A dominant Tigers performance sees Wolverhampton's top six side swotted aside with some aplomb.

This was the footballing equivalent of meeting a half-volley pitched outside off-stump with a firm meaty swing of the bat which sends the ball scorching away across the turf to clatter the cover boundary boards; or smashing in a straight red before rolling a deft black along the cushion into the bottom pocket; or the hot favourite skipping over every fence without touching a twig before scooting clear on the run-in to win by 15 lengths.

Authoritative. Commanding. Disdainful.

City hammered Wolves. Well, admittedly, it was only 2-0. And there were stretches of the game when there wasn’t a lot to choose between the sides, especially in the early part of the second half. But this morning I’m encouraged by the way our team is taking shape and, watching the way that the Wolves players wandered the pitch like leaderless wraiths in the closing minutes of the game, no one would deny that our opponents looked and felt hammered.

In fact, at the final whistle, they looked grateful to be allowed to travel back to Wolverhampton.

And they richly deserved that grisly fate.

To business. And our 4-5-1(ish) that we hope can spring into a 4-3-3(ish), and sometimes does.

Myhill
Mills Coles Turner Ricketts
Fagan Jarrett Marney Delaney Elliott
Parkin

Off we went, attacking North Stand on a grey, blustery ‘it could only be November’ sort of a day. Three minutes in, and the pattern of the game emerges. Parkin receives the ball just inside the box and is allowed generous time to turn and crash in a fierce swerving right-foot shot, tipped over the bar by the doughty Murray. Wolves defenders had been inspecting their fingernails as we crafted the chance, and this model of inattention and laziness was one they stuck to for the entire 90.

But The Beast wouldn’t benefit. On 7 he seemed to land awkwardly after a leap, and his ankle took the (considerable) weight without proper support. Now, that’s gotta hurt. Our man was in obvious pain and, after a short delay, had to be stretchered off. Good it did not look. Nor did the arrival of Forster, who lacks the physical presence to play effectively as the 1 in this preferred 4-5-1.

Never mind. Wolves are feeble. And we score.

A free-kick from the left is lofted towards by the penalty box by Danny Mills and Damien Delaney soars above the heads to flick it on towards the back post. Fagan reacts quickest and slides in powerfully to shove the ball home from close-range. Shoddy defending but let’s greet with glee a well-worked goal and a fine finish by a player who will be of immense value to us if he can regularly deliver the penalty-box predatoritude that he showed here and in bagging the winner at Southend ten days ago.

Grey skies are emptying rain all over East Yorkshire and two minutes later Wolves are shredded ragged again. A lovely swirling side-to-side move, Delaney shows a fine first-touch down the left and chips a delightful cross into the middle, but Foster, perhaps not quite able to jump high enough to apply a meaty forehead, can only steer his header up and tamely over the bar.

The referee is Uriah Rennie. Widely lampooned, but has he ever had a really bad game when he’s done us? I can’t remember one. He’s fussy and whistle-happy and he gets things wrong here and there. And, oo, he’s punctilious about respect for the corner quadrant. But I think there are much worse refs. Rennie has, however, moved on from the physically imposing figure he used to cut. Hobbies used to be marathon running and kick-boxing. More like burgers and Quality Street nowadays. Chubby’s the word, Uriah.

On 32 some messy defending presents Wolves with a glimpse of a chance, but the ball is scuffed wastefully into the side-netting. On 39 Mr Rennie inflames the crowd by denying us a free–kick when Murray is alleged to handle a back-pass – close call, seen ‘em given (anyone remember Goodison being absurdly punished at Shrewsbury for a sliced clearance up over his own head?), seen ‘em not – but the game is drifting towards the formless as half-time approaches, and we’re content with our well-merited lead. On 45 a gorgeous pass down the middle from Mills just skids off the wet turf to elude Forster and run out for a goal kick, and the whistle blows to finish an entirely satisfactory half – the Parkin injury aside.

Wolves have been lamentably poor, I’m pleased to say. Their travelling support was pitiful too, and that’s sad to report. 1200 or so? No more. Largely mute. I mean, this lot are (were) 6th in the table and this is Wolves, after all, a proper traditional English football club. We’ve seen so many dreadful passive away turn-outs these last 15 months, since we resumed life in our appointed Division, and I fear the stomach has been punched out of Wolves too. If it has, I hope it pains the ghastly ‘Union Jack’ Hayward, Wolves benefactor and frequently and always uncritically lauded in the muddled media as a staunch patriot. So staunch, in fact, that he opts to live abroad rather than pay a penny piece in taxes to Her Majesty. I hope you choke on your Bahamas breakfast this morning, you tedious old hypocrite. 2-0! Ha!

