A strong second half performance sees City take a 2-1 lead against Peterborough before it is spoilt by inattentive defending and ugly scenes in the stands.

Ninety minutes are up, and the board beaming an extra four minutes has been held aloft. City are 2-1 ahead against spirited but limited opponents and we’re closing in on the victory that will keep us top and extend the winning run to nine League games, just one shy of the club record. Whereupon Delaney slices a clearance grotesquely, sending the ball spinning behind him, gifting the visitors an attack they hadn’t looking capable of creating for themselves. They advance down their left, our right, and Joseph is left looking witlessly inadequate as one of theirs strolls past him like a thoroughbred gliding away from a donkey. A shot, a deflection, the ball lurches across the face of our goalmouth and is bundled into our net from close range. 2-2. Howls for offside are shrieked fruitlessly at the East Stand linesman, and at least two coins are hurled at him, a matter noted with close interest by the referee, so if the League decide to get tough with us – and, heaven knows, we aren’t short of previous - we might well suffer more damage than just the two points dropped as a result of this equaliser. I don’t think it was offside at all, and, even if I’m wrong, our ragged defending was the problem on which we should be focussing here. That of two men in particular – the above mentioned Delaney and Joseph. Both had shockers yesterday. In line with several of our performances this season we produced enough attacking flair in the top third of the pitch to do enough to beat Peterborough without ever playing consistently fluently, but excellent performances from France, Cort and Barmby and sound efforts elsewhere in the team were undermined by the sort of inept comedy defending that I sincerely hoped we’d left deep-sixed in our past.

A grey but mild afternoon, a pitch worryingly tatty in the middle and a dismally thin smattering of away fans whose efforts to unfurl a “Fry Out” banner were churlishly suppressed by stewards whose concern to intervene vanished completely later on once the coinchuckers gala was declared open. We lined up:

Myhill
Joseph Cort Delaney Dawson
France Ashbee Green Ellison
Barmby Facey

Our new acquisition Ellison is tall but thin, balding and angular-featured. He is, in fact, a spit for Andy Saville and if he goes on to have a career as successful as our former two-time frontman then he’ll doubtless be quite disappointed. He had a rotten first half but a much tastier second, though on this evidence is a useful squad player but far short of what would be needed in the next Division up.

On 3, Green slipped the ball to Facey, who nipped it on to Barmby whose breathtaking first touch released Green, making an astute run into the box, only for the Cumbrian to be thwarted by the last defender. A delicious move – Barmby is so much more quick-witted than anyone else that his absence makes us look horribly sluggish in comparison. Green was already relishing his mentor’s promptings and yesterday looked twice the player he has of late.

Also aware of Barmby’s prowess was Guy Branston, red carded at Boothferry courtesy of some David Brown knavery a few years back and already bloodily scourged by our attack at Hillsborough this season. It took six minutes for the Posh loan signing to get anywhere near Barmby, whereupon he bundled him clumsily but calculatedly to the floor. It was right in front of the referee and the deliberate attempt to intimidate made it worth yellow but the referee doubtless judged it so wholly inept that he kept the card in his pocket. Branston is rubbish.

Peterborough’s most potent weapon was provided by 38 year-old Andy Legg’s giant throw-ins. He’s lost none of his power and hurled the ball astonishing distances. On the quarter hour he caused confusion in our box, the ball dropped to Farrell, who miscued a volley, but the loose ball fell at the feet of Plummer whose shot on the turn from inside our box was happily straight at Myhill. That and the experienced muscleman Andy Clarke up front aside, Posh seemed unlikely to carry a real threat, though even at this early stage they looked far from the worst team we’ve hosted this season so far. Ellison was on the wrong end of a dubious offside flag, Facey, with more time than he realized, hoisted a shot wastefully wide, and then a gloriously perceptive chipped pass from Ashbee (several words not usually seen in combination) found Green, making a driving run through the centre, but the last man rescued Posh with a desperate block.

We’re better, but the crowd’s a bit muted. The game needs a goal.

It gets one.

Delaney gives the ball away. He gets it back. He gives it away again. It’s rank awful lack of concentration. One of theirs seizes the opportunity and accelerates into space, reaches the by-line and cuts the ball back to Thomson, unmarked near the penalty spot. It’s a poor pass actually, and the ball reaches Thomson awkwardly, bouncing up in front of him, but he skilfully gets his boot over the ball and shoots low past Myhill. 0-1.

France, who looks strong and fit and full of confidence nowadays, turns dazzlingly away from a bemused Branston, but Facey, turning in a horribly off-colour first half, wastes the pass. Ha! We’ll fight back, as so often this season, what’s a single goal deficit to the freescorin’ Tigs?

Well, it’s nearly 2-0. We’re attacking but Tyler clutches the ball and throws hopefully long towards Willock. Joseph is our last man and he moves across to intercept. But he underestimates Willock’s pace and misjudges the situation gruesomely badly. The young Posh striker gets to the ball first and Joseph is left shamefaced, trailing in his wake. It’s a one-on-one but Willock pauses, trying to lure Myhill into committing himself one way or t’other. Our netman’s having none of it and grabs the ball off the attacker’s feet, saving Joseph’s skin. For the time being.

At last Facey come alive. On 38 he races down the left, leaving a couple of defenders scorched by his tracks, and hits the by-line. A cut back, a shooting opportunity for Green, a sweetly struck effort, a superb fingertip save by Tyler. Then, on 42, Barmby wizardry helps Facey to set up Green for another shot, this time from the left and again well stopped by Tyler in the Posh goal. On 43, a corner, a header goalwards and Delaney stuffs it over the line from a yard out. He knows he’s offside, we know he’s offside and so does the linesman. And then, last minute, Facey scoots clear of the offside trap but scuffs his shot dismally across the face of the goal and yawningly wide.

