A fine win, our first at Peterborough for forty years, secures three more valuable points for the Tigers and elevates Stuart Elliott to the top of the divisional scoring charts. 

In the end in the end, a most pleasing afternoon. To seasoned Tiger-watchers, this fixture had borne the distinct appearance of a banana skin; the City record at London Road does not make joyful reading, with only one previous League success in 1963 and, in more recent times, a sequence of indifferent performances which have done nothing for the blood pressure, and that’s before any attempt to factor in to the equation a recent series of City performances which even the most generous die-hard would be hard-pressed to describe as anything better than unconvincing. Well, we certainly were convincing yesterday, arguably as much as any time during this season. After the stutterings of Bradford and Blackpool, and the horrors of Huddersfield, a slightly makeshift Tiger line-up produced a performance of genuine fluency and endeavour which was a class apart from the offerings of the home side, who for long periods were kept firmly under control, their spirit clearly broken long before the end. This was men against boys, even Mildred against George. The fact that by Mr Probert’s final whistle there was but a solitary goal in it does not tell the full story and was the only real albeit slight disappointment, but it is fair to say that if City hadn’t spent the opening few minutes defending in a manner which would have done justice to a Laurel and Hardy film, or had not decided at 3 -1 to close the game down, or if Peterborough had not scored their statutory last-minute London Road goal against City (yesterday was the fourth on the trot so rumour has it), then the scoreline would have revealed a much truer picture of the balance of the game.

But why did it happen yesterday? Well, if I knew exactly why, I’d bottle it, go off and sell it and not have to spend the rest of my life shovelling excrement. But seriously, there seemed to be two factors at play, one mental and the other physical. Taking the latter first, the midfield maintained a grip on things in a manner not really seen this season except at Torquay and in sporadic flashes against Oldham. A large part of the credit for this must go down to young Keane, the resemblance of his stature to that of Ryan Williams notwithstanding; this was the first time I had seen him in a City shirt and I was impressed with his constant harrying of the opposition when we didn’t have the ball and his ceaseless and intelligent attempts to create something when we did. Next to Keane, Ash turned in by far his best performance of the campaign, doing what he does best, namely working his sphericals off and getting well stuck in throughout. One can’t be sure that the success of this pairing, ably supported by the prolific Elliott and the ever-improving France, wasn’t another flash in the pan, but on yesterday’s showing it looks a far better bet than the Ashbee - Lewis alternative and should be given another test run sooner rather than later. The other difference yesterday was the general approach of the team to the game: whether it was in obedience or otherwise of Taylor’s instructions is perhaps moot, but we actually played like we should, taking the game to the opposition instead of worrying about what they’re going to do to us, and generally playing to our strengths. Of course, this may just have been a by-product of conceding a daft early goal and consequently having to chase the game, but let’s hope that the message has got home.

But do you know the best thing of all about yesterday? That the City following (hard to estimate as I was near the front and to the side, but I’d guess at about 1,500) was able to witness it all from the Moys End - probably the only proper old-fashioned away end left in the entire League, its low pitched roof and real terracing virtually untouched by time save for the bare minimum of security fittings. Those of you who were there, savour the memory, reflect on how the unopulent nature of the surroundings deterred those fans with no real soul for the game (did anyone else notice the absence of "footee" fans yesterday streaming for the exits at 4.40 so as to be first out of the car park and into McDonalds?), and then ponder with sadness over how this might have been the last time ever we are able to watch a League game in such surroundings (and no, seated-over ends such as Luton and Southend don’t count).

Anyway, let’s have some facts. The line-up was:-

Myhill
Joseph Cort Lewis Dawson
France Ashbee Keane Elliott
Allsopp Wilbraham

City kicked off on a fine afternoon (how many more of these will we get before the autumn really sets in?) towards the sparsely-populated London Road end. In the first minute a Joseph long throw wasn’t properly dealt by the Posh defence and France volleyed the bouncing leather a foot over. A promising start, but followed immediately by a farrago of defensive ineptitude that left us one down. First Lewis should have headed a lofted ball back to where it came, but presumably shut his eyes at the vital moment and let the ball glide off the top of his head, to a point equidistant between (I think) Dawson and Cort. Either could and should have dealt with the ball but didn’t, allowing Willock to overhaul them, nip in between them and poke the ball gently towards the City goal, past Myhill, who was wrongfooted but wouldn’t have been if he had actually taken the trouble – like the City fans behind him all managed to do - to see the danger unfolding, with just enough pace to cross the line. When I was in short pants, let me tell you that even the kids in National Health specs with a pink patch over one eye wouldn’t have dared defend so ineptly as the four City culprits, for fear of a cuff to the head or a kick to the shins.

It promised to get worse for a while, too, and the City fans were getting restless. Some imbeciles were chanting for Greeny, which didn’t seem to address the point, while some bloke behind me kept droning on about how you’d think the defence hadn’t played together before. Certainly the Posh strikers, including the former Dalester Clive Platt, the one whom we didn’t sign because he would be crocked, were revelling in the comedy defending. For ten minutes or so a repeat of the Huddersfield debacle looked a scary possibility.

