Norwich City 1 Hull City 1

It’s a little over seven years since that cathartic day when we won at Carrow Road to record a first away victory after thirty or more futile journeys. We haven’t won there since but that is largely down to both teams yo-yoing between the top two leagues. On a sunny Norfolk Saturday we travelled more in hope than expectation of a repeat to end the current winless streak. Campbell had picked up a knock and was not available so we fielded, hoping to cut the mustard: McGregor, Aina, Hector, Dawson, Clark, Meyler, Bowen, Henricksen, Larsson, Grozicki and Dicko. With the home team in fluorescent yellow and green we sported our anemic white kit.

Norwich kicked off and had the best of the early exchanges. We were muscled out of several challenges and with the notable exception of Meyler appeared more lightweight in most areas. It took us a few minutes to mount any kind of threat. Grozicki and Dicko combined but the latter dragged a tame effort wide. Not for the first time I had to shield my eyes against the low October sun: it’s hard to take notes, watch a game and try to shield one’s eyes simultaneously.

Our front line had little physical presence against a strong Norwich defense and most of the aerial challenges were lost. Norwich were giving both Aina and Clark a hard time down the flanks and it was no surprise when Aina committed a foul. For a moment it was heart in mouth expecting the fussy Keith Stroud to point to the spot. It was just outside the area however, McGregor punched clear the resulting cross-shot. We didn’t clear the ball, it was recycled, Maddison advanced unchallenged and his shot clipped the outside of the post on it’s way out of play.

The game was quite evenly balanced at this point. We had a couple of shots blocked and Bowen put one straight into the keeper’s arms: the son of a Gunn. A quarter of an hour in Norwich broke the offside trap and Wildshut found himself clear through, one on one with McGregor. The latter kept his composure better and saved with his feet. A couple of minutes later our keeper saved well low to his right. The resultant corner cleared everyone and drifted out of play harmlessly on the opposite flank.

The game was quite open at this stage with both sides creating chances. Meyler picked up a yellow for an innocuous challenge. Stroud was probably influenced by the theatrics from the Norwich player: not the first time this happened, and it wouldn’t be the last. The card reduced Meyler’s effectiveness and was to prove decisive in the 2nd half.

Just before the half hour mark we opened the scoring. Hector won the ball in midfield with a strong challenge and played it to Henricksen. The latter released Dicko with a defense splitting through ball that left him one on one with the keeper. The flag stayed down, correctly. Dicko calmly drew the keeper, kept his composure and swept the ball into the net for his maiden Hull City goal. The lead was just about deserved on the balance of play.

The rest of the half saw Norwich start to dominate. Wildshut was giving us plenty of trouble on our left flank: Clark didn’t get much support from Grozicki on that side. Deep into added time – mostly for a clash of heads that left Jerome groggy – Henricksen was wiped out by Wildshut. With Grozicki clear and heading for the penalty area Stroud decided not to play an obvious advantage so he could book the Norwich man. The was the latest in several strange decisions from a referee who obviously wants to be the center of attention rather than enabling a decent game of football.

We finished the half with ten men whilst Henricksen was off getting attention. He was fit to resume at the start of the second period, neither team making any changes at this point. Norwich seemed to have had the proverbial rocket during the break and started with more intent. We were pushed back for several minutes and there were inelegant scrambles around our box that didn’t yield any decisive chances. The pressure was finally broken by Bowen who ran forty or fifty yards unchallenged before the resultant shot was saved. We then enjoyed the ascendency for a few minutes before the turning point of the game.