That’s not been a bad half, and we’ve finished it strongly. We deserve to lead, on the balance of play. But we’re losing because of defensive sloppiness.

You’ll have noticed that so far it’s been nothing but praise for Posh’s keeper Tyler. He’s a decent shotstopper but he’s also relatively slight. Five-ten at most, I’d guess. We’ve failed miserably to get rough with him. If Mr Taylor can, as reputed, do a mean Norman Wisdom I’d like to think Corporal Jones is in his repertoire too, and I suspect he might have spent some time at the break suggesting Tyler might not like it up ‘im.

Fifteen seconds in Facey capers through, challenges Tyler for the ball in the air, and sees it drop loose to Barmby. He carefully loops a header up over the scattered defence and into the net. Perfectly fair – this was not the penalty box skullduggery that rescued us against Brentford in the Cup in 1971 – but at last we have shown a bit of muscle in the box and Mr Tyler hasn’t fancied it one little bit.

At one apiece you’d fancy us to get a secure grip on the game, but not a bit of it. Peterborough are the better side for the next ten to fifteen minutes as our defence once again reverts to jelly. Not Cort – he’s in fine form at the moment. The rest aren’t. Clarke is allowed ridiculous amounts of space on the edge of the box before he is finally crowded out. Then they attack down the right, but Cort intervenes with a diving saving headed interception. Willock’s pace is visibly alarming to poor Delaney.

We’re second best and yet we take the lead.

Facey presses one of their defenders into an error and the ball drops to Green who draws a fine save from Tyler, moving to his right. Then Ashbee dinks an utterly delightful pass up and over the defence for Green to accelerate smoothly on to and then loft the bouncing ball exquisitely beyond the exposed Tyler. It’s a terrific finish, it’s a startlingly subtle build-up. It’s an excellent goal.

This was by no means the first time Green had made an intelligent run from deep into the heart of the Posh penalty box and by no means the first time that Ashbee had found him with a pass. I think a big part of our game plan was to get midfielders, Green most prominently, chasing the ball played delicately in behind the opposition’s lumbering centre backs on the assumption that Branston and Plummer would be slow to turn and would be generally unable to cope with flashes of skill rather than brute force. Pretty much dead right. I wonder if Mr Fry took the same view. Branston had been struggling for a while, the victim of an over-the-top challenge from Barmby of the type that ex-England internationals can make look accidental. He came off, and Plummer was replaced too, so, unusually, the centre-back pairing was changed completely. Into that problem position moved one Sean St Ledger. Doncaster should buy him. For two thousand guineas. Or half that, if they can get a bargain. They could get Andy Oakes too, and Duane Darby.

Look, I know the tiger-chat match reporters’ credo insists that it is crass and unworthy to shoot into an open goal, but, come on, I resisted stuff about Branston being in a pickle, so gimme a break wontcha? Sean St Ledger. You couldn’t make it up. How far did he run yesterday? About a mile and six furlongs, I expect. And … [enough already].

On 74 Facey, more lively since the break but not at his incisive best, comes off for Alsopp, and a minute later Green, much improved, gives way to Keane. The splendid St Ledger picks up a yellow for a nasty foul on Barmby who, with ten to go, is pulled off in favour of Junior. Pointing ensues. The arrival of Junior is not obviously welcomed by some sections of the crowd, particularly in the usually becalmed West Stand. They might perhaps allow the manager a little more leeway given his track record at our club. Or just stay away if they don't want to support the team during the match.

Ellison now moves up front, though the shift seems to be more a result of his exhaustion than any tactical ploy, and it’s odd that the newcomer wasn’t one of the three Mr Taylor chose to sub. Then again, Ellison might possess some talent in deception. Set free, he loiters, apparently weary, and is easily tackled. Moments later he fools his adversary out wide by the touchline, just inside our half, and then sets off on a burning run across the halfway line and deep into enemy territory. He reaches the edge of the box before slicing a shot wide of the near post. Now he really does look shattered, but, given a sight of goal, he’s found necessary extra energy. Looks like a trier.

We’re up to minute 90 now. We’re 2-1 up and that’s just about where we deserve to be. Then Peterborough equalize. I don’t begrudge them that, they didn’t look quite as poor a side as the table suggests. Nor did we look as good as the table suggests. But the poverty of ambition apparent in last week’s effort was banished yesterday and we’ll be promoted this season with a little more defensive attention to detail. Delaney can cut it, and will improve. Not sure about Joseph.

HULL CITY (4-4-2): Myhill; Joseph, Cort, Delaney, Dawson; France, Ashbee, Green, Ellison; Barmby, Facey.  Subs: Allsopp (for Facey, 74), Keane (for Green, 75), Lewis (for Barmby, 79), Duke, Price.

Goals: Barmby 46; Green 60

Booked: None

Sent Off: None

PETERBOROUGH UNITED: Tyler, St Ledger, Arber, Branston, Plummer, Newton, Legg, Thomson, Farrell, Clarke, Willock.  Subs: Purser (for Branston, 62), Boucaud (for Legg, 63), Kanu (for Plummer, 65), McShane, Nolan.

Goals: Thomson 26, Willock 90

Booked: St Ledger

Sent Off: None

REFEREE: A Penn

ATTENDANCE: 16,149