The Tigers stumble to a half time lead then yield two goals and a sending off in a messy second period to allow Leicester all three points.

As a balding alcoholic who both played for Barnet and had his own talk show used to say: "It's a funny old game."

Certainly is when you are Hull City, playing for your very lives, and you go and lose to a side of such extensive ordinariness as Leicester City.

Unlike others reading this, I don't dislike Leicester especially, despite being in possession of the Championship's worst nouvelle stadium, most shambolic ticketing arrangements and mute fans. Ambivalence is a good word to sum up my feelings, really.

But I'm not as well disposed to them now that they've just turned us over at the KC in arguably the least compelling fixture of the season. The football from both sides was tired and unimaginative, and the spectacle was barely assisted by some rank refereeing. But the better of two not good teams won.

Phil Brown, with his suit back from the dry cleaners after the bile spat his way at Elland Road by just about everyone within a ten yard radius, had no McPhee, Barmby or Welsh to call upon. He did, however, recall Ashbee and Livermore and dropped the slightly unfortunate Turner, while also deciding to restrict our attacking potency to a mere pairing, like most teams do. Yet, as if to confuse everyone – including us – as to his gameplan, he deployed Ryan France in the `hole'.

France as Sheringham? No, I was sceptical too.

Practising this weird formation in training while the rest of us ate stuffing and sprouts were:

Myhill
Ricketts Coles Delaney Dawson
Marney Ashbee Livermore
France
Bridges Fagan

Quite where the idea with France came from is beyond my limited analytical skills. The player is undoubtedly willing, unflinching in his attitude and always seems physically in good shape, considering the paucity of his first-team starts of late. However, the ability he possesses – and one wonders whether he has enough any more for this stringent level of the game – are best deployed down a flank. It's rare we've seen him straying into the middle even when in an orthodox wide role, never mind given it specifically. And, as feared, his keenness to provide an outlet for any team-mate at all was overridden by his inexperience at dealing with hardline defenders and his lack of ideas when given time on the ball.

The game was rotten from the start. Leicester shaded it, but frankly it became more convincing a reason for scrapping Boxing Day football than the spoilt whinging of a humourless foreign manager in the Premiership whose eyes are focussed on the European cash cow. Hardly a player on show looked bothered, and little was created.

Coles looked pretty uncomfortable, an odd event considering he was back in his favoured position having shifted into midfield at Leeds to account for the many thousands of natural absentees for that role. A reason for the centre back's uncomfortable afternoon was Hammond, a tricky, dirty-trick playing trickster who won an early free kick in a dangerous position from the huffing `n' puffing Coles and had a certain edge on him for the next 68 minutes or so. The set- piece hit the bar and went over.

Hammond was laughed at when he came on as a sub at the KC last season because of his name (Elvis, not Hammond – Hammond is a good name if you preferred to spend Boxing Day grabbing stuff from Hull's department stores), yet this time he was derided after a very cynical and troublesome afternoon. A clean tackle from Ashbee was inexplicably rewarded with a yellow card, and Hammond took an age to get up despite being so obviously unhurt. The cry of "cheat" from our very own pet East Stand monosyllabics was hooted his way for the rest of the game, sometimes prompting a cool reaction.

For their part, City struggled to make any impact on the game worthy of the word. For a while, it seemed that the best hope of a Tigerish breakthrough would come through Leicester's comically insane goalkeeper Paul Henderson, whose dual attempt at a clearance from a relatively unpressurised position was sliced into precisely the opposite direction to that intended and should have given the likes of Marney and Bridges encouragement to pepper the hirsute stopper with shots from all angles. They didn't. What little work in front of goal there was did not come via City boots.

Hammond wrapped Coles up again and found time to plonk ribbons and a label on him before scuffing the chance wastefully at Myhill. He then went down cheaply twice more, sending the East Stand perfectionists as purple as their new sweaters. Hammond applauded them. Cheeky.

Briefly, City got hold of the ball, and Ashbee found Bridges with space outside the box. Oooh, memories of the corresponding fixture at the woeful Walkers Stadium temporarily popped back, and seat edges felt the strain. But sadly, there was to be no heroic repeat. Bridges, out-of-sorts all game, chested and turned, before unleashing a volley which was way over, though not quite too high as to be embarrassing.

Back to the other end – this sounds like an end to end game now, but it was certainly not – and desert-headed Aussie annoyance Tiatto volleyed an awkward centre which Myhill spilt at Hammond's feet, but the surprised striker could only shin the loose ball over. Much merriment – and relief – from his nemeses in the East.

Marney, back in quiet, uninterested mode, fired a left-footer a few yards wide in his only significant contribution to the half, notable though it was that he nonetheless did most of the `holing' work while France's head tried to establish which planet it was on. There was a considerable exodus to form queues for pies and porcelain when a minute of added time was announced, and the many that chose to do this missed one of City's best goals of the season.

It didn't come from much. Ashbee and Livermore calmed stuff down in the middle and the latter decided to give Fagan something to do – a rarity for Fagan in this half – by making him swivel on to a nice through ball in the inside left channel. The ball sat up sweetly, and Fagan managed to place a delicately clipped shot over Henderson's head, touching the cusp of the crossbar on its way in. A smashing goal, right on the interval. It's hard to say City deserved it, but the supporters deserved something for putting up with the turgid stuff dished up beforehand.

