Now, hold on, what's the catch? I don't fool easily, I've been doing this Hull City supporting thing a whole lot longer than I care to remember, and I yield to no one in my ability to identify aroma of rat. I mean, as traps big enough to snare an elephant go, this one isn't exactly subtle. A 2-0 duffing-up of opponents that came into the game top of the Division: a win that is richly deserved and founded on two exquisitely crafted goals adorning a canvas painted by a batch of splendid individual performances; and all this in the breathtaking setting of our beautiful new ground, a palace of inspiring football packed with 22,319 people, the vast majority noisy, jubilant and from Hull. What - I ask again - is the catch?

Not finding one in yesterday's casual demolition of the - slap your thigh! - "league leaders" were:

Musselwhite
Regan Joseph Anderson Delaney
Green Ashbee Keates Melton
Alexander Elliott

Sort of - as ever, Ashbee played as the holding midfielder, just in front of the back four, while the gorgeous Greenmeister had licence to roam. And on two minutes our playmaker duly and greenly strolled at will through the plucky Poolsters' midfield, slipped the ball to Elliott wide on the left, watched in admiration as his talented chum dribbled past a hapless full-back and placed a well-judged cross on to Melton's toe-end in space on the edge of the box and then gasped in horror as Melton took one unconvincing touch and then followed that up with a second and worse one to blooter the ball horribly wide. I am at a loss to understand why we signed Melton. This was shocking wastefulness.

Green and Elliott combined again, only to be hauled back by a tight but correct offside decision against the latter, haring in pursuit of the former's through ball, while the visitors earned a fruitless corner after a hasty shot was deflected past a post with the Muss wrong-footed. It was an open, lively game, well received by the boisterous crowd - our largest home gate for a competitive first team game in how long? 25 years?. We had an important edge in midfield; Green was very up for it; and Alexander was displaying much more vigour as a target man than he has served up of late. And Alexander created our opening goal. He chased a ball hit too long for him and, reaching it with his back to goal with no obvious route to the danger area, he might have been expected to have given up on the cause, so feeble has been his commitment all too frequently over the last twelve or so months. But no - a glimpse of the bustling frontman of yore. He grimly wrestled his way past a determined opponent and slid a clever low pass into the feet of Dean Keates, just inside the box. He too had his back to goal, and though a deft backheel and pirouette swiftly changed that, even then he seemed entirely closed down by a burly tight-marking defender standing guard. Whereupon Keates leaned back and stroked a mesmerising slow looping chip up and over the keeper and just beneath the crossbar. It was audacious skill, shimmering brilliance - the sense of exultation deepened by simple disbelief that this dogged but limited midfielder could even dream of such inspiration, let alone execute it to perfection. The Circle's first ever League goal - and a gem.

City lead, City push on. Elliott sets up Keates for another shot, which takes a deflection and is held with relief by keeper Williams. Then a slick move down the left is ruined when Melton obtusely tumbles to the turf under a firm but fair challenge inside the box. Melton wanted a penalty but deserved a yellow card. Then Alexander sails away from the defence, clearly onside and in space, but his touch is too brutal and the ball bounces away beyond the dead-ball line. More! Melton feints inside an ill-judged challenge and strokes a very fine pass towards Alexander, who has managed to elude his marker and fires a crisp shot goalwards, only to be thwarted by an alert tip-over by Williams. Then an Alexander through ball puts Elliott clear, but the chance is smothered at his feet by another brave save. The Pools had their moments, poking around in increasingly lively fashion as the half-time whistle approached, but City had dominated the first-half possession and had basted the roast with a series of crisply-created chances.

The ground? It needs to be seen. It is simply wonderful. We are so lucky. It is scarcely credible that the capacity is "only" 25,000: it feels so much grander. The West Stand, with its graceful arc of a roof, seems impossible huge, two tiers towering skywards; all four corners are filled with seats, avoiding the soulless feel of grounds that are really only four separate stands. (Anfield, I sneer at you). And the mauve lighting is elegant and stylish, the concourses are wide and civilised. Boothferry Park is already another age, and, as long as we can sustain the decibel levels achieved yesterday, I will not pine for it. Yesterday, as the sun slipped slowly towards the western horizon, its light provided an ethereally beautiful backdrop for the translucent fabric of the giant West Stand, and I shivered with glee and pride. "Moody salmon, that sky" observed the bloke sat behind me, as I shivered again, realising with a cold chill that in all-seater stadia you really are stuck with the people allocated to you by fate, and the ticket office. "Bet you don't even know the plural of salmon, Adrian" he continued, and it struck me that it's a long time until May.

