Geovanni scores in the opening minutes to provide the Tigers with a splendid start at Molineux.  But a similarly early Wolves goal in the second half, followed by some increasingly dogged City defending led by transfer target Michael Turner, resulted in both sides claiming a satisfactory point.

Report by Matthew Rudd.

Let's make a list. Lists are good.

1: He wins every header he goes for.

2: He wins every tackle he goes for.

3: He puts his body on the line.

4: He doesn't get injured.

5: He is a leader through actions, rather than words.

6: He is understated, but beyond any definition of effective.

7: He doesn't whinge, privately or publicly, on the pitch or off it.

8: He loves what he does and where he does it.

9: He is natural but not casual.

10: He cares.

These are a few of my favourite things about Michael Turner.

There are a few more. A lot more.

At Molineux, Turner was selected for the side, which in itself was a surprise - a pleasant one though, natch - when every single conversation about City was about his expected departure before the banks reopened. Assumptions were made, not unreasonably, that the greatest defender ever to fight the City cause had already breathed his last as a Tigers lynchpin and was taking Sunderland's over-ambitious shilling while City copped for money on a player who was, and is, priceless.

But he played. Does this mean he might stay? Well, as I type this sentence he is still with us. By the time I upload, the deal may be done.

Blameless in this dispiriting state of affairs is Turner himself. He has conducted himself as impeccably off the pitch as he does week after week on it. He isn't Joleon Lescott, who got the whiff of an extortionate payday and stamped his foot about it; he has kept his counsel and not thrown any schoolboy tantrums.

The club aren't saying much, issuing half-denials and forcing hacks and fans to read between the lines. We know an offer has been made and there is enough innuendo in the ether to suggest that this offer has been accepted and talks are ongoing. Now, of course Turner deserves to play at the highest level and to have real ambition for the game's great prizes. But he won't achieve either of these at Sunderland. So if the club think that they are being chivalrous to a fine footballer by offering a bigger stage and the chance to be noticed, they are mistaken. Sunderland were the same as City last season and will win nothing, qualify for nothing notable and achieve nothing.

The chance to play in Europe? There's little likelihood and nowadays there's little point. If you don't qualify for the hateful Champions League then you end up in a convaluted, high-maintenance competition that you swiftly become desperate to exit because it knackers the squad, bankrupts the fans, deepens the carbon footprint and bores the world. What ambition exists in football now for a player who isn't in that tiresome top four? To play for your country, of course. Fine. Turner can play for England while at Hull City.

Without him, irrespective of who we (don't) bring in, we will be in serious danger of being relegated. The evidence was stark against Wolves, who should have won the match but were denied their clearest goalscoring gimme by Turner chucking himself - this is a literal description - at Andy Keogh's goalbound shot. Boaz Myhill was stranded at the other side of his net, so it really was a case of Turner or bust. And we got Turner. He blocked it with his belly. He was then serenaded loudly and adoringly by the City fans for what felt like the thousandth time.

In August 1990, we began the season under Stan Ternent nervous but reasonably confident. Experienced old heads had arrived and our defence seemed to have some solidity. Three games in, we sold Richard Jobson to Oldham. Our defence fell apart and we proceeded to get horribly, humiliatingly, suicide-inducingly relegated. History could be in danger of repeating itself.

This is not to say that Steven Mouyokolo or Liam Cooper won't one day fulfil all their potential, but we haven't time to blood potential stars against Premier League strikers. We need established, hard-nosed, high quality, life-affirming players in our defence.

The fact that we've got this far without really discussing the game is down to a mixture of my sorry procrastination, a reluctance to detail a wayward City performance and a genuine attempt to show to anyone mildly influential that Michael Turner almost transcends Hull City.

This isn't quite the case, of course, as nobody is bigger than the club, but he certainly epitomises everywhere we have been and all we have achieved of late, and remains the player who surely can lead the way when we target the next place we wish to go.

Or to put it another way, we will never have a better defender than him, irrespective of how many pots of Missouri-Mackem gold are buried under our rainbow as recompense. We haven't got the clout, the reputation, the history, the Swedish director of football, to attract Turner's handful of betters. Ambition is only capable of being achieved on trust; that being trust in the person showing the ambition that they are doing the right thing.

