High flying Bristol City brought superior passing to the first half and stout defending in the second half when reduced to ten men, and claimed a point from a goalless draw.

Report by Mark Gretton.

We were probably a victim of our own expectations. For days it seemed little else had been discussed, in all the branches of the local media, in pubs and café bars around the city and, of course, on all the virtual discussion areas where spread sheets were produced, argued over, corrected and agreed upon. The crowd was certainly abuzz with it again last night and it’s hard not to think that some of this got to the players who looked as though the weight of history was slowing both reaction and movement, as if the burden of expectation was curtailing the freedom of expression we’d seen at Scunthorpe. Ultimately, what by any standards is a considerable milestone proved beyond them and we’ll have to wait for a future date before we can talk of the day when I finally got to write three consecutive reports on Hull City victories after 10 years of trying. Yes, after describing claret-and-blue-hued triumphs at Burnley and Scunthorpe this proved a match too far. Look for me to be rested for a few weeks by the tiger-chat reporting management, the craggy features and granite-cutting jaw of the man we are allowed to call ‘The Prof’ looming over me as he says he’s going to go with the kids for a while. I will return, I hope, with batteries re-charged and adjectives freshly a-fizzing.

We were jaded last night. It’s hard not to think that the excellent, high energy win at Scunthorpe in the teeth of both the elements and a young side who made us run and run had sapped energies more than we would have liked. Campbell, who against the Scunts lasted for 90 minutes for the first time in our colours, ran out of steam during the first half. Deano never really ran into steam, and had one of his outings when he looks every day of his years and tries to compensate by whipping up the crowd, snarling at officials and opponents and falling over at the slightest contact. Sometimes he tried to do all of this together, hilariously when he bumped into tiny midfielder Lee Johnson, fell dramatically to the ground and lay motionless for a second before springing up, confronting his bemused opponent, waving his arms at the ref and snarling at the crowd with further gesticulations. Comical, certainly, but also to men of a certain age the clear signs of frustration when the body will no longer quite do what the mind requires of it, the equivalent of blaming your wife for not exciting you any more when you know it’s your decline that’s responsible for you only being able to perform given a favourable wind and plenty of rest. I imagine. No surprise that Dean had his best game for some time after a fortnight’s rest, no surprise that it was beyond him to repeat it 3 days later. The recently heroic mid-field coupling of Marney and Ashbee was more subdued too, Marney looking blown for the last 20 minutes, perhaps again a reaction to his all action display at the weekend.

The first half was really pretty dreadful, plenty of willing running but even more misplaced passing against a team that came looking like a side who had received 3 consecutive beatings but who ended it looking more like the top 6 unit they are. The sending off of their left back just prior to the interval – a deserved but very soft second yellow after Ricketts booted the ball way past him, gave vain chase as it ran towards touch and must have been as surprised and pleased as the rest of us when his legs were taken from under him in a position of no danger at all wide right – changed the game and meant we could have a second half dictating events. We did get that, but we didn’t get the goal and, ultimately, hardly deserved to. Not quite cutting it were:

Myhill
Ricketts Turner Brown Delaney
McPhee Ashbee Marney Hughes
Campbell Windass

So unchanged and inform, we faced an opposition wracked by sufficient doubts to leave Byfield and Trundle on the bench, and playing huge midfielder Elliott just ahead of the back 4 and humongous striker Showunmi as a target. We were attacking the North Stand, though in truth we did no such thing for most of the half, McPhee, Ricketts and Campbell linked pleasingly a few times early on but produced no end product at all. The simple west-country folk began to realise this after about 20 minutes and started to try and do a bit more than just lob the ball for Showunmi to chest down whilst next to him Brown leaped eagerly and in vain, like a Jack Russell terrier for a stick held just out of reach. Sproule jinked his way daintily through our defence and shot just wide. Hughes gave the ball away and they broke but missed the target. Serial Tiger-terror Michael McIndoe was here in his latest attempt to punish us for not signing him 5 years ago and he flashed a freekick just over and then saw Myhill confidently grab a clever effort flicked off the outside of the boot. We limited ourselves to a few freekicks and corners which were completely ineffective, although we seem to have conquered our drill-it-at-the-first-man problem and replaced it with a welly-it-over-the-last-man’s-head glitch, and should perhaps be pleased that training ground work is bearing such fruit during the game. Marney did force one save from a well-lashed drive and the rejoicing at such activity was great. We were desperately poor, but as is often the case, none more so than Hughes, standing unhappily on the left, involving himself only to give away the ball, it was probably a mercy for him as well as us that he got a knock and gave the manager an excuse to withdraw him at the interval. So a dreadful first half, watched by a nearly silent 15000 faded to black, only to be briefly and unexpectedly enlivened by the dismissal of McAllister in injury time. Not much else happened except Mike Scott kept deliberately nudging my arm so I smudged whatever I tried to write down, each time he then laughed delightedly. I don’t know why, but I felt you should all know.