Norwich broke at pace. Meyler tangled with an advancing canary and both went down. From my viewpoint it was a fifty-fifty at the worst and possibly a foul by the Norwich player trying to run through our Irish vice-captain rather than around him. Stroud saw it differently, handed Meyler a second yellow and dismissed the player that was holding our sometimes fragile midfield together. Larsson was booked as well for protesting to vehemently. There was still well over half an hour left, the majority of which I spent staring into the sun as Norwich were camped in our half. The rest of the game fell into a repeating pattern. Norwich pressed, we repelled with Hector and – in particular Dawson – throwing their bodies in the way of chances. There was the occasional break and we could have snatched a second goal on more than one occasion. Slutsky tried to shore things up. Dicko went down in the center circle and went off injured to be replaced by Stewart. Later Grozicki and then Larsson were withdrawn in favour of Diamonde and Tomori. Larsson had put in a good shift, Grozicki less so. This was best summarized by the sage next to me who commented that Turbo had “given up a bit early, as in, right from the start”.

Norwich continued to press, ably assisted by Keith Stroud who seemed determined to give Norwich every opportunity to score with more decisions that could charitably be described as iffy. A series of Norwich chances went begging and the game entered five (5) minutes of added time following a final foray forward by Bowen and Henricksen.

Just when it looked like our heroic defense would yield an unlikely win we conceded an equalizer. That this happened in the seventh (7th) minute of added time was galling. Stroud had presumably invoked the well known “we’ll play until they score” law. A long throw resulted was flicked on at the near post and Oliveira (a late Norwich sub) steered it home.

There was just enough time to kick before full time when the ten of Hull sank to the ground in disbelief.

We didn’t end that winless streak. But there was enough quality, and enough determination on show, to suggest it won’t be long before it does, perhaps next week at Oakwell.

Hull City 1 Norwich City 0

Curtis Davies reminds me of Carlton Palmer. And this is meant as nought but a compliment. There was a moment in the second half of a compelling and nerve-shattering game against Norwich City when the new centre back, on his home debut, made an interception, played a pass and then just kept on running. He received the final ball and got to edge of the box, ready to have a pop at goal before contenting himself with a corner and a deafening round of applause from the City faithful. That run, that spindly-legged, unconventional, utterly determined, manic run. That was the kind of thing Palmer did at his peak in the early 90s as a marauding, awkward sod of a midfielder and sometime centre back in one of Sheffield Wednesday’s best sides. It got him the 18 England caps that to this day tiresome people say he didn’t deserve, despite being in the form of his life. Davies probably doesn’t walk like Rihanna, though he may do press-ups like Sinitta, eat cakes like Tracey Ullman and vacuum clean like Susan Cadogan. But he runs like Carlton Palmer. And it was gripping to see. His performance at the back and as a general behemoth encapsulated a totally absorbing return to the Circle of Premier League football. That City won the game was slightly fortuitous thanks to Norwich, sporadically threatening but generally a disappointment, not creating anywhere enough chances for a team that had a man advantage for two thirds and more of the match. The determination, the endeavour, the enterprise, the self-made luck; all were clustered together by a resolute Tigers ten after a temerarious sending off for Yannick Sagbo left a bewitched 23,682 crowd biting approximately 216,820 nails. And nails is homonymically appropriate, as that’s what the Tigers were. Determined to put all references to Iain Dowie to bed once and for all were:

McGregor
Elmohamady
Chester
Davies
Figueroa
Livermore
Sagbo
Koren
Huddlestone
Brady
Aluko