But we looked as though we could do things when we had the ball, and the defence slowly seemed to work up an understanding, and suddenly just before quarter time we were on level terms. We won a free in the inside-right channel about 40 yards out which Ash lofted quickly into the box while the Posh rearguard was still sorting itself out, and Stuart Elliott, following a characteristic run into the box from the right, rose unchallenged to plant a firm downward header into the bottom right-hand corner. We aren’t big on quickly-taken free kicks (I couldn’t remember us scoring from one since the Lion of Lucia did in a League Cup game v Rotherham at the Ark) but this was a textbook example of how to do it.

The odd defensive aberration notwithstanding (one might describe Lewis’s showing in the first half as "hapless"), we started to take control now and much of the game was played at the other end with some fine passing moves from the Tigers. After one such move Dawson, who generally looked more decisive then of late and only indulged in one of his trademark three-point turns all afternoon, hit a stinging drive which sadly went too close to Posh netman Tyler. That was on 35, and a minute later the ever-menacing Elliott got on to a raking Joseph ball but couldn’t get enough power behind his shot. The Ulsterman then came close to increasing his tally a couple of minutes before the break as he burst through in the same position as that from which he scored at Scunthorpe last season, and struck a low drive which had the beating of Tyler but clipped the outside of the post.

It was a much-heartened Tiger support which warmly applauded its heroes off at the half-time whistle.

After some revitalising coffee, courtesy of Trev Holmes’ flask, and a fight to get into the cramped Moys End pissoir, City carried on where they had left off. Joseph brought the ball out of defence and rolled it inside to Allsopp, who although under pressure managed to find Elliott out wide, and the City No 7 hit a vicious drive which was destined for the near top corner but for the agile intervention of Tyler, now sporting a New York Yankees baseball cap (how conformist). The Posh rallied briefly but on 52 City got the second goal they had been threatening for twenty minutes. Joseph won a corner on the right and the resultant flag kick was curled in towards the far post, Tyler backpedalled furiously but in vain to get to it and, with a well-timed run, Cort rose to nod open his Tiger account from a narrow angle. Simple but effective. We were looking good and the Tiger Nation was in raptures.

It was the turn of the Posh defence to be at sixes and sevens now. On 58 mins Wlibur Abraham seized a loose a ball and wove his way through the blue shirts only to fire his shot at the keeper. There had been a slight rally when a header from a Legg throw tested Myhill but this was a rare blip and shortly afterwards it was the turn of Allsopp to bring Tyler into action with an effort from a France ball. A minute later Taylor decided to give Thelwell a welcome run out, and within a couple of minutes the City number 2 was to play a big part in City’s third. The ex-Spur stormed out of defence down the right, exchanged passes with France, and curled a teasing cross into the Posh box (no sniggering at the back, please). Allsopp, at full stretch, could only help the ball across the goal, and it looked as thought the chance might be gone until the irrepressible Elliott popped up at the far post with an easy finish.

The Ulsterman almost got his hat trick a few minutes on, when fine play on the left allowed him a shooting chance but Tyler got down low to smother.

After this the game settled down, with City evidently deciding that shutting up shop was the safest option and controlling the game with consummate ease, the home side being reduced at times to spells of possession football in their own half and the atmosphere tailing off a bit towards the end.

In one final but ineffectual twist, the unwritten rule of football that Peterborough score a last minute goal when at home to Hull City was duly observed, Clarke nodding in a right-wing cross from close range. This prompted barely a murmur from the subdued and by now depleted home support, and the final whistle blew three seconds after the restart, the Posh skulking away to lick their wounds and have cups of tea thrown at them by Mr Fry, and the Tigers staying on the London Road sward to milk the generous but well-merited ovation before transporting the three points back up the A1.

Inconsistent we may have been this season, but the table doesn’t lie as the season moves into the grind phase. Who would swap second for second bottom, even after nine games? No, we’re twenty per cent as near as damn it into the season now and I don’t think we’ve seen anything like as impressive as the final 80 minutes of yesterday’s showing from any one. Some may mention Luton at this point, in which event such people should look at Oxford to see what becomes of teams who set off like the proverbial hare (how my travelling companion, Tiger Chat stalwart Mr Paul Robinson, and myself guffawed when we heard their result yesterday, and I trust we were not alone).

Early days, but if this sort of form becomes the benchmark……

HULL CITY (4-4-2): Myhill; Joseph, Cort, Lewis, Dawson; France, Ashbee, Keane, Elliott; Wilbraham, Allsopp.  Subs: Thelwell (for Joseph, 61), Price (for Allsopp, 77), Walters (for Wilbraham, 86), Green, Duke.

Goals: Elliott 22, 65; Cort 53

Booked: None

Sent Off: None

PETERBOROUGH UNITED: Tyler, Jenkins, Rea, Ireland, Plummer, Jelleyman, Legg, Thomson, Willock, Platt, Sonner.  Subs: Clarke (for Willock, 31), Woodhouse (for Platt, 60), Semple (for Rea, 60), Kanu, Deen.

Goals: Willock 2; Clarke 90

Booked: None

Sent Off: None

REFEREE: L Probert

ATTENDANCE: 5,745