A new low for Phil Parkinson, a 1-5 thumping at the hands of his former employers.  The vultures are starting to take an interest.

"Crikey Steve, we can't have deserved that?"

Yes we did.

This was an abysmally gutless, woefully leaderless, wretchedly careless display. We were flayed by the vicious Colchester lash and seemed content placidly to accept the punishment. A disgraceful evening in the history of our club.

I could tell you tales of our journey home, as the orange half-moon made its low traverse across the western sky and we barely escaped a pack of zombies at a petrol station (probably), but the time is not right for whimsy. The time is, I fear, to change our manager. He's cost us lots. But those costs are sunk. On this evidence he'll cost us plenty more if we keep him.

On a grey Essex evening we opened with the side that drew at Norwich on Saturday, save that Welsh replaced Ashbee who was on paternity duty:

Myhill
Ricketts Coles Turner Delaney
Fagan Welsh Marney Livermore Elliott
Forster

Utter dismay. No surprise. One up front, and it's Forster. And what happened? Forster won nothing in the air, precious little on the ground, spent the match outnumbered, outmuscled and bewildered, with the result that every time we tried to shift the ball forward Colchester calmly accepted or acquired possession, trotted forward and shoved the other ten members of our team on to the back-foot.

Still, of course, I do have the advantage of hindsight here! At twenty to eight last night, when I realised it was again to be a Forster attacking solo, my comment was 'My, what a tactical masterstroke by our promising young manager! I'm quite sure that Nicky Forster will destroy the hapless home defence, leaving vast stretches of turf for our attacking midfield to swarm into!'

Football is all about luck and the exploitation of little advantages, and Colchester, remarkably enough, turned out to be just about the hugest group of players I've ever seen, so, unfortunately, the Forster tactic didn't work. But Colchester weren't even in the same Division as us last year! How could our manager possibly be expected to know anything about them? Bad luck chaps.

And yet, deceptively, despite a zesty opening from the home side, wantonly pinging balls into our box for their monsters to chase, we took the lead on the quarter-hour. Delaney booted in a high ball from the left, managing to isolate the only defender on their side who isn't six-two. He was the left-back, he was outjumped by Fagan and the ball slanted invitingly across the face of the goal. It eluded Elliott by inches but Forster, arriving with stealthy intelligence at the back post, slid it in from close range.

All this in the goal behind which we are grouped, tight to the pitch. Glee, joy, expectation that the home side's lively start would now subside as our footballing qualities unveiled and delighted. And admiration for the double sponsorship coup on the stand to our right, Panther Cabs and Panther Security. Do they use real panthers? I would like to think so. Black cabs, they'd be. And security against cat burglars. And, err….. Sometimes you need to make your own fun in Essex.

Of course you do, because Colchester soon equalised. A big boot into the box, a meaty header from the large Iwelumo. Goal.

I mean, some teams try to defend against crosses into the box, but where's the skill in that?

Marney tries to slip in Forster, but he's blocked by an excellent tackle inside the penalty box. Boaz commits a horror fuble, perhaps alarmed by the presence of so many giants in his box, but escapes as the ball bounces away off his crossbar for a corner. It's lively, it's watchable, ColU are big but zippy too. Most of all, though, 4-5- 1 means that Foster cannot possibly hold the ball up, so we have little possession in their half, so Elliott and Fagan are penned deep. Half-time arrives, it's 1-1. But we're second best. Our choice of formation ensures it.

Half-time is unexpectedly entertaining. Two teams of fans of either side are invited to participate in a `hit the crossbar' competition, and City win it 2-1 but only after some spectacular celebrations by `Dean', one of our scorers, whose shirt-removing antics would have earned him a lynching at the Old Den but in these more genteel times his enthusiasm was cheering. Better still was the jokey intrusion of the Colchester mascot as one of our other kickers ran up. Our boy did not take it as a joke at all. Vigorous words were exchanged. Fists clenched. Now, our boy was a spindly teen and I suspect his experience of boxing is limited to packing crisps into a cardboard carton, but the Colchester mascot, dressed in the normal style of these monstrosities, was in no fit state to spar. Not so much Roberto Duran's Hands of Stone as Colchester United's Hands of Foam.

Regrettably, peace was restored.

Even more regrettably, the game re-started.

Ten minutes into the second-half a shot struck Welsh on the hand just inside the box – seen `em given, ref played on – but immediately the loose ball was seized by Iwelumo who fell under challenge from Coles. It was, without doubt, a theatrical tumble, but I thought the challenge rash. Coles touched man before ball (though I feel duty bound to report that the majority of the City support reviled it as a blatant dive).

You might feel it's too painful to choose to check this incident out on telly, but you certainly should inspect the penalty itself. Iwelumo took a couple of exaggerated steps to his left to open up his body and then sent a right-foot shot sailing to Boaz's left and high into the net. `You don't stop those' is, I understand, the applicable phrase en vogue.