… ish. All of our sides and formations express fluidity these days. With Danny “Jimmy” Graham, faultlessly isolated but culpably unenamoured at Chelsea last week, demoted to the bench and the exposed David Meyler also in a bib, the team looked somewhat more ravenous for the ball, with Robert Koren aiming to support Sone Aluko as much as possible. Norwich, elegant in a basic white with black change kit, had City’s great defender of the modern era, Michael Turner, among their ranks. The Canaries made the first chance when the gangly Leroy Fer, whose surname looks like the registrar’s pen ran out while completing the birth certificate, headed a Steven Whittaker cross just wide of Allan “Rioch” McGregor’s right hand post. Handy chance, gratifyingly not taken. For all the joy and excitement and summery eagerness that goes with a first home game of a top tier season, there was still the nagging fear that City might not yet be up to the job. And surrendering an early goal wouldn’t have helped. The visitors had another try through Nathan Redmond’s shot from distance that McGregor tipped away well, and James Chester needed to make a timely interception after Fer and Redmond combined fluently down the right before the latter issued a low tempter to the six yard box. City settled down, with the resourceful Jake “David” Livermore banging one shot over the bar after divine interplay with Aluko that included a backheel for the Spurs loanee to chase down on the edge of the area. It otherwise became a smart and open but largely closed game for ten minutes until Ahmed Elmohamady swung in a cross and Turner got forearms all over Sagbo, forcing the Ivorian to the ground. Turner wasn’t happy but the penalty decision was instant and pretty obvious, and despite a bit of needless gamesmanship involving Fer and the position of the ball, Robbie Brady was as cool as required in sidefooting it in, with John Ruddy diving the other way. Steve Bruce chose to walk down the track towards the south west corner while all this was going on. Strange superstition of his; firstly because he was for a while a useful penalty taker himself for Manchester United; secondly because the last time he refused to watch when City had a spot kick, it was missed. Be that as it may, this was a first goal in the Premier League this season. The first, in fact, since … hang on … ah yes, Mark Cullen’s close range header at Wigan in May 2010. And a first at the Circle since … back in a jiffy … blimey, Kevin Kilbane’s opener against Burnley early on in what was ultimately as wretched as countless other games that season, irrespective of the many there are to choose from. The maths aren’t pleasant; City’s first Premier League goal on home turf in 357 minutes of normal time. Brady’s penalty looked simple, but the churl in me hates the low, sidefooted, stroked spot kick because unless there’s proper power in it there’s a real chance a keeper shall get it, sometimes even with comfort, if he guesses the right way. Ruddy didn’t and so Brady looked like a phlegmatic genius in dispatching it. But it may not always be thus, as a certain German reserve team target man – and his ritualistic manager – may attest. Buoyed by the gift, City took control and with the wonderful Tom Huddlestone to the fore, exhibited some delightful touches and put on a bit of a show with pass-and-move football that suggested the rest of the team had learned quickly how to rise to the level of their division and the standards of their newest playmaker. Huddlestone really is a treat to observe; that adage of having the first yard in his head rings truer than most with him, as does this notion that some players instinctively know where to put the ball in the very split-second they know they are going to receive it. Assuming he stays motivated, he will be gigantic in a black and amber shirt this season and players like Brady can only benefit from his presence. But then, a setback. A big one too. It seemed that it had been averted when Davies, winning everything in the air thus far, seemed to take hold of Turner in as similar a way as the former City defender had done at ‘yon end but was bizarrely not penalised. In the box too, meaning some vigorous protests from the Norwich players and some evident wiping of brows in the home ends. A corner was given, and as it swung in and out again, Sagbo aimed a headbutt at Russell Martin and while only referee Mike Jones appeared to see it as live, he nonetheless was entirely justified in showing an instant red card. Foolish boy. He will now essentially have a month off, and it was notable that none of the coaching staff spoke to him as he trundled down the tunnel, having initially been persuaded not to confront the referee or the opponent any further by Koren and Elmohamady’s intervention. One nil up is good; one nil up to a decent Premier League team in hot conditions with more than an hour to play and shorn of a body is less good. At least as it was an attacker who had gone, there was little need to make any emergency changes. The defence remained stoic, Livermore dropped back a tad further, Aluko went wider and Koren did less of the support striker malarkey that had been such an integral part of Bruce’s game plan. This was no more evident than when Huddlestone found the Slovene square from 40 yards out and, striding purposefully, he realised there was nobody ahead of him and so tried a shot with the outside of the boot from 30 yards which Ruddy saw go wide. Livermore then worked very hard to get down the flank and find Aluko who did an exquisite turn to get to his favoured left side and curled a shot a yard or so wide and City, aided by Norwich’s bewildering lack of positivity despite the man advantage, continued with the same tone until first half injury time, including one bit of one-touch showmanship across the field involving six players that finally ended in a right-foot shot from Brady flying over. Norwich won a free kick in the last seconds which Redmond aimed for McGregor’s right hand post but the Scottish stopper flung himself across well to divert it out. The referee gave the corner but then blew for the interval instantly, and City left the pitch and the supporters left their seats with a strange feeling of satisfaction mixed with edginess. After all, ten man teams like ours don’t hold on to leads forever. Do they? A pause here to mention Michael Turner. At one point, this author heard a boo as Turner took possession in defence. It was a single boo, not long, not reciprocated but also not shouted down. Who on earth boos Michael Turner? Who is that dense, that pig-headed, that one-eyed? I know we have extremities among our support, but even so I did allow the sector of fans whose brains resemble their own feet some semblance of intelligence when it came to appreciating our former