And selling Turner simply does not feel like the right thing. Not for anyone, except Sunderland. I don't want us to do it. I really don't. I hope we still won't.

Right, the game. Fortunately, there isn't much to discuss. We scored very early, never looked like scoring again, and Wolves dominated the second half and should have won.

Anthony Gardner was injured - there's something that will not register on even the most nervous of shockometers - and Jozy Altidore was again kept in reserve.

With Turner wearing the armband and everyone in freshmint blue, the teamsheet read:

Myhill
Zayatte Turner Mouyokolo Dawson
Ghilas Olofinjana Kilbane Hunt
Geovanni
Folan

They've put away fans behind one of the goals at Molineux now, after our three visits in the Championship (one superb win, two defeats) which had us at one side, being rained on. City attacked the goal housing a Tiger contingent who only wanted to sing Turner songs of lurve prior to the game - he acknowledged these ditties with sheepish applause before kick off - and scored almost instantly.

An attack on the left. Kamel Ghilas switches passes with Andy Dawson who then finds room to feed Stephen Hunt. The corkscrew-haired Irishman monkeys about with Greg Halford's woeful attempt to close down and chips a beautiful ball over keeper Wayne Hennessey and on to the bonce of Geovanni, three yards from goal. Strike one, achieved quickly, and a real chance of running away with the game seems possible. Wolves' defending was abysmal.

Further goals became most likely from an array of counter attacks which fell into City's lap, usually after Wolves' toothless distribution in the final third was brought to a halt by a Turner block, a Turner tackle or a Turner header. This does deliberate injustice to Mouyokolo, who did defend fairly well but clucks a little headlessly at times, but it is necessary to show, again, just how important Turner is. This record is now broken, I know.

Kevin Kilbane, who covered every blade of grass but rarely got a proper contact with the ball, bashed one clearance way over everyone to the solo Folan, who got Ghilas speeding away. The cross is aimed at Folan but Jody Craddock clears under pressure from the City striker, still finding his second wind. It's amazing what the sensation of American breath warming the back of your neck can do to your workrate.

Kilbane shot over after Hennessey's hurried clearance fell his way, then Hunt had a left foot shot from anohter counter deflected wide before the keeper could be troubled. Hunt swung the corner in himself and Ghilas, unmarked but at too tight an angle, aimed the free header into Hennessey's clutches.

Wolves were having possession but simply creating no chances. It looked comfortable, a formality. But this is City. We choose not to win games at a canter. It's not our way. The first proper sniff for the home team came when makeshift right back Kamil Zayatte miscontrolled, allowing Matt Jarvis a free charge down the flank and a ball in for lively ex-Scunt Andy Keogh, who shot right at a grateful Myhill.

Dawson made a superb challenge on Keogh as he prepared to pepper another chance at the City goal, and Myhill collected the ball with ease as it ballooned in the air. One minute was added, nothing occurred in it and the half time murmurings in kiosks and khazis tended to merge as one - entirely unhappy about Turner, entirely happy with the display.

The second half starts and Wolves score instantly.

It must have been Red Bull flavoured blobs of venom that Mick McCarthy spat at his team at the break, as they came out with every gun ablaze. Quickly a free kick was won, and the marking called much into question as Richard Stearman applied a crucial final touch for 1-1.

So much for consolidating your position.

The rest of the half involved Wolves making chances and City being able to do little to prevent them. This was a terrible second half, top to bottom. The defence was overworked, the midfield disappeared and Folan thought he'd done enough, and returned to the laconic, posing, offside-friendly slacker we've come to know and despair of.

Wolves began to rely on Halford's long throws a lot, and on a number of occasions it was a manful struggle to deal with them to any great satisfaction. One was cleared to the flank where Jarvis crossed and Craddock headed goalwards, with Myhill having to dive courageously on to the ball as Keogh's studs lunged in.

There was a succession of corners at one point, each of which were dealt with fussily and clumsily, but ulimately with the correct result. But Wolves had the scent of blood in their nostrils and didn't let up. A spacious break by George Elokobi resulted in a wicked curling cross that Keogh flicked straight to Myhill, then Craddock headed over from Stearman's centre as City desperately tried to reassemble their shape.

