiche posturing, but the referee, a small man with a moustache (where DO such people acquire their fashion ideas?), was in a blind panic, and simply whipped out his yellow card and brandished it in the face of – as far as I could see – four of their players, seventeen of ours, both linesmen, several St John’s Ambulance men, and the apprentice sweeping up the off-cuts of pig from the floor of Imison’s top-notch butchers over on Boothferry Road. In fact, further pointless yellow cards followed as the half proceeded to do anything but boil over. It was a sorry case of a referee hopelessly out of his depth, and it would have taken a brave man to express the view that we would not be seeing red before the game was complete. No such bravery was forthcoming and, as we would later discover, wisely so. Still, we continued to go forward with enthusiasm as a subdued Southend side looked likely to accept that Hull away on the first day of the season was best written-off as a solid no-pointer. Elliott impressed throughout down the left. He’s not a big lad but has an enviable capacity to bring down high passes from forehead to boot and then unhesitatingly to savage his nearest opponent. Dudfield too was in lively form, and he duly produced a spectacularly brilliant chipped pass into space for Green to race past the hapless visiting rearguard and thump a shot just past the angle of post and crossbar. Dudfield looks a little like Denis Bergkamp; this was a moment of sublime skill of which the transportationally challenged Dutchman would have been proud. Two minutes later Green repaid the favour with a cute pass that Dudfield slipped just wide. And so we hold a 1-0 lead at the break, and we had created pretty much all of the proper chances throughout that first 45. Defensively there had been occasional moments of alarm, the majority of which had arisen down the flank defended unconvincingly by Smith, but Southend had rarely looked capable of taking advantage of any scraps that had come their way. And so the complete alteration in the mood of the match came as a considerable surprise. We trotted out for the second half and never re-captured the confident swagger of what had so encouragingly gone before. Southend began slowly to assert themselves and, visibly puzzled as to just why they were enjoying so much quality possession, nevertheless found themselves playing with the air of a side that has thrust upon it the realisation that, after all, defeat is not inevitable. And so had the balance shifted. Time and time again Rawls, the lean number 11, was able to receive the ball in an advanced position, control it and look for the next man to pass to. Why weren’t our central defenders treating him more aggressively, not to say brutally? Graeme Jones looks like a striker in his final season as a professional but even he was enjoying far too much freedom deep inside our half. Defensively we looked ragged; the deep-lying midfield duo was less prominent than in the first period, with Ashbee, in particular, supplying a hot-and-cold first half/second half display. Southend levelled from a corner which was only half-cleared, nudged feebly to the back of the box. One of theirs controlled the ball, slipped inside and stroked a chip high over Glennon and just underneath the bar. From where I was standing in Kempton, it was a deliberate attempt on goal, not a cross that drifted crazily off course, and a reward for audacious skill. As the thread of the game had drifted out of our hands, it had been surprising to see no subs warming up, but happily that equalising goal acted as a cold shower to our team, and we started to play properly again. Smith knocked a well-judged long ball down the left side to Elliott, who squared to Green; a toe-poked shot flew just over the bar. Then Green surged through the midfield and released a delightful ball into the path of Elliott, advancing towards the edge of the box with a narrow window of freedom from defensive attention. But Southend were rapidly covering the gap so Elliott had only a brief opportunity to craft an attempt on goal. It was quite enough. A confident sidefooted shot slid cleanly over the turf, past Flahavan’s groping left hand and just inside the far post. 2-1. Elliott celebrated a delightful moment of exuberant vision by standing in front of Kempton and pointing up to the heavens. He is, I understand, a committed Christian and this was therefore his method of indicating to us that this was the first City goal that should be credited to the Lord since October 1978. Southend still fancied their chances, and came close when a delicate chip left Glennon rooted glumly to the spot, only for the ball to fall just beyond the crossbar. Our goalkeeper looks as chubby this season as last, and his mobility would surely be improved were he to lose half-a-stone or so. Meanwhile the sleek Dudfield found space up at the other end, and belted a left foot shot just too high. We were worth our lead by virtue of the attacking imagination displayed during the first half in particular, but the margin for error was narrow. Narrower still once Ashbee was sent off. It was another innocuous foul but of the silly type that the referee, now on to his fourteenth biro and fifty-fourth emergency supplementary notebook, had been punishing with yellow all afternoon long, and Ashbee walked. Dudfield teed up a shot for Elliott, which was struck over the bar. Philpott replaced Williams. And we were into the last couple of minutes. And then ninety was up and there were three minutes extra. And you knew what was going to happen. Our ten men crowded behind the ball, allowing Southend to compress the pattern of play exactly where they wanted it, deep inside the territory we were protecting. The entire Tiger team was all-too-readily penned into its own penalty area and when a weak Philpott header fell to Bramble, he had no hesitation about whipping in a fiercely struck shot. It was swerving well wide but cannoned into a limb ten yards from goal and the ricochet sent the ball spinning into the back of our net, with Glennon hopelessly wrong-footed by the deflection. There was, however, nothing lucky about that Southend equaliser. They took the chance presented by our witless decision to cram so many bodies into the area closest to our goal, instead of keeping Tiger players upfield who are, after all, eminently capable of taking and keeping the ball in order to run down the clock. When Bramble shot into that penalty box maelstrom, he knew he was more likely than not to gain a generous deflection. I’m looking forward to enjoying our attacking flair this season, and the speed of its delivery may make us even better value on the counter-punch away from Hull than on our own home pitches. But did I mention that our defence needs sorting out?
