A repeat fixture of the last day of last season and a repeat performance - City capitulate to a workmanlike Plymouth side amid lame selections and dodgy tactics.  Not a great start to the season.

Bright sunshine! Warm sun! Optimism in the air!

Two oudda three ain't bad, as soon-to-be Setanta pundit Meat Loaf so felicitously has it.

For me, Phil Brown captured the special feel of the season's opening day with uncanny prescience in his conspicuously well-honed Manager's Notes, which so glitteringly adorn the match programme:

'We'll be looking to kick-start our season, a good start gives everyone a positive feel, that's what we'll be after, and a good start is not just a good start, it's a start that's good, and in my experience in the game that's the sort of start that everyone wants.'

I couldn't have put it similarly myself.

Well, admittedly Mr Brown has here rather skated over his indolent summer's purchasing practices and the fact that a team scarcely good enough last year has barely been strengthened, and not at all in the area of most glaring deficiency, central midfield. He's left unmentioned the contrast between dedicated pursuit of headlined association with high-profile players we subsequently appear to have had no intention of acquiring and the reality of our humdrum squad remaining humdrum. And Mr Brown has chosen not to ruminate on the purchase of the club by (what some might call, but obviously not me) a bunch of unknown chancers who've studied hard at the Ken Bates school of smoke-and-mirrors investment in football clubs.

But let's focus on what Mr Brown did write, not on what he didn't. Our manager certainly knows his onions. A good start is a good thing.

We didn't get one.

Not getting one were:

Myhill
Ricketts Coles Delaney Dawson
Hughes Ashbee Marney
Garcia Windass Barmby

4-3-3! With Ashbee at the fulcrum of the midfield trio! And Coles restored to central midfield! Crikey! If you watched City play from, say, January through to May last season you wouldn't have had much confidence that the chosen formation and personnel would be sound enough to repel a lively and well-organised Plymouth side. But Mr Brown, in his excellent Manager's Notes, saw it differently:

'The eagle may fly over the mountain, but the mountain may never fly over the eagle'.

How very true that was.

The game started and we scored after 3 minutes.

It's worth dwelling on this because I don't suppose the season ahead offers anything remotely so cheering. Sloppy defending, alert attacking, Barmby nips behind the visiting back-line and shoots past Argyle keeper Larrieu, but the excellent French netman has his angles covered and the ball rebounds meatily back into play off the near post. It zips straight at Windass. He's got no time to compose himself. It's just pure footballing instinct. He jerks out an instep and caresses the ball inside the far post. Superbly executed by an extraordinary man.

I hadn't expected this, and in fact it hadn't even been foreshadowed by Phil Brown's Manager's Notes, but we're leading! Maybe we're even top of the League!

But not for long. A 4-3-3 formation looks potentially rich with flair and aggression when we've got the ball, but, since we can't name Johan Neeskens, Wim van Hanagem nor even one, let alone both, of the Van der Kerkhof twins in our line-up, it's likely to look frighteningly stretched if the opposition nick possession and break quickly. Plymouth did this. Our midfield was spreadeagled, the gap between Ashbee and the back-four was wide and inviting, and ex-Tiger David ‘Chuck’ Norris scooted into it, relishing Andy Dawson's feeble attempts to obstruct his progress into a shooting position before whipping a firm low shot into the corner of the net to equalise.

One apiece, and no surprise. Plymouth look to have a better shape than us and, in most positions, better players. I don't fault our effort. I just think that, like last season, we're not really quite good enough. My personal Player Cam featured Ian Ashbee from minutes 18 to 20 but after he'd once passed confidently and firmly to a man in green and twice done that infuriating little aimless chip forward to no-one in particular which a defender calmly collects and distributes to one of his own midfielders, I got too depressed at the lack of improvement in our squad and switched off the Cam.