Half time, a goal to talk about (and tell all those queue-formers about with much glee – I missed both of City's goals against Southampton due to this practice) and on came the Rev Allan Bagshaw for the traditional carol singing. This ritual has become more difficult of late due to the KC's obvious delay system between side speakers and the centre of the pitch, and as a consequence the Rev Bagshaw was singing Ding Dong Merrily On High at least half a minim behind the musical accompaniment which was being piped our way. Bless him for pursuing it, mind. And a shame a lot of City fans didn't even feign an interest, although they may have been like me – uncomfortable with carol singing when Christmas Day was already done.

The second half then, and Bridges sets Fagan chasing as the goal neared, but he hit his shot poorly and Henderson pouched it. Then Marney and France – yes, France – combined for the first time with any great worth and sent Bridges clear down the left, but his attempt at cross or shot became a messy miskick into the South Stand for which he openly apologised to both team-mates and fans.

Leicester picked themselves up again, forced a corner and equalised in a manner which could yet shape our season. Gareth Williams – not that one, of course, unless he really did score that own goal against York – swung it outwardly and the awesomely-named Kisnorbo won the header which Myhill fumbled against Ashbee and let drop back into the net. Preventable and lamentable, but at least while we know such errors are few and far between, maybe it was the moment when the many scouts would decide not to recommend our Custodian of the Leather to their managers. And if we are to avoid the drop, I'd rather like Myhill to stay, please.

City make a sub. Elliott? No, Forster. For France. Or devil for deep blue sea. Three up front with Marney now required to provide.

The goal, reliant on Myhill's mistake though it was, also served up the inevitable notion that we were unlikely to win this. Leicester held City where it hurts for the next ten minutes prior to acquiring the lead and, even with more than 20 minutes left, the points.

It was an excellent, stylish goal. The influential Hughes broke on a sharp counter and laid a smart ball across to Williams, who nonchalantly curled a divine shot beyond Myhill's grasp and into the far corner. Spontaneous applause in the East Stand, hysterics from the visitors in the North. And quite right. City stood off, but Williams' deserves all the congratulations in the world for such a sublime moment of football in what was a distinctly drab affair. City fans briefly cheered when the response was to give the returning Parkin a run-out in place of the frustrated Bridges.

Almost immediately, City found themselves a man down to go with the scoring deficit. Fryatt, on as a sub, scored points off the leaden- footed Coles as both chased a long ball, and the leg tangle was enough for the officious referee to issue a straight red to the City defender and prematurely end an awful afternoon for him. Hammond, disgrace that he is, made a point of congratulating Fryatt on the achievement, and Ashbee was forced into defence in a direct contrast to Coles' redeployment at Elland Road.

The manager felt no need to take Turner from the bench to plug the Coles-sized gap. He must wonder just how highly rated he really is when not getting a summons in favour of a shifted, tiring 30 year old midfielder. However, with only one sub left open to him, defensive cover wasn't a priority as City chased a goal. Forster nearly got it when he manfully held off two defenders to get a glimpse at Henderson, but fired his shot straight into the keeper's grip.

Marney got booked for a challenge the referee hadn't seen (yet knew it was bad without having to consult an assistant) prior to Elliott's belated introduction. The best finisher at the club finally gets on with six minutes left when we're 2-1 down, knackered and depleted. It was almost entirely pointless.

City got a last chance just as the four minutes of injury time were announced when Henderson managed to punch a ball needlessly at Fagan, but the response was to give it back to him in a meekly struck way. And that was that.

Leicester's attitude was outstanding and the three points attained proved that such demeanour can go a long way when actual ability is lacking. City proved similarly such at Leeds but were found wanting in all areas here. We could be kind, and put it down to a bad day, forced changes in personnel and a continued emotional quandary in terms of securing Mr Brown the job he wants.

Brown claims nothing has changed and he is still a front-runner, but this loss was of the more characterless type which marks a manager's card. Positives in defeat are often visible, but there were none at all here, even though City weren't out-and-out awful. It was just a very boring game indeed, and those perennial awayday bores, Burnley, are next. Dig deep.

HULL CITY (4-3-1-2): Myhill; Ricketts, Coles, Delaney, Dawson; Marney, Ashbee, Livermore; France; Fagan, Bridges.  Subs: Forster (for France, 64), Parkin (for Bridges, 68), Elliott (for Dawson, 83), Turner, Duke.

Goals: Fagan 45

Booked: Ashbee, Marney

Sent Off: Coles

LEICESTER CITY: Henderson, Maybury, Johansson, MacAuley, Kisnorbo, Porter, Williams, Hughes, Tiatto, Hume, Hammond.  Subs: Fryatt (for Hume, 66), Wesolowski (for Tiatto, 72), Stearman (for Maybury, 85), Logan, McCarthy.

Goals: Kisnorbo 55, Williams, 68

Booked: Johansson

Sent Off: None

REFEREE:  L Mason

ATTENDANCE: 18,523