Former players on goal scoring form and the Sky cameras conspire to condemn City to late defeat in an entertaining romp marred by a nasty looking injury to new signing Caleb Folan.

I don't know how it looked on telly. You'll tell me, I'm sure. Entertaining, I expect, frustrating, I'm sure. Football can never look anything but out of place, even tawdry, at the midden that is Bloomfield Road - two decent stands, a gapingly empty end and a ramshackle pile of temporary seating housing the away support down the Eastern side. (Temporary? Italian governments rarely last as long. That mess has been in place since our last trip to Blackpool on League business and that's fully three seasons back now). But for all that Blackpool hosted an unusually lively game of football last night, studded by plenty of aggression and goalscoring opportunities. Compare it with, say, that 0-0 bore draw at Doncaster or the more recent horror defeat at Burnley and at least City will have persuaded the watching tens that it's not barrel-scrapingly awful witnessing our team’s efforts first-hand every single game. But - bottom line - we got no points last night, and that's an unnerving way to head off into an international break which separates us from an uncommonly awkward string of fixtures.

We lost last night because we didn't take our chances.

Losing live in front of a nationwide-ish audience were:

Duke
Dawson Turner Brown Delaney
Garcia Ashbee Marney Elliott
Windass Folan

Blackpool pinged a shot at Duke in the first minute - safely pouched - and proceeded to knock the ball across a slick surface with all the confidence you'd expect of a side that has won far more than it's lost these last few months. But I offer them no accolades. It was a pleasantly soft late summer Lancastrian evening and, until about 7h43, with beer, tea and a weekend in the Lake District in my belly, I was feeling rather relaxed and favourably disposed towards the homesters.

Then one of their support started belting a drum.

O how imaginative. How Latino, how magically fervent. I was transported to the Maracana, to the Madrid derby, to a Boca Juniors v River Plate game. A drum! Marvellous. That's all you need for a genuine football atmosphere isn't it, a drum.

Eat at McDonalds, drink Coca Cola, read the Daily Mail, think global warming's a myth, like lager, laugh at Jim Davidson's jokes, believe Princess Diana was murdered. And bring a drum to the football. You sad little loser.

I'm not one to judge, as you know, but this sort of thing makes me cross. Just don't get me started on music after goals.

Inside the first ten minutes and the precise reason why we've signed Caleb Folan is brightly obvious. Garcia slides a pass down the right wing, far in advance of our new man. Had it been McPhee or Bridges in pursuit of the ball, they'd've legged it hopefully but a defender would have cleaned up long before either forward had panted his way to within striking distance of the ball. Had it been Windass, he'd've raised his eyebrows, put his tongue out and done that radio interview about how he never had no pace, so he can't lose it. Again. But Folan's different. Suddenly there's a blur of whirling legs, scorching pace and he's first to the ball, in a position to whip a horribly dangerous cross into the Blackpool box. The only man fast enough to get into the box quickly enough to tuck the chance away is Folan himself, but, whereas Billy Whizz could play tennis against himself, even Folan isn't quite quick enough to bang in his own crosses, and unfortunately the chance sat up, begged and limped out unwanted for a throw.

Five minutes later Folan did it again. Rips down the right, crosses into the box. A defender hacks the ball away desperately.

In Folan we've bought pace. It is - injury permitting - a major addition to our squad. A million quid's a lot for a player with such a spotty track record but there was plenty on show last night to suggest that Phil Brown has picked a player who can terrify opposing defenders with his speed on and off the ball.

Lots of lively football, joyful stuff. End-to-end? Ah Satan, you tempt me with your cliches, and I taste the forbidden fruit. It was end-to-end, I have to confess. Decent passing on both sides, high levels of energy.

But on 21 why didn't we get a penalty? The ball is knocked into the Blackpool box and blatantly handled by a defender. It runs free to Windass who is crowded out but neither he nor Folan join in the raucous appeals for a penalty from the City support which has a clear view of the incident. I'm puzzled by this one.

Duke splendidly saves a deflected shot. Folan's shot is saved and the ball desperately headed wide for a corner. Elliott gives the ball away stupidly in midfield but rescues the situation himself, bringing the ball forward and a decent move ends with Marney, in a bit of space at the edge of the box, receiving a weak defensive header, settling himself but firing just too high. Golden chance, that one.

On 44, as a breathless half rushes towards its conclusion, we get probably the best chance of them all. Folan draws a foul from a defender about 20 yards out and a most inviting free-kick opportunity presents itself. It is in more-or-less the exact situation as the one converted so brilliantly by Andy Dawson at Middlesbrough in the Cup last January. (Well, it's a hundred and more miles South West of that situation, to be precise, but I demand geographical licence here). Unhappily the compass is spinning wildly in Dawson's head and he punts a poor effort up and over the bar.

Rachubka is a very able goalkeeper but we haven't worked him as hard as we should have done, given that we've shaded the half judged on quality of possession and clear sights on goal. On 46 one of theirs has space and sidefoots dismally high over the bar, so the malaise isn't exclusive to the Tigers. It's half-time, it's 0-0.