Mr Brown, prowling the touchline beach-bronzed to the hue of a mahogany occasional table, and no less talented and insightful as a footballing guru than any item of furniture turned since the reign of Queen Anne, put it tellingly well in his sublime Manager's Notes:

'When I was chatting with Steve Bruce on the beach at Marbella this June, both of us wearing very tight-fitting swimming trunks and sharing a few spurts of Ambre Solaire, I mentioned Ian Ashbee to him, and Steve's response was 'Who?'. To me, that said a lot.'

Might we reach half-time level? The riches of our ambition, eh? Well, we might. Our best players are, of course, Barmby and Windass, but the problem is supplying their feet with enough quality service to allow them to harm Plymouth. Barmby gets frustrated at the fragments of decent ball he's receiving, scythes down an opponent and gets booked. Windass is even mouthier than normal - in a good way obviously, but not all referees appreciate his delicate wit and constructive advice - but he evades a yellow for the time being. Attacking chances are few and not, I think, helped by Barmby and Garcia insisting on spending more time swapping wings than actually staying out wide and playing. But our best opportunity arrives on 39 when a Surge by Ricketts doesn't bring peace and stability to Iraq, but does bring a dangerous cross into the box, a melee and a blocked Marney shot before the move breaks down when poor old Ian Ashbee smears a horrible effort wildly over the bar from the edge of the box.

Plymouth? They look more fluent than us, but they're strangely reticent to get forward in numbers, and they seem to want to avoid any hint of the long-ball. Neither Coles nor Delaney look fully match-fit, and they're evidently not comfortable in each other's defensive company, and there's a case for Plymouth being more direct in order to provide the ever-vigorous Barry Hayles with the meat on which he can feed. But, unfortunately for us, there's more than one way to skin a Tiger. On 43 Halmosi eases past Garcia, Ricketts and Coles but shoots too high. Then on 46 a ball is knocked into our box from the left, Coles stands pitifully still, Fallon runs across him, stoops and deflects a neat header past the helpless Myhill. Shockingly careless defending.

That's half-time, and Plymouth deserve their lead. Quite what we've done to deserve Coles back in our central defence after his laboured efforts in the closing stages of last season, I can't imagine. But, you may not be surprised to learn, the programme's Manager's Notes offer useful clues:

'The one thing I'd like to promise all fans is that we won't shirk the job. As I said to my good friend Sam Allardyce the other day just after he'd switched off his mobile phone when he realised it was me, I've been to paradise, but I've never been to me'.

Second-half. An equaliser! That I didn't expect, but, although I am wary of drowning you in optimism as I pen this report, I have to enthuse that there is plenty of spirit left in our squad. 45-and-a-half games to go, and they definitely haven't completely given up hope for the season just yet. The ball is delivered from the left by Marney, reaches Hughes near the back post, and he is clattered to the floor, much as Jon Welsh was at West Brown on the opening day last season. At the Hawthorns a year ago we were cruelly denied a penalty, but referee Laws (G) had no hesitation in pointing to the spot yesterday. Windass strikes an uncharacteristically poor penalty, at a cosily saveable height to Larrieu's right, but Marney follows up in alert fashion and rams a low left-foot shot beneath the unlucky goalkeeper.

2-2, but parity is almost short-lived. On 50 a grotesque moment of confusion between Myhill and Delaney - far from the first slapstick routine involving that pair over the last two or three years - allows Hayles a sight of goal, but the burly striker too is momentarily bewildered by the madness and rolls his shot wide.

Then on 55 Windass daftly sticks an elbow into a defender's gob as he trots past him. It's not malicious and he doesn't hurt him, but, even though there's something endearing about seeing a 38-year old still unable to contain his excitement at the sheer joy and fun of being on a football pitch, it's profoundly stupid. Deano gets yellow, and he's lucky it's only that.