players. However, there is a school of thought among supporters of all teams that any player who leaves their club, whatever the circumstances, should not be anything but scorned upon their return with another team. And Turner is just that. That he didn’t engineer the move to Sunderland, that he didn’t set the fee, that he didn’t run up the debt that made his move urgent to begin with, that he didn’t take the rise out of the City fans right in front of him when he promptly scored on his debut for his new club against his old one, and that the first three months aside, he gave unflinching, massively consistent and occasionally life-affirming service to the club, putting his gonads on the line (literally) right up to the last seconds of his City career, seems to have passed these unswayable individuals by. They should take a look every day at that moment when his thigh stopped Lee Trundle banging in an obvious equaliser at Wembley. And then shut up. Turner still looks effortlessly good, an interesting and skilled disposition to adopt given that effort is something he possesses and shows all the time. Norwich, aware that their formation was now unduly negative with their hosts down to ten, sent on portly ex-Leeds gabber and creator Robert Snodgrass at the break. Good player, Snodgrass. Also very cynical and very belligerent. Maybe this was why he got all the anti-Leeds invective from Es 1 to 5 in the second half when Jonny Howson and Bradley Johnson, just as stained by previous WS connections, were on the pitch and got off lightly. Or maybe it’s because he has a familiar and amusing surname. He was quite influential on the second half and City had to graft. Alexander Tettey had a shot deflected wide by Livermore, then a scramble in the box resulted in Davies heroically dealing with it prior to having elongated treatment for a cut head, eventually regaining his feet with a headband wrapped round the abrasion. What was interesting, and gladdening, about City’s performance was that they seemed agile and fit enough to counter attack in numbers when the inevitable pressure caused by Norwich’s extra body and desire to gain parity had cooled. Koren and Aluko combined sweetly in one such instance to cover 50 yards between them before Turner slid in to take the ball away from Aluko, as cleanly as normal. Howson had a swerving effort tipped away with some difficulty by McGregor, then the same two duelled again with a drive that seemed to rise at the last moment, allowing the City custodian to let it be. Norwich maintained the pressure; Javier Garrido chipped in from the wing and Ricky van Wolfswinkel chested down for Fer to slice high and wide. The Tigers rearguard fell short of proper concentration after this, conceding possession cheaply and van Wolfswinkel, quiet thus far, headed a pearler for goal from Garrido’s cross but McGregor was able to stretch up, tip over and land on his backside to roars of appreciation for what was his finest save to date. Apropos of this, Ricky van Wolfswinkel is a superb name. We should have re-signed Jan Vennegoor of Hesslink just for this game and hoped they went up in Dutch combat for a header together when one came back to defend a corner. The commentators on duty would have swallowed their tongues. Tackles flew in as Norwich kept a tight hold of the game, but still their breakthrough wouldn’t come. Assuming you were realistic enough to believe a ten-man City couldn’t hold on for an hour, it’s at around the 70th minute mark you start cursing yourself for hoping they might, thereby setting you up for a bigger fall and a bigger bruise when the predictable equaliser finally comes. Then when Davies, bandaged, drunk on the atmosphere, showing his desire, went on a pitch-length run, some of it with the ball, some without, his legs all telescopic, his athleticism incontrovertible, his directive wonderfully spontaneous, the mood changed. He didn’t get a shot in when Aluko played the final return, despite it being essentially two on two, as Turner was doing his usual shtick of unflustered defensive excellence, taking the ball off his fellow defender’s toes and dousing the flames. But in being so proactive he seemed to trigger a second wind among the other nine players, not to mention the crowd. Nails remained at risk, but suddenly it felt like City would hang on. With good reason. Bruce aided the situation by bringing on Graham as an effetive sponge up front, withdrawing Aluko, then later introducing George Boyd (was I alone in thinking he looked rather good in his brief cameo at Stamford Bridge?) for the immense Brady. Graham and Koren, whose continuing presence on the pitch was brilliant and puzzling at the same time, combined arrestingly on the right side of the box, with the Slovene’s final ball just too far ahead of the slithering Boyd. Maynor Figueroa, whose experience at the back (especially when making opponents angry) was invaluable throughout all this, took on Davies at his own game and traversed at pace down the left flank before delivering a final ball that again just evaded the willing Boyd. Bruce finally took Koren off to massive applause – when he’s like this, he’s still a master of his game – and moved Elmohamady forward while slinging on Liam Rosenior. Boyd turned numerous circles on the edge of the box to make room for a clipped cross slightly too high for Graham just as the board for six – six – injury time minutes went up. Ulp. Six minutes is a long time when you haven’t got the football. And yet Norwich seemed bereft of ideas. In the final seconds Snodgrass wanged in a desperate cross to the six yard area that Howson just failed to flick; any deviation in the ball would have left McGregor in trouble but instead he pouched it safely. The ball went to the other end, and as Ruddy belted it upfield there was a false start – or false end, if you prefer – when the whistle assumed to be the one ending the game actually turned out to be for a retake of the goal kick as the ball was moving. Back it went, down it went, up it went – and off it went. Three magnificent points. The opposition weren’t as good as they should have been. City were better than could actually have been expected of them, however. That really does bode well. Sagbo was a fool and no excuses were offered for his behaviour, but Bruce can now give the majority the rest they need and have earned. Davies was magnificent, Livermore out on his feet, Koren industrious as well as immaculate, Huddlestone dominant, Brady relieved of every ounce of energy in him, the rest all worthy of the praise aimed their way. Meanwhile, esteemed Messrs McShane, Fryatt, Proschwitz and so on can engineer our depressingly inescapable struggle through the League Cup at Leyton Orient in midweek. Then it’s Manchester City. Someone ought to persuade Bruce to try to win there. It can be done.  

