Another big game, another fine win orchestrated by Peter Taylor.  After a shaky start the Tigers impose themselves on their Merseyside foes totally and come away easy winners, with Leon Cort and Kevin Ellison putting in star performances.

Hull City has a rich tradition of participation in memorable matches, but the problem has long been that we have tended to be on the wrong end of the result when the final whistle blows. Not with this man Taylor. I’m beginning to suspect that no manager in our club’s history has a superior record when it comes to winning crunch games. Home to Swansea, Doncaster, Oxford, Luton, away to Yeovil, Sheffield Wednesday – sizzling matches, raucous crowds, vital points. And all of them won. Add in Tranmere Rovers. Make no mistake, this was a wonderful performance. We trailed, we looked forlorn, we fought back, we ripped the home defence apart, we scored three and could easily have had six (6-1, 6-1 – a tennis score: how sweet would that have been?). And as the packed away end celebrated during the deliriously happy later stages of the second half a man who has every reason to feel deeply satisfied in his job prowled the touchline, keeping his charges up to their work. You don’t have to like the chap. You don’t have to accept that every tactical choice he makes is wise – I think he over-complicates on occasion. And he’s bought a couple of duds. But when you reflect on the lack of bite, determination and thoughtfulness and, most of all, the limp unprofessionalism which most occupants of the Hull City manager’s chair have brought to their job over the past couple of generations, then you can only sigh with relief that Mr Pearson got it right when he appointed Peter Taylor.

Pumping up the volume at Prenton Park:

Myhill
Stockdale Cort Delaney Edge
Price Ashbee Junior Ellison
Barmby Elliott

With new signing Carl Sagan keeping the bench warm.

On 2 some sloppy play out on our left, principally involving local boy Ellison, allowed a cross to swerve invitingly towards the diminutive Hume at the near post, but he contrived to nudge the ball wastefully across the face of Myhill’s goal and out beyond the far post. But it was a nervy start by us and revealed a home side a shade more eager to grip the game in midfield. They had Jason McAteer there, and some good players too. Most worrying of all was the international-level match-up taking shape down our right – laydeez and gennullmen, I give you Theodore “The Divine Tapsicle” Whitmore against Robbie “Err, Robbie” Stockdale. I had no doubt who’d win this contest, and I was correct, but Tappa took it only on points and eventually that was not enough to save his side from the beating they took over the wider expanses of the Prenton Park pitch.

More of that later, gentle reader, but we were not meting out any beatings early on, not at all. And on 7 we fell behind. A free-kick was generously awarded by an erratic referee twenty-five yards out from our goal. A wall was set up to cover the right-hand side of Myhill’s goal, while our keeper patrolled the left-hand-side. The shot was delivered by the outside of the right boot of right-back Taylor, it swerved spectacularly round the outside of our wall and then back inside the far post, and though Myhill got a paw on it he couldn’t keep it out. Our wall was, I think, a bit ill-organised, but I was right behind the ball’s trajectory and the goal was conjured from a moment of dead-ball finesse that you rarely see outside of South American football programmes (shown at half-past-midnight on the Sky angling channel). Top quality.

And now we looked lost. The play was scrappy. Tranford dominated possession, but made no chances, though they had, in Hume, an alarmingly nippy and imaginative forward. Elliott and Ellison swapped positions sporadically, but to no good effect since we simply weren’t claiming enough of the ball to get our attack into the game. Price, we reflected, has an ability to grow his hair at a speed that is wholly abnormal, and we enjoyed a divine pass from Tappa which resulted in a yellow card from Hume when he petulantly refused to accept the officials’ assessment that he’d failed to keep the ball in play, but otherwise the game was not developing in our favour at all.

After half-an-hour, we began to improve, attempting to use the width of the pitch and beginning to push the play into the home half, but it was a surprise when a glorious opportunity to equalize presented itself. A corner, a near-post flick-on – so simple, so dangerous – and a thumping close-range header from Cort, which was miraculously stopped by Achterberg in the Tranfield goal. “It’s my day!” beamed the delighted netman.

