After two defeats in a week City regroup and beat a dreadfully poor Blackpool side, albeit with a hatful of excellent chances left unfinished by our confidence-free strike force.

Which was the worst team we played last season? Bury probably, maybe Cambridge. Well, here we are a Division higher up the ladder and Blackpool were a thick wedge the inferior of anything we faced last year. Defensively inept to a degree rarely seen this side of the Zaire team that malfunctioned so spectacularly in the 1974 World Cup, the Lancashire rabble deserved a hiding.

They nearly got a point.

Which tells you straightaway that we were pretty rotten yesterday too. Scrappy, ill-shaped, often listless and above all criminally negligent in front of goal.

But we won. Which is the best I can say and the best I will say, and I’m not going to detain you over-long with the details of this woefully poor game of football.

A benching for Junior, a return for Elliott, and, on a nice bright day, a chance to shine more centrally for Green:

Myhill
Joseph Cort Delaney Dawson
France Green Ashbee Elliott
Barmby Alssop

And never has the phrase “the game began in largely formless fashion” been more apt. Nothing of which I feel obliged to advise you happened until we took a rather unexpected lead just after a quarter of an hour. Green found space in the box, turned and belted a smart shot across keeper Jones and just inside the far post. 1-0, cosy, and so splendidly generous of the Blackpool players to stand back and admire our winsome Cumbrian goalscorer. “All the time you need, Stuart, go on, son, hit it!”.

Blackpool’s defensive organsation was planned by one-time competent Oldham centre-back Mike Flynn. “Planned” … mmm, much in the sense that Richard Dunn planned the short time he spent tangling with Muhammad Ali or General Douglas Haig planned the campaign in Flanders during the First World War. Errol Flynn would have looked a likelier lad than the lump of lard clotting around in dismally inept style masquerading as a professional footballer. How can a side managed by Colin Hendry, perhaps the most sterling stopper birthed on these islands since Jim Holton, offer up such a shambles of a defensive display? They were clueless. And in Paul Edwards, on the left side, they had a player who was as incompetent as I’ve ever seen get paid for turning out for a football club – a big claim, I know, but I’m not sure he managed a pass to one of his own team all afternoon and even Christian Sansam did that (admittedly probably by mistake).

I do have a good word for Blackpool, and it is tangerine. I much appreciate seeing a traditional club in their traditional garb, and Blackpool’s colours sustained the lineage that reaches back to stalwarts such as Alan Suddick, Tony Green and even Stan Ternent. But, my o my, such sturdy team-men would be visibly shaken to witness how low their club has been brought by the current wearers of the famous tangerine shirts.

And, why, pray, were we not burying this feeble opposition on which I heap such scorn? Time, I fear, to ladle a dose of derision on our own strikeforce. A sweet move allowed Alsop to inspect the whites of keeper Jones’s eyes, deftly usher the ball around him and belt it into the yawning net. Except instead he belted it dismally wide, troubling only the advertising hoardings. Flynn then fell over, allowing Alsopp another one-on-one, but this time a weakly struck shot, though on target, was easily pawed to safety by Jones. On the half hour Green scooted clear, could have squared the ball, didn’t, and saw a shot from a difficult angle pushed away for a corner. Barmby had limped off by now, replaced by Walters, and the eager sub combined neatly with France as both surged down the right, only to spoil the favourable impression by heading over the bar.

Blackpool had threatened little, but were not harmless. A shot from rangy striker Vernon, in a decent advanced position, flew far too high. We were well on top, but not taking the chances that would have killed off the game as a contest. And, as has ever been the way, an equaliser undid us. It was a thumping shot into our net by Scott Taylor, and widely regarded by those sitting near me as a pretty fine piece of opportunism. Those who were busy fiddling with their mobile phone in an effort to discover the result of the St Leger will be unable to add any more detail.

Rule of Law won it for Godolphin, with my choice, Let the Lion Roar, failing to make the frame.

1-1, frustration, and though we finished the half much the stronger, Blackpool crowded us out as we delved into their penalty area. It seemed inconceivable that we wouldn’t eventually win a match against a side so badly organised, but the level scoreline told a tale of far too many chances squandered. In this competitive first team fixture. Not like the Arrow Air “Trophy”. Or that thing in Gilbraltar, or whatever it is we got up to in Bulgaria on Sir Don Robinson (OBE)’s magical mystery tour. And nor have we yet played on the moon (I won’t miss it, not if it’s a competitive first team fixture, no sir).

Into the second half, and, well what do you know – largely formless? O, I rather think so.

Tediously scrappy football was punctuated on the hour by the goal that seemed inevitable, so frail was the Blackpool rearguard, but which we were just beginning to fear might not arrive. O, it was simple. Ball into the box, knocked down, rammed home by Elliott. Sharp work by the scorer. Utterly dismal defending.

2-1, we win.

Don’t trouble to read on if your preference is for portrayal of the shiny new dawn that is breaking over Hull City. I mean, I am hugely optimistic about our team and our club. But the last half an hour of yesterday’s match was putrid.

This fellow Walters. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anyone quite like him. He’s combative, mobile, enthusiastic and quick off the mark. But, o dear, he reacts to a sight of goal like vampire to garlic. He hasn’t got a shred of self-confidence once he’s asked to try to score. Which is, I feel, a bit of a drawback for a striker. He links deftly with Price, on for Alsop, but, taking a return pass, chips the ball tamely straight to Jones. France has been pushed into the centre where he looks wholly lost, entirely unable to hold the ball up, while, with about ten to go, I was startled suddenly to notice Green was still on the pitch. He seemed to vanish shortly after half-time yesterday. Ashbee put in a hard-working shift and slipped a good low shot just wide of the post with five minutes remaining, but we are making the whole business of beating a disorganised bottom-of-the-table side look unreasonably difficult. It’s sloppy, we aren’t controlling possession, and if Myhill hadn’t reacted smartly to tip a shot from a narrow angle over the bar on 76, then we could have suffered a teeth-gnashing, morale-sapping seepage of points. Cort too was called into action more frequently than you’d like in the later stages – he was impressively up to the job.

Walters took us to the end of normal time with a catastrophic miss. Set up in space with only keeper Jones to beat he took a wild smear at the ball, like a baby in a high chair hurling mashed fruit across the room, and watched the ball sail high, wide and very ugly. Into added time, and France did it too, after a sturdy Ashbee tackle set him free.

Can do better.

HULL CITY (4-4-2): Myhill; Joseph, Cort, Delaney, Dawson; France, Ashbee, Green, Elliott; Barmby, Allsopp.  Subs: Walters (for Barmby, 27), Price (for Allsopp, 62), Lewis, Keane, Duke.

Goals: Green 14; Elliott 57

Booked: None

Sent Off: None

BLACKPOOL: Jones, Coid, Flynn#1, Clare, R Edwards, Bullock, McGregor, Flynn#2, P Edwards, Taylor, Vernon.  Subs: Parker (for P Edwards, 70), Richardson, Doughty, Evans, Ilic.

Goals: Taylor 37

Booked: Coid, McGregor

Sent Off: None

REFEREE: G Laws

ATTENDANCE: 15,568