Phil Brown removed Folan and brought on the enthusiastic Altidore, but unlike in his previous two outings, he made next to no impact, largely through a lack of support which was made more plain - as was the desire to hold out for a point - when the lively Ghilas was withdrawn and Craig Fagan, fleet of foot and devoid of touch, ventured on.

Wolves, however, know that the points are almost theirs. Keogh should have had a hat-trick but ended up with nothing. Another beggar of a chance is wasted when he slides a free shot across Myhill and beyond the far post. A belated offside flag does little to quell the concern of City fans that it's all gone a bit flimsy and wayward, nor does it stop Keogh from beating himself up over a poor finish.

Seyi Olofinjana, at the home of past employers, has City's only shot of the half (one which, judging by his unconvinced approach from 25 yards, he clearly didn't want to take) and Hennessey falls on the ball.

Wolves attack again, and this time City are done for. A free kick is lofted in, Halford flicks across goal and Myhill is stranded as Keogh chases the ball across the six yard area and prepares to shoot into a net as good as empty. He does all that's necessary but Turner, the greatest defender ever to wear freshmint blue, has read the direction of the flick and is already a stride away from the uncovered post, from which he hurls every sinew at the ball and takes it full in the bread basket, deflecting it wide, saving an obvious goal (Keogh at Molineux = Trundle at Wembley) and crouching down to regain his breath, in pain and with the Turner anthem again ringing amorously in his ears.

It's moments like that which should tell powerful people not to sell him.

But with Turner, moments like that shouldn't have to happen before you make the decision not to sell him.

Nick Barmby replaces Geovanni, Dawson is booked for timewasting and Hunt makes a horlicks of a decent crossing chance with Altidore begging for the right ball. Stearman could win it for Wolves after a Mouyokolo howler but puts it wide, then Kevin Doyle opts to shoot when Jarvis is pleading for a pass to his left. We are fortunate indeed that Wolves had players who couldn't score, couldn't aim or just simply couldn't see, and three minutes of added time passed with not very much to cheer or mourn prior to the final whistle, though sub Sam Vokes did aim another header wide.

A welcome point, given that it was on our travels and came after a disappointing second half performance. Four points from four games is healthy enough, given that the opener was a write-off before it began and the second was always going to be close to ringing the bell on the toughness scale. Indeed, we've won one and drawn one since Tottenham saw to us, which is the sign of a team not dwelling on misfortune at all.

The Turner anthem raised the roof one more time upon the game's conclusion, and wannabe body language interpreters, looking for the tiniest crumb of hope to hoover up as they headed for the concourses, reckoned that his understated applause for the fans, and a quick thumbs-up, suggested that it might not be the end yet. I'd love to be as optimistic.

One person who could scupper the whole thing, of course, is Turner himself, who might decide he is on to a good thing being an all-time great at one club rather than being a slightly better paid defender at another alongside numerous others. I would love it, just love it if Turner coolly declines the move. Just imagine how much higher in the collective estimation of the City support he would go.

I suspect he won't decline it though.

His debut for Sunderland would be in two weeks time against ... Hull City. That spot of bitter coincidence makes the whole thing feel even worse.

HULL CITY (4-4-1-1): Myhill; Zayatte, Turner, Mouyokolo, Dawson; Ghilas, Olofinjana, Kilbane, Hunt; Geovanni; Folan.  Subs: Altidore (for Folan, 63), Fagan (for Ghilas, 73), Barmby (for Geovanni, 82), Boateng, Halmosi, Cooper, Warner.

Goals: Geovanni 3

Booked: Dawson, Mouyokolo

Sent Off: None

WOLVERHAMPTON WANDERERS: Hennessey, Stearman, Elokobi, Craddock, Mancienne, Henry, Halford, Jarvis, Milijas, Keogh, Doyle.  Subs: Vokes (for Keogh, 89), Surman, Edwards, Berra, Jones, Zubar, Hahnemann. 

Goals: Stearman 46

Booked: None

Sent Off: None

REFEREE:    S Attwell

ATTENDANCE: 27,906