O no it isn’t!

The hubris of the Achterberg will be a fond memory of this match, but at the time of this most splendid save it seemed a pivotal moment – we had a glimpse of a thieved equalizer, we’d been foiled, and we remained firmly second best. Elliott helped none by punting the ball into their net long after the whistle had been blown, and securing a dopy yellow card, and as half-time loomed the sight of a League table with Tranchapel just a point in arrears began to come into focus. Ha! Unbelievers! What you’ve got to do, you see, is boot the ball down the middle, watch the Transhire defenders run into each other, and then savour the vision of the sublimely talented Kevin Ellison cruise in on a 1-on-1 with the goalkeeper, roll the ball clear of the despairing gloves with the sole of his left boot and stroke it into an empty net.

No, really.

Stunning, inspirational, and season-alteringly-important stuff.

1-1, and time enough for another pivotal moment in stoppage time as the referee dismisses penalty claims and confidently books Dadi for diving inside our box. The Tran looks bemused, receives a volley of abuse from Delaney, and trots away disconsolately. Not so the Tiger hordes behind the goal, many of whom would have offered no protest had the penalty been awarded. I am however assured by those with good sightlines that there was no contact and the referee called it dead right.

Prenton Park has been developed out of all recognition since my last visit, for the Cup game in the early 1980s. Perhaps the substantial repair work to the stands generously contributed pro bono by the travelling City support that winter’s day helped them on their way, but I think that today none of the original Tranby home survives, not even the baccarat room. But what a grand place it is to visit. Four stands, all in the modern plasticky idiom, but all of different sizes and, best of all, all tight to the pitch and very steep. It’s a wonderful ground for watching football, even though the local populace obviously mostly feel they have better things to do than watch Birkenhead’s finest. The home turn-out was poor. The away end was bulging, and smatterings of City were apparent elsewhere in the ground too. BIG CLUB!

Into the second-half and the fillip of that late equaliser is quickly evident. We’re fizzing. None more so than Barmby. Ian Goodison shelters the ball from him as it runs out of play and receives a boot up the arse for his pains. As they square up – and it’s light-heavyweight versus bantamweight - I fear Nicky sought to even up the contest with a dob of spit, but I do hope I am mistaken. All vigorously entertaining stuff, anyway, and the referee has a chat with both men. Goodison calms down, Barmby’s having none of it. He cares, our boy. Love him.

It’s a lively game now. We’re playing with width. Ellison’s more heavily involved, and looking a threat. Price is as energetic as he’s been all year. But it’s well-balanced and the home side have plenty to offer. None more so than Whitmore. An elegantly powerful run from the left allows him to set up Dadi for a shot, but the immaculate Cort intervenes to block the effort. Hail sweeps the Wirral, which causes Whitmore and Goodison to think nostalgically of their entries into English football, in similarly vile conditions at Macc’s miserable Moss Rose. But frozen fingers may not earn Tappa dressing-room sympathy as, after a fast break from a City corner which had created a promising position horribly wasted by Junior, he is set up on the edge of our box with space for a shot, only to send his effort spinning hopelessly wide of Myhill’s far post. Theo Whitmore – he’s not perfect, but as a City player he made me happy when precious little else was even coming close.

Barmby now takes a breather, and on comes Sagan. But before the new man gets the chance of a touch, we’re ahead. Ellison punts the ball forward, Price has cleverly run round the back of the defence without straying offside, Achterberg sprints off his line. But the goalkeeper has misjudged it horribly. He’s heading recklessly quickly towards Price and all our man has to do is to nudge the ball to his left and Achterberg can’t change direction. He’s stranded, Price nonchalantly pokes the ball past him and it bounces gently across an empty penalty area to sigh happily into the home net.

Delirium! A magnificent moment, 2-1 ahead after being 1-0 down, promotion crackles in the chill air.

