On 87, a slick Shrewsbury move provided one of theirs with a clear shooting opportunity from the edge of the penalty area. A blasted drive was brilliantly tipped away by the Muss, diving gallantly to his right, and we celebrated jubilantly, confident that inspired netminding from our returning hero had bagged us the points on a damp and misty evening by the Severn. But three minutes later, bang on the 90, Shrewsbury were awarded a free-kick on their right, close to the edge of the box. The referee blithered and dithered, he even allowed them two bites at the cherry, but amid total bemusement the ball was eventually poked into our net for an ill-deserved home equaliser. The match had something in common with Saturday's draw against Rushden, in the sense that we had been indisputably the superior force, especially during the second half, and yet had been forced to concede a share to dogged opponents. But that's where the similarities end. Shrewsbury played with resolution but they aren't half the team that Rushden are, and we should have had them trussed up like the Christmas turkeys that will soon join the Christmas decorations, toys and traditional Harry Potter manger scenes in the shops long before that inelegant climax. Even though I'm pleased to report that City, and Green and Ashbee in particular, played pretty well again last night, it was still two points dropped rather than one gained, and frustrating with it.

We kicked off in a 4-4-2:

Musselwhite
Regan Whittle Anderson Delaney
Green Keates Ashbee Williams
Alexander Elliott

Is that really Green's best position? And Elliott's? And is Williams really worth his place? A trio of "No!"s answer those questions on last night's (and other supporting) evidence, but in the meantime the game began in furious fashion but with relatively little poise anywhere near either goalmouth. The Muss pouched a tricky low shot to his right, then an easier lofted effort to his left, while, at the other end, Alexander crumpled to the turf in a comedy bid to win a penalty and was fortunate not to receive a booking. Anderson then did succeed in attracting the penmanship of another eccentric referee, but redeemed himself by hooking clear when, following a looping back-post cross which the Muss watched with mild interest instead of claiming, a savagely dangerous cross was whipped back across the face of our box. A frantic opening.

This was our fifth last-ever visit to Gay Meadow, and the surroundings were as delightful as ever. Tall trees by the swollen brown river, soft autumnal textures, a cascade of jumbo kit-kats. The pitch, expected to be sodden, played firmly enough for confident football. Why would Shrewsbury ever wish to leave their tranquil dell? Could the reason be that dread word, professionalism? But what's this? Along the small terrace, backing on to the Severn, is infiltrated a mean-throated band of local youths, who are singing aggressive songs with sweary words in them! At Shrewsbury! I've never heard the like. It didn't sound ugly, and it certainly didn't threaten, it merely sounded wholly incongruous. What could be more out of place at Gay Meadow than such absurdly obnoxious posturing? It's as if your dimple-cheeked, cherubic 9-year old niece were to look at you sweetly, and observe "Uncle, you're a bit of a fuckwit, aren't you".

I was surprised, I have to admit.

Back to the game, and an extraordinary moment. You know that goal Ashbee scored at Torquay? The one that some foolish observers suggested was best enjoyed as a freak because, believe you me, this bloke isn't ever going to do anything similar again, not if he plays until he's 90? Well, if I may quote my own match report from that euphoric afternoon at Plainmoor: "I expect talented ballplaying midfielder Ian Ashbee to do this sort of thing every ten days or so from now until 2014". And last night the ball dropped gracefully on to the Ashbee boot twenty-five yards from goal and he smashed in another of his astonishing volleys, this time only to see it crash against the outside of the post and bounce clear. It was a magnificent strike and keeper Dunsavin was immobile in shock.

Keates now secured another yellow card for a challenge that was merely clumsy but not malicious, and we entered a disturbingly sloppy phase in which Shrewsbury shuttled the ball around quite happily and we depended on Justin Whittle to intervene and boot it clear when necessary. This, of course, is Justin's long suit and he did his job as reliably as ever. But it wasn't pretty to watch. The diminutive Williams and the rangy Delaney are physically a mis-matched pair, and unfortunately they look mis-matched in all other respects too, and so our left side looked uncertain both going forward and defensively. Green, playing on the right, flickered briefly, while Elliott, though lively and mobile, is just not a natural as half of a striking duo. Alexander headed over from a corner late on in the half, but generally was again guilty of a bit too much aimless mooching around. All in all, we were content to reach the break on level terms. Parity was what we deserved, but, Ashbee's volley aside, we had offered a performance well below the standard enjoyed so far under the Taylor regime.

And then, as on Saturday, we took a firm grip on the game and demonstrated that once we hit our stride we have the players to win this Division. Doesn't mean we will win it. But we're capable of it. Alexander, suddenly summoning memories of the muscular front man who regularly rampaged through opposition defences this time last year, grabbed possession and forced his way into a shooting position just outside the box and hammered a low shot just wide of the keeper's far post. Then a wonderful flowing move involving five or six Tigers, including the increasingly prominent Green, resulted in a glorious low cross from the left and, with Dunsavin stranded, only a superb defensive header, in the manner of Olarticoxea (sp?) from Lineker in the dying minutes of the 1986 World Cup Quarter Final, protected the home side from going into deficit. But that wasn't to be long delayed. We attack again at pace, Green releases a brilliantly judged pass beyond the lumbering defence and Elliott, timing and directing his run perfectly, connects to slide the ball under Dunsavin and put us into the lead.

500 City fans? More maybe? A degree of total tiger mayhem, the lead is ours and the amber-and-black football is increasingly imperious.

Shrewsbury need to defend, and they have only unsophisticated tools to do the job. As anyone who drives the high roads of this nation is aware, the problem of abandoned cars is growing. Rusting, incinerated hulks, the victims of wanton joyriders and insurance fraudsters. The police are overwhelmed. On my own personal favourite stretch of motorway, a vehicle that first appeared a while ago half way up the grassy bank looking almost serviceable has steadily deteriorated, mirrors cracking, wheels disappearing, bonnet ruptured and chassis corrupted. Such is the career of Matt Redmile. A big brute of a central defender when we first encountered him at Notts County, he was already visibly coming apart at the seams as his displays at Meadow Lane spluttered to a halt and now, well into his 28th season with Shrewsbury, you wouldn't even risk a trip down the shops with him. Redmile got booked, he could have had ten yellow cards last night and deserved the lot of them, and he was powerless to quell our nimble attacks.

Keates came off for Burton, who went to left-back and Delaney stepped forward into central midfield. This didn't really work. Delaney, for sure, belongs in midfield, but on the left side of it. That berth was filled by Ryan Williams. Who was rubbish last night. Never once did he pose a threat to Shrewsbury. Ashbee, however, was playing well, heavily involved in the midfield scrummages, while Green was soaring resplendent on the glittering floodlit turf. This young man's sheer talent on the ball is enormous. He moves confidently, on and off the ball, he passes quickly and thoughtfully, and he likes to keep play moving at pace. A dapper run took him past two feeble challenges and he shot straight at Dunsavin from 15 yards with Jevons, now on for Elliott, howling for a pass in space to Green's right. Jevons had a point, but so did Green - in this sparkling mood, I'm happy to let Stuart Green make his choices and try his luck.

Ah well. At 1-0 you're never safe, but we really did seem to have Shrewsbury's measure. Time ticked by, the points looked ours.