Matthew Rudd

Norwich City 2 Hull City 1

Faltering Norwich spring into life and closely resemble a Premiership side once more. It’s all too much for the Tigers despite an early score.

Ach, disappointing. We were completely outplayed last night. The scoreline doesn’t tell the half of it. Flowing attacking football on view, an almost full and frequently noisy ground on a mild evening in Norfolk – yes, it was overall a better experience than trudging across to Rochdale and Macclesfield. But by the time we finally escaped Norwich’s gruesome town centre traffic “system” (are there City fans trapped in there still?) I felt pretty gloomy. I don’t expect to get pulverised by a team in the same Division as us. But we really were thrashed by Norwich.

Not coping:

Myhill
Wiseman Cort Delaney Edge
France Curtis Welsh Elliott
Brown Fagan

Barmby, presumably resting, was not even on the bench. Marc Joseph was, but had been squeezed out of the right-back position by the rangy Wiseman.

Norwich had a shot inside the first minute, as Boaz was lured from his area by a fast attack, but it flew well wide. And then we went ahead in the second minute. Curtis lobbed in a free-kick towards the back of the box where Cort rose majestically to send a header soaring gracefully over Green into the far corner of the net. Superb power and judgement – it seemed that we might have the beating of the home side in the air from dead balls. In fact it was near enough the last time we could even think that.