A couple of minutes later and Turner miskicks grotesquely inside the box, simply presenting the ball to Cureton. He accepts it with glee and slams a low shot beyond the stranded Myhill.

I love and admire Damian Delaney, but I can never forget the horror of his own-goal at Rushden after only a couple of minutes of a miserable defeat. This was Turner's Rushden moment – though he's been anything but error-free since the season began back in August – and in his case I'm straining to imagine that love and admiration are waiting round the corner. This was a piece of defending that would have no place in a Sunday morning park game, never mind Division 2. `You're not good enough for this team son' would seem an adequate summary of Turner's season.

A word for Colchester. Shoddy. Another one. Stinking. They're lepers. I mean, not actually lepers. But footballing lepers. This game was a sell-out. In the approach to kick-off the bulging stands and terraces, breath steaming beneath the floodlights, looked terrific. Proper stuff. Could we hear anything of the atmosphere? Not a peep. A howling tannoy blared out muzak and tedious sponsors announcements. During the game? Music after each goal. Of course. This club is in good shape and some decent Premiership team could have a nasty shock if drawn at Layer Road in the FA Cup. But I don't wish them well. I'm fed up with this fakery.

Forster off, Barmby on. Welch (the best of our midfielders) off, France on. Fagan up front. 4-4-2. The formation we should start with.

Barmby is still cold as he is offered a decent heading chance at the back post. He heads over. And that's our last glimpse of salvation. Not that our team is looking particularly hard to find it. They've mostly given up. Team-spirit? I can't see any.

It's Adam Pearson I feel sorry for. The work he's put into take this club so far forward …. And now ….

The 4th and 5th were masterpieces of horror in their own right. On 67 Boaz made an excellent save diving to his left and beating the ball out towards the touchline, only to see their wide man get to the loose ball ahead of Delaney and turn it back inside, where Iwelumo reached it in front of Turner and bashed the ball past a sprawling Coles and a helpless Boaz. Our defenders were all there. They just weren't doing any defending.

Ten minutes later. A shot. Blocked by Turner. Another shot. Saved by Myhill. A third shot. Iwelumo deftly lifts the ball into the roof of the net. It was as if we were choosing to let Colchester take their time and pick the moment they preferred to score. No, never mind the `as if'. That's precisely what we were doing. A disgrace.

The team's limp. The support's sullen. This is humbling.

I mean, we're Hull City, we are by definition humble.

But we don't have to be this humble.

There are four added minutes and Turner loses the ball in the box, only to be rescued by Boaz who shoves the shot into the side-netting. And then we're free. Final whistle. Slammed 5-1 at Colchester, second bottom and sinking.

Pride intact? Myhill and the indestructible Delaney, maybe Welch and Fagan. The last of these trudged over to the fans after the game had finished as if to say, sorry, I did what I could, but I know it was dreadful. Myhill waved wanly too, most of the rest were long gone.

I want to find a basis for believing in Mr Parkinson. I want that of anyone connected with our club. And there have been good moments in his reign – the spirit and energy down at Southend, the rather elegant dismissal of Wolves, the perfectly competent display only last Saturday at Norwich. But there have been too many shockingly inept, dismally dull efforts (home to Cov, to Derby, to Sunderland, and it seems like dozens more), culminating in this latest and deepest humiliation in a game in which you'd suppose manager and team would be especially keen to impress. The charge sheet? Mr Parkinson keeps playing 4-5-1 when it is obviously stupid. Defensively we're a shambles and just don't seem to be getting any better on this (or any other) front. His signings are without exception either generally disappointing (Marney, Ricketts) very poor (Livermore, Turner, Yeats, Forster) or not even picked for the team in the first place (Bridges). It looks as if only Danny Mills held the team together while he was here – take him away and what's left? No organisation or insight from Mr Parkinson.

HULL CITY (4-5-1): Myhill; Ricketts, Turner, Coles, Delaney; Fagan, Welsh, Marney, Livermore, Elliott; Forster.  Subs: France (for Welsh, 59), Barmby (for Forster, 59), McPhee, Dawson, Duke.

Goals: Forster 16

Booked: Delaney, Elliott, Marney

Sent Off: None

COLCHESTER UNITED: Davison, Halford, Baldwin, Brown, Elokobi, Duguid, Jackson, Izzet, McLeod, Iwelumo, Cureton.  Subs: Watson (for McLeod, 73), Guy (for Iwelumo, 85), Ephraim (for Cureton, 85), Gerken, White.

Goals: Iwelumo 19, 54 (pen), 66, 79; Cureton 57

Booked: None

Sent Off: None

REFEREE:  P Miller

ATTENDANCE: 5,373