City dominate large tracts of the game but Bristol City exploit City's defensive errors ruthlessly and take all three points in this promotion clash.

Report by Steve Weatherill.

Ah, mournful tiger globe. From Salt Spring Island to Sunk Island, South Africa to South Cave, Winnipeg to Withernsea, a nation awakes and grieves at the collapse of the dream. Won last week, went flying. Lost this week, crumpled back to earth. Promotion? It's not going to happen is it, not to us, not to Hull City?

Just hold on a minute there. Let me assure the far-flung amber and black horde that one portion of the Tiger Nation is not surrendering its expectations so easily. And that is the 1200 or so members that yesterday crammed into the dank and gloomy confines of the corner at Ashton Gate reserved for the away support. For we witnessed (from behind obstructive pillars and ramshackle stanchions) a performance which for the most part offered as much flair, bite and command as did last week's glorious success at the Hawthorns. We were undone in Bristol by two moments of grisly inattentive defending - Michael Turner, absent, saw his stock rise vertiginously as others dithered - and by a horribly unfortunate late denial as Frazier Campbell's last minute shot smote the post, but over the 90-odd minutes we were the superior side, and had much the better of the possession and the scoring opportunities.

Put another way, if this Bristol City are serious promotion contenders - and the table shows them to be that, and more - then on this display so are we. On the basis of recent evidence we already knew that, of course. But my point is - don't despair. We lost this game. But we are still seriously worth watching. And I think we'll put 4 or 5 past some hapless opponents in the next two or three weeks.

On a grey, blustery but dry Western afternoon we carded:

Myhill
Ricketts Clement Brown Dawson
Garcia Marney Ashbee Pedersen
Folan Campbell

Loan signing Clement in at centre back as a straight replacement for suspended colossus Michael Turner, Boaz Myhill sporting his lucky West Brom socks. And Henrik Pedersen with licence to maraud down the left with the comforting cover of Andy Dawson at his back.

And the Dane duly marauded. Inside the first minute. Campbell stroked it wide, Pedersen surged forward into a shooting position but instead of trying his luck from an acute angle he instead played a superb low cross into the stride of Folan, who had only keeper Basso to beat but who instead rolled a shot wastefully wide of the post.

O, chances. You've gotta take 'em. It was a glorious opportunity to put us in a position from which we could have dictated the pattern of the play. Folan's pace is withering, his strength impressive. His finishing isn't yet ruthless. That, of course, we why were able to buy him for one million rather than watch figures closer to ten million get slapped on Wigan's table. But he's improving.

The game settles down. Myhill can't get his kicks from ground away since the ball won't stay still as the wind gusts. Reminds me of Pat Heard's penalty at Oldham twenty years ago when the game had to be delayed while the groundstaff built up a small pyre of sand apt to hold the ball still, before Pat smashed it into the net. That was the season we looked like going up from this Division before falling away horribly. Maybe I shall live only in the present for the time being.

Bristol score. That's what living in the present does for you. And it is a wretched goal. Signing a player on loan seems such a good deal. A fresh face into the squad without the need to find a fat fee. The downside is that the new man might not have played much football lately. And Clement looked as rusty as a barge lying forlorn and forgotten on the muddy banks of Bristol's tidal River Avon. The ball's punted into our box and Clement fails hopelessly to intervene, simply watching it sail beyond him into space rapidly and gleefully occupied by Dele Adebola. To say Adebola's been a thorn in our side over the years would be a grave understatement - a powerfully intimidating six-foot-four spear more like - but he needs no muscle, only composure, on this occasion. He's got the necessary, and, running onto the bouncing ball, he calmly and confidently thumps a left foot shot past the exposed Myhill.

Poor Clement. Poor us.

Plenty of Hull City sides of recent times (well, of all time, really) would have folded at this point.

Not this one.

There was plenty to like about Ian Ashbee yesterday as he forced us back into the game with a combination of strident voice, trademark pointing and aggressive determination in the centre of midfield. There must be times when he chortles at the very idea that he is captaining a side just eight weeks of success away from reaching the Premiership. There should be times when we, as City fans, reflect with incredulity but also admiration at how a player who looked so comfortably at home in the midfield battlefields of Division 4 has not transformed himself at all - he's still the same exasperating mix of honest effort and flawed distribution - and yet (most of the time) looks anything but out of place two Divisions higher.

On 22 Campbell does well, slips the ball to Garcia, he shoots too high. On 26 Campbell is released down the left, and when he hares away no defender will catch him. A square ball to Folan arriving inside the box, a lunging defensive block, the ball is squeezed out for a corner. Which is whipped in to the near post, flick header, safely pouched by the admirably unfussy Basso. On 30 Garcia has space in a handily advanced position but he is guilty of overelaboration and loses out. On 31 Campbell again finds space but this time miscues his shot.