O, and if your lawyers are reading, obviously you and me, Jack mate, we like a joke, we go back a long way, and I look forward to buying you a pint of Brew Ten when City visit Moulinex later in the season. I’ll take care of the VAT, don’t you worry.

Second half. Mick McCarthy – his ‘backside in the baconslicer’ and ‘not even a f***** Irishman’, as the 2002 World Cup so vividly revealed – has had a little chat with his charges in the interval, and has hauled off the listless frontman Clarke and some bloke called Mulgrew whom I’d never even noticed, bringing on Jemal Johnson, a forward who scored against us at Preston last year, and some bloke called Lewis Gobern of whom I’d not heard before but who looks a capable right-sided attacking midfielder. McCarthy had altered the formation and surviving personnel too – Clapham dropped back to left-back, the whole set-up was more geared to attack. No surprise, of course, that the manager would scrap the game plan after such a dismal first-half showing (though quite how a team sitting in the PlayOffs could be so anaemic from the off escapes me), and for a while it worked, after a fashion. Wolves got into the game.

On 51 it almost went horribly wrong for us. Atrociously tentative defending by Turner as the last man gifted the ball to newcomer Johnson. Johnson surged into the box, shrugged off Turner’s desperate attempts to rescue the situation, declined to fall despite a Turner tug that would have led to a penalty and a red card, but then saw his honesty go unrewarded as Boaz hurtled off his line to effect a brilliant Billy Bly-style diving block.

Bit of a turning-point in the season?

More rain falls as the game is appealingly stretched out. Lively broken play, all perfectly watchable. Wolves are shading it, with the new man Gobert offering a ready outlet down the right and Karl Henry increasingly influential in midfield.

What Wolves can’t find is a moment of genius. We can, and it seals the points.

Marney to Fagan on the right. Fagan attacks Clapham, hits the by-line and then suddenly, magically, he simply slips the ball beyond his marker, sprints past him and the whole defence is carved open and now lies helplessly vulnerable. Fagan selects the correct option – not always his forte - and slides a low cross into the six-yard box where Elliott, racing in alertly from the left, pounces just ahead of Foster and tucks the inviting opportunity into the net. It’s a goal remarkably similar to the one that Fagan set up for Parkin against Barnsley back in August, it’s a warmingly exuberant piece of skill by the Brummie, and with 15 minutes to go Wolves are doomed.

In fact Wolves surrender.

On 82 Elliott loses the ball but wins it back and sets up Marney for a shot – just wide. On 87 Marney releases Fagan with a stunningly perfect pass – chance is wasted as Fagan slices the ball into the side-netting. There are 4 added minutes but Wolves are long past caring and the only incident of note involves Elliott being allowed a decent heading chance, which he contrives to head backwards. Ha! Doesn’t matter.

We win. Fagan’s recent improvement is rapid and remarkable, Delaney-in-midfield works if he’s one of 5, not one of 4, Marney doesn’t look the same man who earned such scorn against (most of all) Burnley, Elliott is cartwheeling back to his best, Jarrett was a smart short-term signing, Mills is a terrific influence and ensures no one finds the Tigs a toothless touch. Good performances all over the park in this game, with only Forster not obviously the superior of his immediate opponent, which will ask questions of the viability of the 4-5-1 formation that’s earned us 7 points in 3 games should Parkin’s injury be serious. But last night, listening to Radio 5, it was hard to choose which manager sounded the more beleaguered – rugger loser Andy Robinson or plummeting Palace’s Peter Taylor. For now Mr Parkinson must be beginning to feel a good deal more secure.

HULL CITY (4-5-1): Myhill; Mills, Turner, Coles, Ricketts; Fagan, Jarrett, Marney, Delaney, Elliott; Parkin.  Subs: Forster (for Parkin, 7), Welsh (for Elliott, 89), Bridges, Barmby, Duke.

Goals: Fagan 13; Elliott 75

Booked: Delaney, Jarrett

Sent Off: None

WOLVERHAMPTON WANDERERS: Murray, Edwards, Breen, Craddock, Mulgrew, Ricketts, Henry, Potter, Clapham, Cort, Clarke.  Subs: Gobern (for Mulgrew, 46), Johnson (for Clarke, 46), Davies (for Ricketts, 80), Ikeme, McNamara.

Goals: None

Booked: Breen, Craddock

Sent Off: None

REFEREE:  U Rennie

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