Still top of the league, but City's mini-slump continues with defeat at the MacAlpine as a useful Huddersfield side are rewarded generously with three poorly defended goals.  Mark Gretton was amongst the 4,000 disappointed.

It's easy to be wise after the event. Yesterday, it was also easy to be wise before the event. As we drove through the West Riding the talk was of Taylor dropping Whittle for Joseph and what a problem this was likely to be given that it would give us an untried defence against two of the league's more dangerous strikers and how you'd really want someone with Justin's physical approach against a player like Booth and how you really wouldn't fancy Joseph in the middle of this sort of game. Or indeed,any sort of game. And so it came to pass. We conceded 2 terrible first half goals against a side decimated by injuries and suspensions. In the second half they understandably drew in their horns and let us come at them. Or rather they let us pass the ball around in front of them whilst our front 2 had desperate games and played like strangers. We still had time to be caught on the break for an awful third before Forrester got a no consolation goal at the death. Grisly stuff, against a team who looked initially scared of us and then amazed as we imploded. Having a really bad afternoon were:

Fettis
Hinds Joseph Delaney Dawson
Price Green Ashbee Elliott
Allsopp Burgess

So Fettis got a deserved start ahead of Musselwhite and Joseph an undeserved one ahead of Whittle. And Joseph was quickly into his usual form with a mistimed header that was cleared up by Hinds. This was pretty much Joseph's best moment of the afternoon. But we made a promising enough start. Price had a shot blocked after a typically enthusiastic run forward and then a good passing move involving Green and Elliott combining well earned us an unproductive corner. Then a Town attack broke down, Ashbee cleared somewhat ponderously but found Elliott again and a typical outside-in run was blocked by a good tackle. Up to half an hour gone and we were shading it, before the train left the track at high speed.

My notebook records it as 'appalling fuck up,' which pretty much gives you the flavour of it as we got the first part of our comedy defensive three parter. Hudders punted a long ball forward, Fettis half came for it in a toy car whilst waving at the crowd and squeezing a big bulbous honking horn. Joseph, bow tie revolving rapidly, hesitated long enough to allow Fettis to seemingly make up his mind to come completely, then timed his header to perfection so that it looped over and past Fettis to allow Jon Stead, manfully controlling the urge to roll around with laughter on the turf, to slam it into the roof of the net. Calamitous defending with Fettis and Joseph, I thought, equally culpable.

The McAlpine is a lovely stadium. It is perhaps not technically as magnificent as the Circle, but I still love the never repeated 'blue banana' design of the stands leaping up into the air before dramatically curving down. It's well worth seeing and we got to see it from a few different angles. When we arrived our seats were occupied by someone else. We stood awhile in the walkway, bemused. Stewards invited us to take our seats, we pointed out that we couldn't and suggested that they lead us to our seats and move out the wrongful occupants. They declined this request and, as we pointed out that we did have specific seats, told us that we had actually not been sold specific seats and 'we can make you watch this game from the toilets if we want to.' Things were livening up nicely at this point, with some fans feeling that we should stick together and make a stand whilst others felt that we should get lost and take any seat that the stewards deemed we should occupy. Thanking these people for their help, we gave in and allowed a steward to lead us to seats down at the front and out wide for the remainder of the half. At half time we'd had enough of this and wandered back to the middle, before sitting down in the temporarily unoccupied seats of people who had earlier told us to sod off and sit anywhere, reasoning that people with that sort of philosophy would not mind their seats being lost to others. Revenge is sweet, but not fattening.

Our spell at the front did have the virtue of giving us a ring side view of the Town second, just before the interval. The same terminology applied as to the first goal, but Joseph can be exonerated this time as he was nowhere to be seen as Town attacked. Delaney only half got the ball clear to the edge of the 6 yard box where it should have been tidied up by one of Dawson or Hinds, both in the right back position with what proved to be hilarious consequences. Instead of giving it the hoof it needed they chose to interpass neatly to each other, Hinds squirting Dawson with water from his fake buttonhole, Dawson throwing a bucket of silvery paper over Hinds before they inevitably lost control of the situation and allowed Stead to nip in and pass it to Booth who looked rather bemused as he passed it in past Fettis. 2-0. 'We are top of the league' we defiantly informed the normally grim Pennine folk who were in uncharacteristically skittish mood. 'Top of the league, you're 'avin' a laugh, top of the league, you're 'avin' a laugh,' they sarkily responded, to the tune of 'Tom Hark.' Half time and it was hard not to think they had a point.