We are dominating possession. They are defending grimly, visibly uncomfortable whenever Folan and particularly Campbell are on or close to the ball. The damage that pace can do. The home side are reduced to occasional breakaways, and most of them conclude with trivial offside decisions in our favour.

What we need - and certainly what we deserve - is an equaliser.

On 44 it arrives.

Another delightful move deep inside their box culminates in a ball worked across the face of the goal from left to right. It reaches Ashbee unmarked at the back post and in a shooting position. He winds himself up as if trying to use a fairway wood to send the ball 300 yards on to a distant green, but comically manages only to brush the side of the ball and send it spinning forward only a yard or so away. But the Bristol defence is so shredded that Ashbee has time to recover, crash the errant ball back square into the six yard box where a flailing defensive leg diverts it past the luckless Basso.

And, now level, we finish the half much the stronger.

At half time the Tiger support is hugging itself. A performance the equal of last week's - better perhaps - and the momentum rolling powerfully in our direction. Settle for a point, but play for a win?

It goes horribly wrong.

On 46 the ball is hoisted into our box and suddenly the defence seems to be collectively missing. A bounce, a header, and a deft finish and Bristol have regained the lead.

File it under 'down the far end, not quite sure what happened', but it looked a dismally dozy goal for us to concede.

And thereafter, in short, we did as we did in the first half - gradually assumed control of possession and had the better of the sights of goal - but without finding the equaliser. Bah.

It took a while to get on top though, as the team was understandably frustrated to have squandered the benefits of our first half rally so early in the second. And in fact, on 57, the virus of indecisive defending afflicted us once more, bringing the best from Myhill as he blocked one gifted chance, and then, with the aid of a defender, another immediately afterwards.

Okocha had by now come on for Garcia, who is still some way short of showing the forceful presence he brought to his game before his trek back to Australia, and Marney had been pushed out to the right to accommodate the Nigerian maestro. Which made logical the next adjustment, the removal of the disappointing Marney himself in favour of France.

We are in charge of the game. We need to create chances. On 70 Okocha shoots into the side-netting. On 74 France, bustling down the right, crosses to Folan, but he cannot keep his header down even though he's managed to evade his marker. On 77 a chance for them, blazed high over the bar. Both teams are intent on conserving possession and are trying to play a proper passing game. We are a bit better at it.

Okocha sparkles fitfully but doesn't find the awesome defence-shredding ball that cooked Norwich and West Brom's goose. France gets up and down the right side with panache, Pedersen on the left is admirably committed and sensible in possession too, the front two are always alert but hoping for better service - or, to be fair to the determined home side, hoping in vain for less well-organised and conscientious defending. Clement had a horrible time of it early on as he tried to get to grips with the pace of competitive first-team football, but he did enough in the last 40 minutes to so to suggest he could be a useful member of the squad over the next two months, though his leftfootitude suggests that playing him at right-side centre back, as we did yesterday, was an emergency experiment not to be repeated.

Into the last ten, and we need a moment of inspiration or else a juicy slice of luck. The former arrives on 89. It is a surging move. Pedersen feeds Folan wide on the right. He cuts inside, tries to burst between retreating defenders, causes panic, the ball is transferred to Campbell near the penalty spot, he has to twist behind himself to get the shot away but he does as well as he could given the angle and the pressure. And a well-struck shot smashes hard against the post before bouncing away to safety.

O, we deserved better. The excellent Campbell deserved better.

Such is football. Four added minutes. No more joy. Lost 2-1.

No points collected, but lots to admire and enjoy. Put another way if last week was this season's equivalent of the (in)famous win at Sheffield United early in 1971, then yesterday's defeat definitely does not have anything in common with the weary follow-up home loss to Oxford 37 years ago (it can't be 37 can it? it is though) which had so many 'fans' rolling their eyes and whining about City 'not wanting to go up'. As we entered March we knew that we can't really afford more than a couple of poor performances and maybe a couple of unlucky ones over the games that remain in this splendid season, if we really are to land in the PlayOffs. Yesterday was an unlucky one. It did, however, confirm that there's no team out there with which we can't compete on level terms. Burnley next. Another team in form, of whom we seem to have met an awful lot just lately.

HULL CITY (4-4-2): Myhill; Ricketts, Clement, Brown, Dawson; Garcia, Ashbee, Marney, Pedersen; Campbell, Folan.  Subs: Okocha (for Garcia, 55), France (for Marney, 63), Walton, Featherstone, Tyler.

Goals: Fontaine (og) 45

Booked: Ashbee, Ricketts

Sent Off: None

BRISTOL CITY: Basso, Wilson, McCombe, Fontaine, McAllister, Sproule, Johnson, Elliott, McIndoe, Carle, Adebola.  Subs: Noble (for Sproule, 81), Vasko (for Johnson, 89), Weale, Trundle, Byfield.

Goals: Adebola 14; McCombe 46

Booked: McAllister

Sent Off: None

REFEREE:   C Penton

ATTENDANCE: 15,859