A thrilling bottom of the table six pointer sees City twice come from behind to beat Southend three-two, the winner coming when City were reduced to ten men by a rash Ashbee karate kick.

We always play Southend in the evening, and we always win. There are few things more certain in life, and you can bet your house on it, throw in your wife and children for good measure, and still be sure of returning home afterwards to those same four walls and those same angry faces. With this in mind, our Tiger heroes might be excused for getting a bit cocky every now and then, throwing the Shrimpsters a couple of easy goals, reducing themselves carelessly to 10 with half an hour to play, safe in the knowledge that come the final whistle they’ll be greedily bagging up another three points for the long journey home.

It wasn’t that simple, of course. This was a fight, and it took a hugely gutsy performance, from a team recently lacking in this vital ingredient, to wrestle the points from the grasp of the Southenders over 96 minutes of highly entertaining sport.

With amber and black the traditional Halloween colours, and in front of 10,234 (most of whom were there for a ticket stub for their ManUtd game), we donned our trusty powder blue and trotted out to haunt Roots Hall thus:

Myhill
Ricketts Mills Turner Dawson
Fagan Ashbee Marney Delaney Elliot
Beast

The first 10 were largely formless, fortuitously so, as I waited impatiently for a balti chicken pie to cool down enough to be consumed before fishing out the notebook, quill pen and ink. On 10 the Beast brought a long ball down well and made room for a shot. Two minutes later Marney tested the Shrimp netman from long range and shortly afterwards a Beast cross to Elliott charging in on the back post (we have really missed this kind of run) was knocked behind for a corner. The corner found a somewhat surprised Turner unmarked on the penalty spot, after the Shrimp defence missed it, but his header bounced wide. This was good. We were having quite a lot of the ball, and the defensive 4-5-1 was easing smoothly into an attacking 4-2-3-1 when we took possession, with Fagan, Marney and Elliott showing the ambition to get forward and support the otherwise isolated Beast.

On 18 Marney and Fagan combined well and, when Fagan took on and cut inside hapless full back Hammell, Sodyou was forced to concede another corner. This was to be the pattern of Fagan's play all evening. He gave the Shrimp full back a thorough seeing to, in a way that suggested the tensions and frustrations that had built up in the weeks since he last did the same against the Wendies finally had to be released. Keep it regular, Craig, is my advice. Give it a go every week, if not more often. Of course you'll lose the ball a bit, but better to do so trying to get into a dangerous position. The times it worked it was damaging.

A couple of minutes later and the first real scare, as Myhill came for a cross, got nowhere near it and a Shrimpster headed over. Generally, though, we were having the better of the play at this point, defending in numbers across the midfield when we didn’t have the ball, and passing it quickly and confidently out wide and forwards when we won it back. Myhill was even rolling the ball out to his defence. On 28 a Fagan shot from the right was deflected by the Beast in an “of course I meant that, I’m very skilful and that was a genuine attempt on goal” kind of way, but after looping over the keeper it dropped just over the bar.

On 29 fireworks burst spectacularly over the Toomes Vauxhall Stand to our right, and our players stopped to admire, warm their hands near the bonfire, steal toffee apples off small children and fire up some sparklers. Southend, cunningly, carried on with the game as we lost possession in midfield, caught us looking hesitant in defence (Ricketts), and when the low cross came over from Gower it was bundled in by Harrold, who had lost the attentions of Mills, and despite Myhill getting a good hand to it. Half an hour of good work undone by a defensive lapse. 0-1. Bah! And now some crap music. Double Bah!

Thoughts moved to the spirits our side would be able to show. On a dreadful run, generally playing very poorly, bottom of the league, one down away on a spookily chilly night in Essex after playing well, would heads drop, would one head roll?

Not so. We started passing it around again. Ash played it quickly to Delaney, who sent it on to Marney, who got in a shot on target that was well held. On 36 it was 1-1. The ball was chipped into Fagan, who had cut across the penalty area to the left hand edge of the six yard box. A shot from him? No, he controlled it, showed great strength to hold off the defender, then great vision to wait for the Beast to rush into the area, laid it back and the Beast walloped it low across goal into the far corner. A sublime finish from the Big Man, who came over to the travelling fans and entertained us with some Beastly celebrations.

In the final 10 before half time both sides attacked. Ash floated one out to Elliott, who played it inside to Delaney, but his shot was tame. At the far end Francis shot just wide. On 44 Parkin brought it down and knocked it out to Elliott, who found an onrushing Marney’s left boot, which sent it over. Marney was for once showing us why we paid any money at all for him. Given the cover of Delaney and particularly Ash behind him, he was free to link play between the defensive midfield and the wingers/front man, his running was sharp and his passing accurate. Please can we have some more of this? We finished the half on top.

Roll on the second half.

What was to be the most entertaining 49 minutes of football served up to the City faithful in some time started rather tamely, with Southend spurred into action perhaps from some choice half time expletives from Tilson and assistant Basil Brush. Within 5 of the restart we were down. Some woeful hesitation from Mills and Ashbee (I believe) of the “Tackle? No, no, after you; no, after you, really, please, I insist, no… oh crumbs Eastwood’s ghosted past us both, steadied himself while we’re still nattering, and gone and thumped it past Bo. And now they’re playing that god-awful music again. I mean, what are we like?!” It’s 1-2.