But within ninety seconds of the restart it's not 0-0 any longer. A diagonal ball is punted out to their right wing where Parker seems initially surprised to be given onside. However, he definitely is onside and once he hits his stride and carries the ball deep into our half it's chillingly obvious that our defence has been pulled horribly out of shape. The cross reaches Dawson, who, in a whirl of confused limbs, makes a grotesque mess of a clearance and the ball drops kindly for Taylor-Fletcher who keeps his composure and tucks a low shot past Duke, before choosing to celebrate with the cameras not the fans, a lamentable display of priorities. Dawson is entitled to ask where his fellow defenders had gone hiding but he should have done better. Playing a left-sided operator at right-back is an accident (several, in fact) waiting to happen and I hope to see Ricketts restored for the next match.

We're level within three minutes. And a flash of impressive quality it is too. Ball knocked in from midfield towards the left side, Elliott soars and nods it on into the box, Folan intelligently lets it run, and Ashbee, trundling hopefully forward into the penalty area, finds the ball at his feet and he steers it with the outside of his right boot past the exposed Rachubka. Terrific football, and, even more so, terrific resilience. You can't do a thing in football without fighting spirit. I suppose it's why Ashbee keeps getting a game, but, more generally, it's what Mr Brown has most improved within the camp when contrasted with those grey sullen months under Mr Parkinson's errant stewardship.

Garcia loses the ball, we defend untidily, Duke blocks a powerful low shot. Folan slips the ball to Windass, who nudges it left to Elliott and his firm shot is well saved by Rachubka. Garcia's brought down, Windass hits a poor dead ball over the crossbar. It's a fine game.

And then poor Caleb Folan is felled.

The incident scarcely registers. A collision, but play continues, it doesn't initially seem anything out of the ordinary.

It is, though. Folan lies stricken on the turf and he isn't getting up. It's hard to see clearly through the throng that surrounds him but he doesn't even seem to be moving. Blackpool raise the stakes, moving from medics to mini-stretcher to odd looking thing a bit like an ironing board to comfy trolley. And eventually Folan is taken off with great circumspection. It's all deeply unsettling.

And the game, when it finally resumes, is affected too. Much of the snap is gone. The play is much more disrupted and, if not quite scrappy, certainly less fluent and urgent.

Bridges had come on for Folan, while later Hughes replaces Garcia. On 87, by far the best chance to settle the game falls to Stuart Elliott. Marney sets it up cleverly and the Ulsterman is free inside the box. He connects cleanly too and a firm low shot whistles netwards. But Rachubka gets down smartly and blocks it. The rebound reaches Bridges who tries to curve his effort into the far corner but Rachubka is equal to that too.

Added time. Eleven whole minutes. About right too, though we had our suspicions that Sky's programme scheduler might step in and abbreviate the allocation. Windass, tired and a shade subdued most of the evening, walks slowly off and McPhee comes on. But neither team is pressing for a win. It's late now, and autumnally cool. It's as if both sides feel that's quite enough football for the evening. A point apiece. The game is not flowing.

But on 98 yet another enormous Duke hoof is planted back down the field by one of theirs under no pressure. Parker has a bit too much space down the right. Wayne Brown, otherwise splendid, is at fault here. When Parker's cross is lofted into the box Ben Burgess has a bit too much space in the middle. Andy Dawson, otherwise disappointing, is only partly at fault here because other defenders should have ensured he's not isolated against a man half-a-foot taller. And our former striker, released because of - unanimous, I think - expectation that he couldn't cut it at this level, heads the ball against the post and it plops dismally over the goal-line to win the game for Blackpool.

There's still time for one shot at an equaliser and it arrives in the 101st minute when Dawson has another perfectly positioned free-kick opportunity. But he sends his effort wastefully and frustratingly over the crossbar.

We lose. Rumours swept the City support during this game that Jay Jay Okocha was in the crowd. Friends, 'phoned at home, confirmed the claims, as if 'that's what they're saying on the telly' is a modern-day way to shut an open case. I have serious doubts whether an old hand of undoubted skill in search of a final payday is really what we need. But whether the latest Hull City news-friendly splash involves an African or a South American, our manager's interest in first Juninho and now Okocha reveals a belief that we are short of the required quality in central midfield. And he's dead right, I'm sure. Ashbee did as much as we could reasonably expect of him last night, but that's still not good enough to play regularly in this Division. Marney showed the flashes of imagination which make him such an infuriating player. He's got real ability. He shows it far too infrequently. Mr Inconsistency. And neither Garcia, in particular, nor Elliott showed as much last night as they have since the season began. Okocha is, I suppose, worth trying, assuming Theo Whitmore is unavailable.

Enough. We played quite well last night but still lost. That's exasperating, as a really good little run of results and performances has been unluckily ended.

HULL CITY (4-4-2): Duke; Dawson, Turner, Brown, Delaney; Garcia, Ashbee, Marney, Elliott; Folan, Windass.  Subs: Bridges (for Folan, 75), Hughes (for Garcia, 85), McPhee (for Windass, 89), Ricketts, Myhill.

Goals: Ashbee 50

Booked: Garcia

Sent Off: None

BLACKPOOL: Rachubka, Barker, Jackson, Evatt, Gorkss, Fox, Southern, Taylor-Fletcher, Hoolahan, Parker, Morrell.  Subs: Crainey (for Gorkss, 75), Burgess (for Morrell, 83), Forbes (for Taylor-Fletcher, 83), Vernon, Flynn.

Goals: Taylor-Fletcher 47; Burgess 90

Booked: Burgess, Gorkss, Jackson

Sent Off: None

REFEREE:  K Friend

ATTENDANCE: 7,902