The game should have moved into the realms of "How many are we going to stick past this shower?" very early on in the second period. A weak clearance by keeper Williams fell kindly for Alexander and though his shot was blocked by the exposed netman, the loose ball fell delightfully for Elliott on the right who had the gentlest of tasks to roll the ball square, back to Alexander, to set up an open goal opportunity for our striker. Elliott instead blasted a low shot from a difficult angle hard against the post and the visitors' goal was spared. Green against Darlo - similarly, Elliott yesterday. Occasional selfishness. But these boys can really play. I cut them some slack. A moment later Elliott went past his man on the outside but fell all too easily, and was refused a free-kick. Rightly so. Stay on your feet, Stuart, and tear these defences to ribbons. You know you can.

The Poolsters were looking zippier now and they began to get the ball into our box with greater regularity than they'd managed in the opening 45. In fact they began to look quite menacing, especially when a low ball skidded across the face of our goal, thankfully without anyone getting a decisive touch. Defensively we were coping - no more. I don't know why Justin Whittle wasn't playing. Joseph is a shade quicker than Whittle, but his distribution is equally woeful, and, though Joseph's perfectly competent, Justin is Justin (he really is) and I'd always, always pick him. Unless I was manager of Real Madrid, maybe. This was mainly their spell (Hartlepool's, I mean, not Real Madrid's) but we were damaging them too. Elliott slipped a pass through to Melton, who stumbled past his man into the penalty area before his run was curtailed by a thumping challenge. Good game, this.

Alexander had had a positive first half but had now slipped from view and was replaced by Jevons. He was quickly into the action when Elliott flicked a header into his path, but Jevons was foiled by a well-timed tackle perpetrated by the final defender. This incident helped to reveal a design flaw in the new stadium. Said defender went hurtling off the pitch and tumbled over a boundary board. At the Ark the feeble balsa-wood structure would simply have collapsed under his weight. But things are larger and sturdier at the Circle. The Poolster simply came to rest, stranded on top of the hoarding, arms flailing in front, legs kicking astern. He was trapped. Jevons sized him up, stroking his chin like a Victorian gentleman strolling through the smog and gaslight in search of a companion for the evening, but he didn't fancy him and hauled his erstwhile adversary back to his feet. This problem will have to be sorted out before FC play here. If footballers - athletes, after all - can suffer such indignity, it is probable that the lardarses that pick up their twenty quid a week for chucking an egg around are going to be stuck fast in this pose until a crane can be acquired to winch them free. Still, Stevo and Eddie and the 1,245 people who tune in weekly might find such devilry richer entertainment than their normal "T-R-Y Time" minority fare.

By now we had surrendered control of the midfield and were generally dropping too deep, allowing Hartlepool plenty of room to play. Brave New Hull City World? Hmph. Sitting back on a one-goal advantage at home is the oldest of tiger tricks. Not good. But what's this? It's a dawn, my son, a dawn of golden promise, unleashed just as the dusk settled over East Yorkshire. One moment we're groaning at the onset of passivity, the next Green has skipped into space in an advanced position, Keates has found him with a delightfully precise pass and the maestro Stuart Green has whisked the ball confidently past the exposed Williams into the back of the net, and we're 2-0 up.

There is a rich vein of attacking flair in this side, which makes our goalscoring failings in recent weeks all the more incomprehensible. But this was a superbly crafted goal, belonging in a much higher environment.

Elliott went off to acclaim now, to be replaced (to further acclaim) by Whittle: Justin to centre back, Joseph to right-back, Regan forward to right-side midfield and Green was released to cavort destructively up front. The nimble playmaker immediately played in Jevons, who shot straight against the keeper's legs. Jevons is a poor finisher.

Most of the Hartlepool fans were by now on their way back to the land of monkey-swinging, gazing in retreating awe at our majestic stadium and sobbing bitterly that life had dealt them a hand not including a "Support Hull City!" card. Their team finished the stronger, belting one shot high over the bar and then striking the outside of the Muss's right-hand post with another, but they were getting no points and no goals from this festive occasion. On 90 Green exited to deserved delirium and Lawrie Dudfield re-appeared, running harder in the four minutes of added time than he has in his combined total of displays across the whole of a personally dismal 2002. And then it was over and we had won.