And so another defeat, another grim look up at the other 23 teams above us, and a look beneath at what we’re to face next season. Surely?

No. We’re fighting. On 55 the Beast stands firm against ghoulish and demonic attention and wins a free kick 25 yards out. The wall lines up, but Elliott socks it past them and the despairing dive of Flahavan and into the bottom corner. Powerfully hit, perfectly placed, and our Norenirelen international cartwheels off towards our brilliant, tactically astute and soon to be cast in bronze outside the KC and almost certainly then knighted, manager. 2-2.

We can win this.

Er, no. Two minutes later, Ash makes a clearance and leaves his boot in high on Harrold, who falls dead to the floor. The vultures circle and the werewolves howl for red, which is exactly what it deserves and exactly what referee Joslin awards. We’re down to 10 with half an hour to go. Stupid, really stupid. I had a good view of it, and as Ashbee cleared he had ample time to lower his foot. Instead he scraped his studs down the Shrimpster and will get a three game holiday for this. Rather foolish, given his value to this team.

So, we’re down to a skeleton 10, and Delaney takes the captain’s armband. Instead of taking off our lone striker and packing the defence (didn’t we once do this at Peterborough in an evening game that ended in defeat?), we carry on attacking. On 63 the Beast took it down, controlled it and blasted it over the bar, and the roof of the stand, hitting the houses behind and no doubt scaring the life out of Mrs Margaret Hamilton as she sat in her living room, sleeping with her black cat curled in her lap. Woken by this, we saw her leave by the window, wearing a big pointy hat, perched on a broomstick; cackling.

Two minutes later Fagan takes the ball down and knocks it past his full back into space on the right. Ricketts has charged down the line and reaches it in time to send it back across goal to Fagan, who has turned and sprinted into the box. His timing is perfect, he meets it first time and strokes it low past the keeper and into the net. A striker’s goal.

We lead 3-2, it's all going off, and the tip of my pen is steaming like a balti chicken pie.

We have a lead, we’re away from home, and we’re down to 10. And so to defending. After recent displays this doesn’t really inspire confidence, but suddenly someone’s shoved a broomstick up Turner and he’s everywhere, winning headers, putting in stern tackles and even getting his head in down low where the boots are flying. Nothing scares our heroic central defender, who puts in a final 30 we can all appreciate. This is the stuff we want to see, what we paid for no doubt, and what for some reason hasn’t been on show before. This is Championship defending. Maybe it’s taken a while for Turner to adjust to it. We all saw it in the first game last season, when QPR kicked us all over the park. This is what we need. Every week please.

We’re almost up to 11 again, with the travelling support adding to our side, but we’re under pressure. On 75 Gower hits one just over. Southend were working the ball out to their left well, and Ricketts was struggling to cope. Balls were coming in, or Shrimps were cutting inside and shooting. They found the heart of our defence impenetrable. Hooper replaced Francis and Guttridge came on for Clark. Guttridge was involved on 80, hitting a shot that Myhill parried straight onto the head of Harrold, who couldn’t direct it on target with our custodian on the turf. Then on 82 a free kick was played across the edge of the box to Guttridge, whose shot fizzed across the turf, through the crowded area, past Myhill and … past the post. Taking a coat of paint with it. Two minutes later and Myhill makes a great save down low to his right, clutching it at the second attempt. The players are the living dead now, zombies on the pitch. Elliott signals to Myhill that he doesn’t want it from the kick, he’s done for, but no substitutes emerge. It’s too finely balanced to be disrupted perhaps. Marney concedes a daft free kick by handling on the edge of our area, but the shot goes wastefully wide. Four minutes of time are added on, presumably for the sending off. Mills, Turner and Delaney are flying into everything, the kitchen sink is thrown in for good measure, but the Shrimps cannot breach our defence. After a series of well defended corners the ref signals full time, and the relief is evident in the stands and on the pitch. The whole team comes over for a round of richly deserved applause. This was an entertaining one to watch.

It’s not enough, and it’s not the Turner corned, but it’s a start.

HULL CITY (4-5-1): Myhill; Ricketts, Turner, Mills, Dawson; Fagan, Ashbee, Marney, Delaney, Elliott; Parkin.  Subs: Forster, Barmby, Bridges, Yeates, Duke.

Goals: Parkin 35; Elliott 56; Fagan 65

Booked: None

Sent Off: Ashbee

SOUTHEND UNITED: Flahavan, Hunt, Sodje, Barrett, Hammell, Francis, Clarke, Maher, Gower, Harrold, Eastwood.  Subs: Hooper (for Francis, 76), Guttridge (for Clarke, 77), Prior, Collis, Campbell-Ryce.

Goals: Harrold 28; Eastwood 51

Booked: Clarke

Sent Off: None

REFEREE:  P Joslin

ATTENDANCE: 10,234