Not for nothing is Doncaster known as the the place where those from Wakefield learn their manners. This, not to be shy about it, is a grim spot. Call it unpretentious if you like. It has to be. But it's best enjoyed from a distance.

Yet here we were, traveling for a local derby of sorts to a club just readmitted to the human race after 5 years in the purgatory of the Conference. And we were on the telly, too. Not the proper telly of course, that you get with a TV aerial as the Good Lord intended where you see Gary and Alan smile wryly, yet somehow coquettishly, at the camera and at us on our settees, but telly nonetheless, even if only the satellite thingy that no-one watches.

Or that is my impression. According to the progie, obviously as excited as everyone at the club to be back amongst proper football teams, 'millions will be watching on television.' Frankly, this seems unlikely. And if they were, well more fool them. This was a very poor game of football.

But, we didn't lose, as always happens when we are on TV, we didn't concede to Leo Fortune-West, as always happens when he lines up against us and we did defend resolutely, as we often haven't done in most of the past few years. So we are, perhaps, entitled to feel, as a point from this goalless mullock lifts us to fourth, that things have genuinely changed for the better. You may, not unreasonably, demand more proof than that offered above, but as you know I'm an incorrigible optimist in these matters and you can't deny your nature.

We carded the following:

Kuipers
Hinds Whittle Delaney Dawson
Green Ashbee Keates Elliott
Alsopp Burgess

So Kuipers inclusion probably spelled the end for Muss as anything but a stop gap, with all the knock on effects this has for cartoonists up and down the land and a 25% fit Dawson reminded us how bloody awful have been some of our recent purchases at left back, particularly those named Smith and Holt.

And we began brightly, our boys attacking towards the Tiger support with a vermilion sky at their backs to delight any watching shepherds. Allsop twice went close, once after a routine cross was routinely missed by their fullback, once after he was played in by Burgess. He then did well as a provider, setting up Green who, with only netman Warrington to beat, shot carefully but tamely in allowing their custodian to turn the ball away. During this early burst Elliott had run powerfully at their dodgy right back and earned a corner. All good stuff but, sadly, what seemed to be merely a promising hors d'oeuvres turned out to be Gaelic coffee and a fine Cuban cigar as we never came as close again all night.

The game was patchy. Both sides hustled well, both sides gave the ball away with astounding frequency. Donny were not as poor as you might have expected. Apart from workrate, they probed us down the flanks, the manual on how to play Hull City by attacking our fullbacks is obviously still doing the rounds and they let themselves down only by their inability to find Fortune-Worst.

Inevitably your mind wanders. We were brought back to the earth when GoalKuipers was banished from the field of play. Frantic text messaging to those watching at home elicited the information that the netman's undershorts were the wrong colour. How this was passed on to the viewer I couldn't say, but I assume that they had borrowed the camera that used to be put to such effect by Graham Norton. But happily out goalie was allowed back on with his pants getting the ref's approving glance. We also had the now obligatory announcement at a television game for a watcher to return to Hull where his wife was availing herself of the excellent new obstetric facility at the Hull Royal Infirmary in order to drop a sprog. John, I hope you got there in time and that it all went well. You missed nothing here. Delaney had a decent run and a dreadful shot and Green and Allsop combined well again, but half-time couldn't come soon enough and it didn't.

The half-time entertainment consisted of Ricky Hatton, a brave and skilful boxer who is a steeped in Manchester folklore and a confirmed Man City fan who fights out of Manchester. If you're wondering what the hell we was doing here, then presumably so was he, as he wandered on to the turf and off in less than the time than it would have taken him to scream 'What the fuck are you playing at?' down his mobile phone to his agent. But his departure was a shame as it it brought on the Barndance boys, three blokes with big rubber false heads, a risible dance routine and a bloody awful piece of dance shite played out over Donny's coal powered sound system, whilst the boys made suggestive movements towards the cheerleaders. There is place for cheerleaders, but this wasn't it. There's a place for the Barndance boys, too, and it is a planet with a methane atmosphere and no artificial oxygen supply. We watched all this from an end terrace which had been closed to us five years ago on safety grounds, it was far from clear what had been done to improve it. There felt to be a lot of us squashed into a small place. The main stand still appears to have an asbestos roof, perhaps to protect against the possibility of another chairman like the arsonist Ken Richardson seeking to improve the financial position by torching the ground. At least when the announcers asked you not to smoke in the ground you felt they genuinely meant it.

Second half and we had more of the same, the Donsters pressed forwards and we sat back and, if we did get the ball, politely gave it back to them. Michael McIndoe looked as though he might profit from this as we kept teeing him up for long range efforts, but he got close without troubling GoalKuipers. Our new custodian of the leather had a pretty untroubled night, nothing on target of note, a very solid Delaney and Whittle in from of him and he looked very assured under the high cross - though, having made his catch and rushed to the edge of the area he did look bemused on a couple of occasions to find himself just about the most forward player - that's the way we do it here, son, the boss'll explain it to you.

For us, er , nothing really. Keates shot wide early on after good Elliott work, Green made a couple of decent runs with no end product at all, but from the hour we were getting the run around. Price came on for Elliott allowing Green to go wide to the left and Webb replaced Burgess, allowing a like for like replacement of tall ineffective strikers. Donny had most of the ball but didn't look like scoring, we lacked their possession but matched them for lack of fire power and, mercifully, it finally ended way past our bedtimes in the inevitable 0-0.

Positives, GoalKuipers, Whittle and Delaney always looked unbreachable and carried Dawson and Hinds with them. Big, ponderous and fractious types like Frankly-Worst and Paul Barnes were never likely to prosper. The midfield, with the occasional exception of Green, were worryingly poor, Ashbee, Elliott and Keates never exerted any control at all, Green provides some clever little probing passes and neat prompts which just do not cut it at this level. He must involve himself more, they all must. Burgess provided entertainment insofar as the announcer struggled to pronounce his name, settling for 'Buurrggggeeeee' and plaintive off-mic queries of his assistant as to whether that was right. He provided nothing of note on the pitch. Alsopp was the best bet but faded with our second half.