|HULL CITY: Glennon, Edwards, Strong, Anderson, Smith, Ashbee, Green, Greaves, Williams, Dudfield, Elliott. Subs: Philpott (for Williams, 89), Price, Musselwhite, Whittle, BradshawGoals: Green 8, Elliott 68Booked: Ashbee, Smith, Strong, WilliamsSent Off: Ashbee SOUTHEND UNITED: Flahavan, Broad, Cort, Whelan, Searle, Clark, Maher, Selley, Jenkins, Rawle, Jones. Subs: Bramble (for Clark, 73), Thurgood (for Broad, 80), Gay, Belgrave, Beard Goals: Jenkins 62, Bramble 90 Booked: Broad, Jones, Maher, Selley, Whelan Sent Off: none ATTENDANCE: 10,449|
If I had pitched today’s events as an aspiring scriptwriter to Hollywood as a thriller full of twists and turns I would have been sent away to make it a bit more believable. This is the way it really happened honest Guv. A week ago it felt like any dreams of promotion were over, the play offs looked nailed on and talk of if we had been offered 3rd at the start of the season we would have bit your hand off. Men of steel have gradually melted into puddles of mercury and nails bitten to the quick. Did anyone really believe we would progress through the lottery of the play offs, Saturday was surely our final chance and we are in our poorest run of form this season. Writing a cheque to book my own seat for the semi-final was the moment I finally succumbed to the collywobbles and believed the end of the world was nigh. Leeds of all teams would hold our destiny in their hands, still sitting comfortably? A FLAG meeting in the morning and talk of themed stands, SMC’s and the future of season tickets just cranked up the tension although Linton Brown running around with coffee and bacon banjos set the surreal scene for the rest of the day. So on to the final game of the season? Early reports are that Koren is not fit and will play no part. Humberside are reporting we are going 4-4-2 with Brady upfront. We arrive to a packed ground and the team is announced: Stockdale Rosenior Faye Chester McShane Elmo Meyler Quinn Boyd Brady Simpson We start brightly Elmo shoots from distance and it’s deflected wide for a corner, Mcshane climbs highest from the corner and we get another corner but a foul ends our first spell of pressure. McShane whips in a cross just too high for the onrushing Simpson, Cardiff then threaten for the first time but Stockdale dives on a dangerous near post cross. Elmo goes on a mazy run puts in a decent cross but Cardiff are defending well. We crank up the pressure with a series of half chances a Quinn shot, Elmo putting in some decent crosses a shot deflected straight in to the keepers hands a great long ball by Meyler is well controlled on the chest by Brady but Cardiff again tackle well and the threat subsides. On 20 minutes Cardiff come close to breaking the deadlock a shot deflected inches from the far post. Stockdale throws out quickly to set up a quick break from Elmo and then neat interplay from Quinn and Boyd and a lay off from Simpson sets up Mcshane marauding down the left, his shot deflected out for yet another corner. Elmo and Rosenior combine with a quick combination of passes, Boyd releases Brady with a ball through and Brady curls a ball over the bar. Meyler bursts through the Cardiff midfield and is brought down, Brady strikes the resulting free kick straight in to the wall. We give away a soft free kick and Cardiff scare the horses for the second time but we are spared as the ball deflects wide again, Stockdale playing better today punches the corner well clear. Another well hit shot from the lively Brady is well pouched by Marshall in the Cardiff goal. Cardiff fans start singing 1-0 to the Watford and desperate attempts to find the score find no conformation. Then they announce 2-0 Watford and nobody seems to be able to find out what is happening. Cardiff whip in a decent cross but the colossus that is Faye heads clear. We finally hear from Watford and the news is good, Leeds have taken the lead, Cardiff fans just having a bit of fun at our expense the little scamps. We make our first change just before half time as Proschwitz replaces the injured Simpson. Brady again finds space to run and shoot but again just over. The whistle blows and we are still in it, 0-0 and playing well. We hear more from Watford, they are 16 minutes behind us following an injury to their replacement keeper. They have a child in goal now, we must now be favourites. Bugger Watford equalise and it’s all on a knife edge again. We start