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A stultifying performance by two sides that came into the game winless for the season, a 0-0 draw cheered the hearts of few in attendance. |
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Well, we're off the mark points-wise, at last. And out of the relegation places (though I can't help thinking that we're getting too hung up about League positions so early in the season, when no pattern ever really emerges until October; until comparatively recently the tables weren't even printed in the papers until at least five games in). So, as the Tiger motor slips into gear as seamlessly and effortlessly as a clear round from Hans Winkler, we can expect to purr smoothly up the table, right? Hmmmm. Well, not necessarily. Whilst yesterday's halt to our recent losing streak was naturally very welcome (indeed, one might even say as welcome as those rare occasions when Harvey Smith would actually manage to deny the ruthless Germans), and spared Parky the ignominy of losing the first four games, a feat not even managed by Hateley (or, for that matter, Dolan), it represented a somewhat faltering, hesitant step on the road to stability and the point where we can safely look forward to a further season of consolidation. Despite a sprinkling of passages of fine play which on another day might, with a little more luck or some steadier finishing, have yielded some reward, and despite also a dogged defensive performance in the last 10 to 15 minutes as the home side (who, now they are out of the Premiership, no longer seem to be called the Tractor Boys; maybe Sunderland will get their real nickname back too now?) pressed forward, this was at times a desperately poor game, for which both sides have to take some share of the blame. Creativity was, one or two bright spots apart, non-existent, although what there was seemed to come from us, it has to be said; aside of a couple of efforts in the first half Ipswich only looked menacing when we allowed them to by dropping back, especially during the final quarter of an hour or so, in a manner which would have had Taylor beaming in satisfaction had he been present. We also looked light up front, with Barmby subdued and guilty of what looked like a bad miss from the other end, and the major contribution of Duffy (who replaced him), involvement in one move apart, being to lose control of the ball completely on the by-line when put into a promising position. Bottom line is that there's still work to do, and a fair bit of it, but that was always going to be the case, wasn't it? The day was fine, the promised downpour not materialising until about Stowmarket on the train home, and what at first looked like a poor Tiger turnout eventually swelled to about the 1 000 mark by kick-off time. The Portman Road sward, which always used to challenge the Ark in the days when Stan Coombs was the groundsman as the best club playing surface in the land, looked as lush and green as Eddie Macken's velvet riding jacket, although the rest of the ground cries out "Faded Premiership Grandeur", (an impression borne out by the fire drill announcements) and the City starting line-up showed no real surprises:- Myhill Referee-watchers may be interested to learn that the whistle was under the control of Prem whistler Dermot Gallagher, displaying all the pomposity and faux-gravitas of Capitano Raimondo D'Inzeo. Talking of captains, Dawson (probably also the pick of the Tigers on the day) wore the armband. Ipswich won the toss and made City play away from our vantage point up in one corner of the ground. After an early scare on three minutes (apologies: I missed the Barmby miss on 20 secs alluded to elsewhere on this list, and shall consider myself suitably chastised, but would still like someone to describe it to us) when a trademark Turner slip allowed them space on the right with the resultant cross being headed over, the early stages saw City take the initiative and peg the home side back without ever coming up with the killer move, Ipswich being restricted to attacking on the break as a result, Marney wasted a free kick 30 yards out following a foul on the Beast (looking once again a pound or two lighter than on his previous outing) by taking it too quickly, but even at that early stage it looked a tentative contest with little if any early-season confidence on display, and little for your correspondent to write about if truth be told. After Livermore (who did one or two good things but whose performance can most generously be described as "erratic") had given the ball away on 18 and the resulting dangerous-looking cross came to nought, the home side started to emerge from their early hesitancy and the game was played more in the middle of the field. We continued to have our moments, though and, after Marney had been brought down about 25 yards out after cutting through the Ipswich rearguards as clinically as Alvin Schockemoehle used to pilot his trusty steed round the Empire Pool (as Wembley Arena used to be called), the ex-Spur fired the free-kick hard but straight at home custodian Price. This heralds a bit of step-up from the men in stripes, and on 27 comes the best chance we're going to get all game. Some careful build-up play eventually releases France out wide and the City number 29 sends over the perfect teasing cross which drifts across the face of the goal towards the far corner of the goal area where the onrushing Barmby is about to beat his marker to it. The Tiger Nation rises to its feet, and watches with a sense of deflation matched only by that of watching David Broome clip the wall in the Puissance as the leather is lashed high over the bar. Maybe Nick was just too much at full stretch. Maybe he was under more pressure from his marker than it looked from our corner. But it looked for all the world like a good chance gone begging. This all proves a brief respite from the general dreichitude of the play, sadly, and everything reverts to tentative mode on both sides, where it stays until a poor Ipswich ball goes straight to Fagan, as feisty and energetic throughout the afternoon as Caroline Bradley, who attempts to catch the keeper unawares with a 45-yard chip but directs it just over the bar with the keeper looking suitably stranded. A minute later, and a poor Ipswich clearance eventually allows the