An impressive City turn-out of 800 or so generated delighted racket after that early score, enjoying the confines of a reasonably tight, albeit largely newly constructed stadium. The Norwich fans were louder than expected too, and at this stage of the game we looked set for an exciting contest. All the more so because of the quality of the Norwich attacking that was becoming increasingly visible. Worryingly so.

Darren Huckerby is asking for trouble by wearing white boots. And you might have thought his patchy career so far would have induced a dose of humility. Not a bit of it, and on his first-half showing last night he’s got every right to play the peacock. It was a forceful, periodically irresistible display, studded with surging runs, clever flicks, whipped crosses and underpinned by the most vital of all ingredients, savage pace. As he flew down the left flank with the agility of a gazelle, the pace of a cheetah and the furious power of a panther, Huckerby, in fact, reminded me of myself in my own footballing pomp. He, however, was supported by quality passing of a type that I could only have dreamed of from some of the clots I used to line up with.

Wiseman was Huckerby’s immediate opponent, and he struggled manfully to cope, but the problem was that man-for-man we were second best in most positions. Still, when the equaliser arrived, on 15, it was one that we should have dealt with. A corner was played back to Safri, twenty or so yards out, and he was under no pressure at all as he lined up a firm low shot that flew through a crowded penalty area and bulged Boaz’s net before he could react. The scorer, Safri, was excellent last night but he should not have been allowed so much time to choose his option.

On 22 Huckerby fizzed through our defence, and fell with studied professional guile over a proffered Delaney limb just outside the box. Marney’s floated free-kick sailed just wide of the post, with Boaz beaten. Our 4-4-2 is well-organised, but we’re under pressure all over the pitch from the quality and pace of the opposition. We enjoy a decent spell after the half-hour mark, and Elliott hoists a right-foot shot well over the bar, followed by a tame Welsh effort hit straight at Green. But on 38 the game is won and lost.

It’s a rare foray down our left, but a cross is eased into our box with little difficulty and Doherty, trotting forward from centre-back to join the attack, has even less difficulty in letting the ball bounce off his forehead into the net. Quality cross, and an ambitious advance by the defender. But he scarcely needed to leap off the turf to convert the chance. Shoddy defending.

Two minutes are added, and in the first of them Huckerby orchestrates a slick one-two that opens us up cruelly down their left. The cross is vicious but Edge does well to insert a clearing boot. That’s half-time, Norwich lead, and even One-Eye Turgoose of Dairycoates, City fan since 1905 and convinced to this day that with a better referee we’d have beaten Wolves in that famous game in 1911 which we lost 0-8, is heard to admit that we deserve to be behind.

And Mr Taylor decides on radical surgery. Off come Edge and Brown, on go Price and Green. The idea – switch to 4-5-1. France drops back to right-back, Wiseman moves over to the left. The midfield reads, from right to left, Price – Green – Curtis – Welsh – Elliott. That leaves Fagan all alone up front. If the alterations were a shade tough on Edge, they should also not be read as a slur on Curtis and Welsh, who worked hard in midfield, but hadn’t quite been able to arrest Norwich’s flow, built around the industrious Hughes and the elegant Safri. We’d been outplayed but we’d been outmuscled too, not for the first time this season, and Mr Taylor had evidently decided he needed more bodies across midfield to make it harder for Norwich to manufacture the bombs which Huckerby in particular was detonating among our defence.

It worked, after a fashion. We did spoil Norwich’s rhythm. The second half was much more even and Huckerby faded from view.

And, following a most excellent ten minutes of “Peter Taylor’s black and amber army” which was as sustained as any in which I’ve participated since the grand old days of the Moys End at Peterborough, we even had a shot on goal, a 25-yarder from Elliott which Green fubled unconvincingly round the post for a corner (English goalkeepers eh! Rich comedy nowadays).