still in Second but Watford not quite at half time, why are we not starting the second half at the same time? It’s a conspiracy we are doomed, doomed I tell you. Frazier comes on at half time and the feeling that the Gods are against us multiplies. Brady tip toes into the box and is felled, penalty please Mr Referee, Nothing doing and Boyd is closed down before he can get a shot away. On 49 minutes a long ball falls at the feet of Cambell, he skips past a despairing lunge and has our goal in his sights, he never looks like missing and slips the ball past the despairing dive of Stockdale. We are behind and dropped into 3rd place and thoughts turn to trips to Bolton, Forrest or Leicester on a Friday night. We respond brightly a Brady cross is headed just wide by Mcshane with Pros desperately sliding in to apply a finishing touch but missing by inches. Brady finds Proshwitz but he shoots weakly, the ball finds its way back to Brady who pulls back to Meyler and his shot is palmed away by Marshall. It’s Quinn who reacts quickest and edges out to the left of the box, he puts in a tempting cross and the German goal machine stretches to get there first and apply the killer touch. We are level as are Watford, we are going up possibly. It is now all City we are taking control and piling on the pressure, Quinn shoots but is deflected out for a corner. Brady whips in the corner, Mcshane flings himself at it and somehow ends up sliding the ball in from two feet out, we are ahead for the first time, cue pandemonium. Hull City A.F.C 2 The team formally known as the Bluebirds 1 We are going up…….Surely nothing can go wrong now. Cambell breaks clear but the mighty Faye steps in to maintain our lead. We continue to be a threat with efforts from Pros and Brady. We are starting to sit back as the clock ticks to 70 minutes and Bruce is urging us to push up. Cardiff get a free kick on the edge of our box, the wall stays strong and after a bit of panicking we clear the loose ball. We are now just clearing everything long and starting to look tired, Brady has run himself into the ground and is looking at the bench pleadingly. He is withdrawn for Fahti as we attempt to hang on, we hear that Watford are down to ten with Deeney sent off. Cardiff are irritatingly still giving it a proper go and only solid defending and Stockdale showing more command of his area than recently are keeping us sane. 4 minutes of stoppage time are announced, we are just a sensible few minutes away from automatic promotion. Meyler chases a ball through and is pushed over in the box, the Ref points to the spot we have a chance to wrap it up. The pitch is invaded as people think the game is over. It takes a while to clear and it is our German who steps up, Germans never miss penalties it’s an unwritten law of football. Bruce can’t watch he turns away we hold our breath and he hits it at waist height, Marshall guesses right and saves to his left. A minute later and a ball into our box comes off a knee and hits Faye’s upper arm, another penalty. This time it is calmly placed in the bottom corner and the scores are levelled. The final whistle blows and we are left in Limbo waiting for the end of the game at Watford. 15 minutes still to play and all our nerves are shot. A wander into the concourse and a quick nip out for a becalming fag and I can bear to look at the screens showing the updates from Sky. Leeds have taken the lead and now we must just wait for the final whistle, the stadium announcer keeps us up to date, stoppage time now at Watford, the big screen showing images of our players waiting for updates. Finally the final whistle goes at Watford, we have done it, we are Premier League. The players gave it everything and City fans just about managed to keep the faith, it was as good an atmosphere as I think we have ever seen at our new home. Congratulations and thanks are displayed to the Allams on banners by those on the pitch. We came so close to going bust again and after one of our best seasons and most exciting games are to dine at the top table, our owners, manager and players deserved nothing less in the end. We can now spend the summer watching cricket and enjoying the rumours of our new signings, I believe a certain Mr Rooney and Mr Bale are looking for moves.
Match Report Coming Soon.
Match Report Coming Soon.
Match Report Coming Soon.
Match Report Coming Soon.
Match Report Coming Soon.
Match Report Coming Soon.