Steve Wilson, diminutively amiable shot stopper of this parish, had a shocker, our team performed plenty well enough to beat a better side than Macclesfield, and a potentially tricky second round tie was duly traversed en route to the utterly gleeful anticipation that only the draw for the Third Round of the FA Cup can bring.

Am I a bit underwhelmed? Yes, a bit. This game really did feel like a means to an end and Macc are opponents I hope belong in our past not our future. But we cuffed them tastily enough, an outcome that hasn’t been the norm against Cheshire’s most rugged in Hull in recent years, and an ability to cruise serenely past game but limited adversaries will be very helpful to us once we embark on next season’s UEFA Cup campaign courtesy of our visit to Cardiff in this year’s FA Cup. (For those not paying attention, we have double M’d our way past Morecambe and Macc, so success against Milton Keynes, Millwall, Middlesbrough and a brace of Manchesters lands us in the Final by which time we will have exhausted all available Ms, but defeat against Champions League bound Arsenal or Chelsea will still deliciously grant us only the second taste of top-flight European action in our club’s history).

Wielding the M-mallet were:

Myhill
Joseph Cort Delaney Dawson
France Ashbee Keane Elliott
Barmby Facey

Lacking the injured Green then, but otherwise a proper line-up, not the Hull City lite seen on Cup duty too often in recent times. But the game began tamely and dawdled its way through a shapeless opening period. Macc had come to dig in dourly – as usual – and we looked short of the inspiration needed to break their spirit. France drives hard down the right and crosses – a melee, the loose ball drops to Ashbee whose first-time pass to Facey inside the box is delightfully judged but Willo is alert to block our burly striker as he shapes to shoot. Then the baldy Whitaker spanks a long shot on to the top of our bar, a reminder of unlikely Macc goals past that have whistled past helpless City netmen. Something of a speciality for Matt Glennon. Back up the other end, in front of the paltry travelling support, and we try our Super Corner Move for (I think) the second time this season – Keane rolls the ball to Ashbee just inside the box who steps over it, allowing Barmby a shot which is beaten away at the expense of another corner. But as the game approaches the half hour there’s nothing between the sides and the atmosphere within the ground has stilled.

Whereupon, as so often this season, we prove able to change the whole pattern of the afternoon with a flash of vigorous, clever and decisive attacking. There’s a bit of luck involved. Facey heads a cross wide and we are mysteriously awarded a corner. On such gifts are UEFA Cup runs constructed, and from the corner the ball drops invitingly to France on the edge of the penalty box. No Maccster is even close so our man has time to pick his spot and ram a well-struck shot just inside the far post, with Willo defenceless.

The alteration in expectation is immediate. We’re going to win. Barmby gracefully slips and slides his way around Macc’s vain efforts to control him, Facey’s an ogre and France is looking a good deal happier down the right in a game in which he can focus on attack rather than worry about tracking back to defend. Elliott seizes control and charges forward with the ball, confidently expecting to dribble through the defence and finding no argument from his alarmed opponents. A shooting chance, a low hard left-foot shot, Willo spills it and Facey prods the loose ball into the roof of the net.

2-0 and Willo’s clumsy handling has cost his side dear, but it’s about to get worse for Bransholme’s Number One. Elliott surges in from the left and should probably cross towards France, making rapid progress towards the back post. But the Ulsterman opts instead for a hugely optimistic shot from a narrow angle. Even if Willo doesn’t pouch it he should at least be able to get his body behind the ball, but a football, like the Lord, moves in mysterious ways and the effort somehow trickles beneath Wilson before rolling apologetically into the net.

Willo stands aghast, as well he might. It’s the sort of error that has a manager thinking “That lad won’t do for me”. Career-threateningly awful.

Could it get any worse for Willo? Conceding a goal to a long shot delivered with Marc Joseph’s left boot would be a contender but the effort billows instead into the side-netting and the half comes to a close with two extra minutes and a sharp shot from inside the penalty box by Macc which Myhill clutches comfortably.

“You might as well go out and concede another goal in the first minute of the half and then we can all just take the rest of the afternoon off”. This was probably not Brian Horton’s half-time instruction to his team. But that’s what happened.

France storms through the centre, Facey hurls in an outrageous dummy to allow his team-mate even more space and himself spins away to the right, France continues his run and then slips the ball right into Facey’s path and BANG! a ruthlessly self-confident finish smashes the ball past weary Willo.

Gloriously incisive finishing, and a couple of minutes later Facey is staring at a hat-trick as a delightful passing move sets him free inside the box. Willo’s afternoon is already ruined but he is equal to this task and hangs on to the shot from close range.

What’s a few dropped crosses between friends? Steve Wilson performed sturdily for our club during some of the grimmest days in our history and if it gives me no pleasure to report on his catastrophies yesterday. Willo was also entitled to ask his defence why our scorers and providers were left so generously unattended for not one but all four of the goals. But the bottom line is that we carry an attacking threat that is irresistibly powerful when deployed against the likes of Macclesfield. We have too many ideas, too much pace, too much penalty box sorcery. It’s wonderful. We began last season at home to Darlington, we may entirely plausibly kick off next August against Southampton or Manchester City. A good reason for hoping to draw one of the feebler members of the Premiership zoo this afternoon is that it’ll give us a fantastic, packed-full and vibrant January afternoon’s entertainment, but another equally good reason for hoping for such a tie is that it will allow us to judge just how very good Green, Barmby and Elliott really are.

4-0, job done. So Barmby is given a break ahead of the Wednesday test, and on hurtles crowdpleasin’ Jonny Walters. We are streaming forward at will, and it’s probably only the absence of any need to push hard for more goals that keeps the scoreline unchanged. Keane tries to change that by granting possession to Whitaker in a shooting position, and a decent low shot is well held by Myhill. But otherwise the fate of the tie is settled and all the players know it.

Free-kick routine! No, no we’re not very good at these. We get a chance when the ref awards us a free-kick a couple of yards outside the box. Letting Dawson hammer it seems a decent option to me, but instead we unveil a complicated trick involving Joseph joining the wall, then trotting back towards the ball, turning to face goal, having the ball rolled into his path by Keane and then blatting it way over the bar.

Ashbee’s off, Junior’s on, there’s the best part of half and hour to go, and near enough nothing happens in it.