On 59 Plymouth open us up skilfully, but Myhill touches a deft cross-shot wide of his far post. It's a hot day, and time for some subs. Livermore replaces Hughes, whose performance was sort-of-OK, and clearly inferior to Marney's. McPhee comes on for the visibly tiring Barmby, and the Scot promptly took over the game. But not in a good way, or at least not in a fortunate way. He tackles a man firmly from behind, wins the ball, but is penalised. Sadly, that is how the laws are written nowadays. Then McPhee gets the ball booted brutally into his groin. He turns purple of face, and perhaps elsewhere too. Next up, Windass releases Ashbee, who conveys the ball to McPhee by tripping over it (if you'd not seen Ashbee play before you'd have thought this to be an ingenious piece of trickery), and then McPhee's shot is blocked. Then, a minute later, the able Ricketts sets off on another surge and tees up an inviting cross for McPhee to meet, unmarked and close to the penalty spot … but his volley is scuffed into the turf and bounces harmlessly up and over the crossbar.

Deano is off now, replaced by Bridges, who has no squad number on the back of his shirt this season, but rather merely the phrase 'Has a lot to prove'. About now, with 10 or so minutes to go, you could, as a City fan, feel reasonably content. I thought Plymouth looked the better side throughout, but by a decreasing margin as the game wore on. We were much spikier and assertive in the second half than in the first, and enjoyed more possession. As the last quarter of an hour was reached Plymouth's ambition was visibly shrinking. A point and a spirited, if limited, performance would have satisfied me.

It wasn't to be. Coles and Delaney had been blowing hard during most of the second-half, taking on water whenever possible. A pair of fresh legs was going to test them. And whereas McPhee, newly on as a sub, had made a right mess of his golden shooting opportunity, Plymouth’s sub Ebanks-Blake was not so wasteful. Our flagging central defence gaped open, Ebanks-Blake sprinted into the space and lashed a low shot eagerly past Myhill.

Plymouth lead, Plymouth win. There are seven or so minutes left, plus four added, but the only hint of a sixth goal in the match arrives when Halmosi shoots across the face of Myhill's goal and just wide. We're done for. Legs are weary and heads are worryingly droopy. Final whistle, and the City faithful - about 8,000 or so among a crowd of 16,000 comprising a few hundred Devonians and several thousand plastic people who couldn't be bothered to stay to the end - trooped off. Sighing.

O dear. The happier-clappier sections of our support, when asked about our prospects for this season, grin cheerfully, and insist that if things go well, we might even make it to mid-table. The more gnarled members of the Tiger camp, confronted with the same inquiry, shake their heads sorrowfully, avert their eyes, and quickly change the subject.

How do I think we'll do this season?

Well, um ... Terrible summer it's been really, hasn't it? And those poor parents in Portugal? Umm ... Darfur? Shocking business. Ten years? Has it really been ten years since tiger-chat was united in grief at the death of the people's princess?

I look forward to Phil Brown’s take on the Queen In Our Hearts later this month. Remember listeners, tiger-chat is the place you'll hear about it first.

steve weatherill, standing in today for paul burrell

HULL CITY (4-3-3): Myhill; Ricketts, Coles, Delaney, Dawson; Hughes, Ashbee, Marney; Garcia, Windass, Barmby.  Subs: Livermore (for Hughes, 64), McPhee (for Barmby, 72), Bridges (for Windass, 79), Turner, Duke.

Goals: Windass 3; Marney 49

Booked: Barmby, Delaney, Windass

Sent Off: None

PLYMOUTH ARGYLE: Larrieu, Connolly, Doumbe, Seip, Sawyer, Halmosi, Nalis, Norris, Buzsaky, Fallon, Hayles.  Subs: Ebanks-Blake (for Hayles, 75), Chadwick (for Fallon, 79), Hodges (Halmosi, 89), McCormick, Timar.

Goals: Norris 15; Fallon 45; Ebanks-Blake 81

Booked: Halmosi

Sent Off: None

REFEREE:  G Laws

ATTENDANCE: 16,633