And all of a sudden the pattern of play is altered irrevocably: we’re sweeping the ball around grandly, Tranburn are left looking morose, rudderless, beaten. A delicious pass is stroked wide to Sagan down our right, he takes possession (is it is his first touch in a City shirt? I think it is), he cuts inside past despairingly wrong-footed defenders, he smashes a left foot shot low towards the far post and Achterberg, though able to get a hand on the ball, finds the power defeats him and the effort spins into the back of the net. 3-1!

A bit more pandemonium. Just a bit. This is what we come for, glee unbounded. The Trancaster fans, so eager to share their views with us earlier in the proceedings, are now showing us only the back of their cheap car coats and their tattooed necks, as their gaze is unaccountably held by things lying in the opposite direction from the seething jubilant taunting away end.

There’s almost more. Ellison crashes a wonderful shot hard against the crossbar with Achterberg flailing failingly. The rebound drops to Price who heads over the bar. I suppose Price should’ve done better but our football is flowing wonderfully well now. Ellison surges clear again and belts a ferocious low left-foot shot across Achterberg, who pushes the ball out at full stretch and, fortunately for the Trannies, no Tig is following up to ram the loose ball into the net. It’s terrific stuff, and it’s a terrific feeling. Big away support, big game, big win, and we’re in control across every blade of grass on the pitch. Sit back and enjoy it – how often do we get to do this? There was 4-1 at Wimbledon in 1984, but that wasn’t really a big support, 5-1 at Northampton last season but that wasn’t really a big game. “Hillsborough?” you ask? No, no, altogether too vulgar, TOO BIG an away support.

On 76, a melee following a corner allows McAteer a sight of our goal, but he blasts over the bar. Elliott now comes off for the doughty France, and Price is pushed up front. But the minutes are ticking down now, and we’re going to win. Myhill is forced into a decent save on 90 as a shot flies across him, but overall there’s no argument about who’s taking the points. Most of the Trancastle fans are safely home popping the kettle on by the time the whistle goes, so it is an otherwise deserted stadium that brings together Hull City team and fans for the rapturous greeting of a Big Win.

Well! Some excellent efforts all over the pitch. Given decent service Elliott and Barmby look capable of scoring a dozen and more goals between them between now and the beginning of May. Cort is perfect, Delaney a sturdy partner. But I will close by picking out two men for special merit. Carl Sagan. This time I do believe the Tig cheque book has been opened to resoundingly good effect. This lad looks mean, pacy, strong and inventive (not much of any of that from Alsop this season): he was loving the vivid atmosphere (whereas poor old Wilbraham seems to shrink in the bigger games – at Luton, for example). I am very excited at the prospect of watching Sagan destroy some defences from now on in. And Kevin Ellison. Lemons, I should perhaps have advised you, are among my favourite fruit, and I was pleased to see Ellison yesterday confirm my positive assessments handed to you hitherto (by implication). No, seriously – he ran about lots, made mistakes but never shied away from involvement, took his goal with élan and is revealing a very welcome readiness to shoot – powerfully – on sight.

Now, go and inspect that league table. Prepare for Division 2. We’ve grabbed 10 points from 4 games, we’re playing some increasingly fine football. At this rate our normal promotion routine of doing the maths well before the end of the season should be sustained and, main job done, the choice concluding cuts of Wednesday at home and Brentborough away may be no more than Championship deciders.

This was a BIG WIN.

HULL CITY (4-4-2): Myhill; Stockdale, Cort, Delaney, Edge; Price, Ashbee, Lewis, Ellison; Elliott, Barmby.  Subs: Fagan (for Barmby, 60), France (for Elliott, 80), Hessentahler, Wilbraham, Duke.

Goals: Ellison 43; Price 63; Fagan 69

Booked: Elliott, Price

Sent Off: None

TRANMERE ROVERS: Achterberg, Taylor, Sharps, Goodison, Roberts, Whitmore, McAteer, Rankine, Hall, Hume, Dadi.  Subs: Dagnall (for Dadi, 68), Jones (for Whitmore, 76), Howarth, Harrison, Jennings.

Goals: Taylor 7

Booked: Dadi, Hume, McAteer

Sent Off: None

REFEREE: G Salisbury

ATTENDANCE: 12,684