Second half and we came out with, you could only hope, ears ringing from a managerial blasting. I would have preferred something more practical, such as Whittle coming off the bench for Joseph, but that was not to be. Still, we did better, good early pressure resulting in efforts from Allsopp and Elliott, both blocked for unproductive corners. Peter Jackson, clearly not able to believe his good luck, opted to pull his men back and let us try and lever them open. We couldn't. Delaney had one trade mark run, otherwise he and Joseph punted hopefully towards our front two who regularly lost out to their markers. Green, under little pressure, opted to square it rather than try and penetrate, Elliott drifted inwards so that he was effectively a third striker, but 'effectively' is an ill-chosen word as he saw virtually nothing of the ball. Only Price looked likely to achieve anything, getting forward wide on the right and crossing only to see Burgess and Allsopp disappear as the ball got near them. Defensively we looked shot, Delaney's passing grew ragged, Joseph sent header after header upward rather than forward, Hinds and Dawson at least kept to their own halves.

With about 20 minutes left Allsopp gave way to Forrester and as at Cheltenham our attacks suddenly had a focus and Burgess suddenly had a partner who could find him with a degree of regularity and run intelligently into space and we looked all the better for it. Not that it did any good, mind, as defensively we were still playing it for laughs. Joseph missed a tackle that set up a break from which one of theirs shot ju-u-u-u-st wide of Fettis' post. Got away with that one, we mused, but it was short lived respite. Joseph missed his interception again, perhaps distracted by a custard pie being dropped down the front of his huge trousers bouncing under his highly elastic braces. We roared our appreciation, but Joseph was having one of those afternoons that funny men dream of, and this was only the precursor to the big finish, whereby he got back to cover, cut out the cross and then with one flick of his 2 foot long boots diverted it into the path of the persevering Schofield who finished well to the sound of a slide trombone playing a three note raspberry. 3-0, ten minutes left and so did a number of our fans.

At least we ended with a goal. Forrester, showing that it is possible for a good striker to prosper even when the opposing defence is playing it straight, controlled the ball with his back to goal, turned neatly and finished crisply for the only proper goal of the game. 3-1 and Forrester charged over to our bench flicking V's at Taylor with both hands. Actually he didn't, he trotted back without celebrating, perhaps feeling that the goal made the point eloquently enough. We can only hope so. And so it finished.

Suddenly we're playing very poorly. Huddersfield are better than Cheltenham, but this was not their best side and talking to some of their fans after the game in our chosen hostelry they admitted that they had been terrified of what we might do to their Sodje-less defence. What happened yesterday was as predictable as Great Britain's defeat by Australia in the Rugby League test and England's defeat of France in the Rugby Union 'World Cup' - the signs were all there beforehand. I think Taylor should swallow his pride, drop Joseph and reinstate Whittle. He could even then try not moaning about Whittle after any of the Sarge's infrequent errors. That's what I think, but then I thought that I had bought a seat for the game on Saturday so it shows what I know. You don't always get what you think you should, because it's a funny old game. You just ask our defence.

HULL CITY (4-4-2): Fettis; Hinds, Joseph, Delaney, Dawson; Price, Ashbee, Green, Elliott; Allsopp, Burgess.  Subs: Forrester (for Allsopp, 64), France (for Elliott, 78), Musselwhite, Whittle, Holt.

Goals: Forrester 90

Booked: Price

Sent Off: None

HUDDERSFIELD TOWN: Senior, Scott, Clarke, Hughes, Lloyd, Carss, Schofield, Worthington, Brown, Booth, Stead.  Subs: Thorrington (for Booth, 61), Mirfin, Booty, Mattis, Martin.

Goals: Stead 32; Booth 41; Schofield 80

Booked: Carss

Sent Off: None

ATTENDANCE: 13,893