Second half saw us expectant against 10 men and we did far better. The reason you know that most football managers are not worth the money a club pays them is the way that they tell you that it’s often harder to play against 10 men than 11. It isn’t. It’s easier. Because you have an extra player that they don’t. And to their credit our players clearly knew this too and attacked with a decided spring in the step, though with commendable patience too, helped by having Garcia on for Hughes, the latter presumably too injured to continue, certainly too shit. Marney found a fine long pass that bounced with a come-hither smile into the path of Dean who cracked it effectively but keeper Bassano pounced comfortably. Patient, careful build up to draw them out involving Ashbee, Marney, Windass and Garcia eventually set up McPhee to spanner it in a manner that might surprise his old mates at Port Vale but that no longer spills any beer when it happens here. Similar careful approach work ended when Ashbee put a dent in his proZone stats by hoicking a left foot volley massively high and over. Windass and Campbell again set it up for McPhee who again missed. Marney shot wide after we had once more pulled them from side to side. Apart from C-list finishing, this was good stuff, our defence and midfield remaining patient, our strikers moving cleverly. Okocha came on for McPhee and immediately produced a through ball gem to Campbell that the boy was bearing down on when he was blocked away. Ashbee, perhaps inspired by this, found something similar to put in Marney but again we didn’t hit the target.

It wasn’t quite happening, and it continued not to. Netman Bassano became a predictable hate figure, strolling thoughtfully behind his goal to retrieve the ball after each missed effort as though meandering round East Park, carefully adjusting socks and shorts before changing the side of his area for the kick out, pausing then only to kick his heels absently against the post, suddenly becoming animated and waving furiously to signal the ref that he couldn’t take his kick as there were opponents stood not 40 yards away – virtuoso stuff, capped off by adopting the head injured posture (Fall dramatically to earth. Clutch skull. Lie motionless for nine tenths of a second before looking round to check whether ref has noticed. Recover instantly as ref approaches waving hand and looking pissed off with you), he certainly had a grand time and we enjoyed him too.

In the last 15 minutes it all got a bit predictable and our sensible build up was abandoned for lumping it forward in the approximate direction of Folan who had replaced the tired Campbell. Okocha put a free kick just over and then shot wide, but he often looked worryingly laboured, halted in possession far too often, and his heroics against Wolves and Ipswich are starting to look sepia-hued. At the death it nearly went horribly wrong; the persevering and, I thought, impressive Showunmi was withdrawn after a night of considerable graft to be replaced by Byfield who played as if determined to show why such a gifted player as he can’t make the first 11, jogging around gently, not bothering to try anything too strenuous. He was doing this inside our area amongst the game’s dying embers with the ball at his feet when Brown tripped him up. They both, along with 15000 others, looked at referee Penn, well-placed, who instantly waved play on. Byfield lay bereft, and it was very hard to see why this wasn’t given. It was likely due to the fact that the official, who otherwise had a good night, had been turning down Tiger penalty appeals all evening. Most of them had been with an umpire’s brisk, irritated shake of the head as Muralitharan booms another bouncing turner into a pad placed well outside the off stump, but one – when Garcia was wrestled over at the far post – looked a very good call indeed and it’s hard to think this wasn’t in the ref’s mind at the end. But we would have been very unlucky to lose like that or, certainly on our second half display, to have lost at all.

So we ended goalless and not great, with the concerns about our creative players’ abilities to keep doing it game after game reignited. We have come along way though, in the last few weeks; the fact that we are disappointed that we didn’t batter a side in the top 6 attests to that. And it’s another point, too, and there’s nothing terrifying on the immediate horizon or, more likely, in the whole division as Watford misfiring again, this time against Burnley, confirms. And plenty of time for me to describe 3 consecutive victories, over the course of the next ten years or so, I’m sure. Yes I am. Sure.

HULL CITY (4-4-2): Myhill; Ricketts, Turner, Brown, Delaney; McPhee, Ashbee, Marney, Hughes; Windass, Campbell.  Subs: Garcia (for Hughes, 46), Okocha (for McPhee, 62), Folan (for Campbell, 70), Dawson, Duke.

Goals: None

Booked: None

Sent Off: None

BRISTOL CITY: Basso, Orr, Fontaine, Carey, McAllister, McIndoe, Elliott, Johnson, Showumni, Noble, Sproule.  Subs: McCombe (for Noble, 46), Murray (for Sproule, 67), Byfield (for Showumni, 79), Trundle, Weale.

Goals: None

Booked: McAllister

Sent Off: McAllister

REFEREE:  A Penn

ATTENDANCE: 15,768