That, however, was as good at it would get. A shot. A single shot. No more. The overwhelming problem with the second half’s 4-5-1 was that, though it blunted Norwich, it did the same to us. Fagan was tireless, but operating solo against a strong and confident centre-back pairing of the quality of Doherty and Davenport was hopeless. Did Mr Taylor get it wrong by choosing a less adventurous set-up for the 2nd half, and condemning us to largely chance-free stalemate? Well, maybe. On the evidence of the first half though, I would have been happy to back Norwich to get 7 (seven) had we not done something to plug the gaps in midfield.

It’s no use moaning for Ashbee. He’s gone for a while. But how we could have used him last night. Ellison’s arrival, to replace Curtis, just didn’t cut it. I’m telling you nothing you don’t already know when I report that Ellison looked lost, like a small child in woods full of wild animals, marooned a couple of Divisions higher than his talents deserve.

We were competing with the home side much more gamely in the second half than we had in the first, but even so the goalscoring chances mainly fell to Norwich. On 64 one of theirs steps round France and belts the ball into the side-netting. It signals the end of our decent 15-minute spell and we’re forced on to the back foot once again. On 71 a divine one-two in the box is blocked by a desperate saving tackle (up the far end, don’t know who deserves praise). On 80 a break down the right, a powerful cross-shot, a fine block by Myhill. Norwich aren’t as terrifyingly razor-sharp as they had been for much of the first period but football like this is too good for us.

Elliott, pushed up front in the later stages as we reverted to 4-4-2 after Ellison’s arrival, had another worrying game where he wandered about ineffectively, gradually dropping deeper to positions where he could not conceivably hurt the opposition. He is a surprising addition to the list of players who simply may not be quite good enough for this Division, and though his excellence last season justifies continued faith in his selection, at present he needs to find a bit extra to disturb the meaty defences most opponents offer up. France is another one looking a shade lightweight at present, while three players last night who could confidently be filed under “move on to the lower leagues” were the three substitutes, the eager but limited Ellison, the wearyingly ineffective Green and the half-paced Price.

I suppose that the obvious criticism that could be aimed at Norwich last night was that for all their possession and for all the devastation they inflicted with their fast pass-and-give style, they scored only twice, and on both occasions as a result of disappointingly feeble marking by us. But they had us beaten now. Cloughie famously observed that it only takes a second to score a goal. True enough, but you’ve got to get the ball somewhere near the opposition goal in the seconds that precede that crucial second. As the game limped to its inevitable conclusion we simply couldn’t achieve that.

So. Sturdily efficient defence, a mix of grace and aggression in midfield and a pacy muscular attack. What’s to halt this Norwich side in this Division? Do they have any weaknesses? Well, a few years ago Michael Chang, after taking a fearful beating from the then top dog Pistol Pete Sampras, was interrogated about whether his conqueror had any weaknesses. Chang frowned, thought for a moment and then brightly remarked “well, he can’t cook!” Norwich too. Shame on you Delia. Your special match day pies were bland, dry and entirely lacking in imagination. The cooking needs attention down Carrow Road. Their football is plenty good enough. Unless Norwich are to be this season’s Bristol City – tearing us apart in hugely impressive style but doing the same to absolutely no one else – then investing in them at attractive each-way odds to win this Division this year will not be the worst decision you make this week.

HULL CITY (4-4-2): Myhill; Wiseman, Cort, Delaney, Edge; France, Welsh, Woodhouse, Elliott; Brown, Fagan. Subs: Price (for Edge, 45), Green (for Brown, 45), Ellison (for Woodhouse, 72), Joseph, Duke.

Goals: Cort 2

Booked: Delaney, France, Woodhouse

Sent Off: None

 

NORWICH CITY: Green, Colin, Drury, Doherty, Davenport, Marney, Safri, Hughes, Huckerby, Ashton, McVeigh. Subs: Lisbie (for Ashton, 45), Brennan (for Marney, 78), Ward, Fleming, Henderson.

Goals: Safri 15, Doherty 39

Booked: None

Sent Off: None

 

REFEREE: B Curson

ATTENDANCE: 27,470