Beast to be set up 18 yards out. His first effort is sliced alarmingly, but he gets a second bite at the cherry which although slightly scuffed was sufficiently menacing to the Ipswich onion bag to have Price help it out for a corner. And then, high drama. Oh yes. The lady sitting in front of me suddenly leans back in her seat, and her light coloured jumper brushes against my poised pen, leaving a distinct blue line a couple of inches long along the garment. Thankfully quick thinking is the order of the day, as I swiftly change pen to a different colour in an endeavour to thwart any subsequent investigation. Right at the end of the first period, we get two let-offs in quick succession. On 42 the City offside trap is sprung and the ball is laid back to one of theirs (who could, but I'm not certain, have been one-time City loanee Mark Noble, who you'll be pleased to hear was as ineffectual as he was with us) who spoons it wastefully over from eight yards. Two minutes later, and a second Ipswich move (as with the previous one, down the inside-right channel which should be Turner's patch) involving Forster and Peters ends with the former also shooting wastefully over. That was it for the first period and after the welcome but increasingly rare pleasure of being able to take one's half-time smoke in the stand (presumably because Ipswich don't want their pristine concourses messed up) we settled down to a half which was even less eventful than the first. Despite "Parkinson's Black and Amber Army" booming out for a good fifteen minutes and a subsequent increase in noise generally from the away seats (bit early for "the Great Escape" though, lads), we can't seem to get the ball, and when we do we give it straight back, and Ipswich can't seem to do anything with it, and the result is as sterile a 20 minutes or so as you could imagine; think the first half at Derby last season. The tedium of this period of play was broken only by an increasingly-frequent series of drinks interludes; why is this suddenly happening so often this season? I blame Europe meself. Thankfully, the spell is broken, and on three-quarter time we produce arguably our best move of the day. Some slick work by the Beast and France ends with the latter's cross finding Marney, who fires low but straight at the keeper. They respond however and go close twice in a minute, first with a header over and secondly when one of theirs, in far too much space on the right, only manages to find the side netting. We are generally more composed now, but at the same time are looking increasingly content to settle for a point as we edge deeper and deeper. Will Parky come out and say that this was in disobedience of his instructions? Probably not, as the manager has probably felt the strain of our pointless start more than anyone and can't be blamed too robustly for not leaving anything to chance. But it did make the last ten to fifteen minutes, counting the four minutes of injury time, a rather fraught spectacle for those of an amber and black tendency as the home side pressed into the City half almost unchallenged, and at times even assisted by individual errors, not least when Livermore mopped up one attack confidently and then promptly dithered and lost possession on the edge of the box, or when Ricketts, in an apparent variation on his Barnsley party-piece, used his foot this time to loft the ball back into the City box whence it has been cleared to him. But for all that, Myhill didn't really have a difficult save to make, his most stern test being a free-kick whipped in hard from out wide, which he pouched with as much nonchalance as he also displayed with his generally-appalling second-half distribution. And to be fair, aforementioned errors notwithstanding, the defending was reminiscent of Hartwig Steenken in its resoluteness. We did have one decent attack in this last period, though, when Duffy and France combined on 81 to find Marney, who faded once again but not quite as badly as previous games, but whose game was to be honest not altogether suited by City's rather cautious attitude for much of the half. The City number 22 might have been better served by one touch and then a shot, but chose to cut inside and was tackled heavily (but fairly according to Mr Gallagher) and the chance was gone. The only other thing of note during this period was a lengthy argument between players and referee about whether to restart with a bounce-ball or City throw-in after the ball had gone out following injuries to two Ipswich players. We duly survived the wave of late corners, and Mr Pearson duly took charge of the single point which has now no doubt been securely transferred from his wallet to the confines of the Circle safe. When there'll be another one (or even three) to accompany it we shall have to wait and see. One imagines that the garnering of a single point against frankly unavailing opposition will not have been enough to appease those two categories of post-match caller to Humberside - the ones who think that City were formed in 2003 and those who were once Blackburn fans for a season - who are miraculously able to divine from a chance glance at the City score on the Grandstand vidiprinter as they shuffle with hunched shoulders past Comet's window that Parky has "lost the plot" or needs to "shpeculate (sic) to accumulate", but the fact is that a flying start was not, given the recent changes of personnel and preferred playing style, the most likely of options for us this term. Things will settle down, almost for sure, but it will probably take until the halfway point of the season before the team is playing consistently and effectively in the ordained manner. On what we've seen so far, we are going to be have to be very patient. |
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HULL CITY (4-4-2): Myhill; Ricketts, Turner, Collins, Dawson; Fagan, Livermore, Marney, France; Parkin, Barmby. Subs: Duffy (for Barmby, 71), Welsh (for Marney, 83), Burgess, Thelwell, Duke. Goals: None Booked: Dawson, Fagan Sent Off: None
IPSWICH TOWN: Price, Bruce, De Vos, Naylor, Harding, Williams, Noble, Walton, Peters, Lee, Forster. Subs: Haynes (for Lee, 71), Currie (for Peters, 76), Wilnis (for Bruce, 86), Supple, Bowditch. Goals: None Booked: Williams Sent Off: None
REFEREE: D Gallagher ATTENDANCE: 19,790 |
Last revised: August 20, 2006