Another sending off - this time to feckless Craig Fagan - and an injury to Anthony Gardner accompanies a thumping defeat against relegation rivals West Ham.

Report by Matthew Rudd.

There is, you may have sometimes noticed, more than one school of thought when it comes to assessing the merits of Craig Fagan. A sizeable chunk of chinful Hull City supporters will tell you, eloquently and free of ulterior motive, that he is a hard-working and worthwhile footballer whose use to the Tigers' cause, whatever the cause may be that week, is vital and beyond reproach.

Those whose opinion of Fagan is less charitable, and we all know at least one such urchin who may also, I don't know, be vegetablist and handy at dishing out tetanus jabs, will have seen the contemptible activities of the divisive one against a West Ham side that was eminently beatable and will have some justification in plotting his eternal demise as a Tigers player.

Fagan was sent off. He was a fool, a moron, a cretin, and worse, in doing so. Until he went, we had a great chance. When he went, we had none. And this is no compliment to Fagan's ability, as ten men plus Craig Fagan is often the equivalent to ten men without Craig Fagan, but when he got his orders to march, the shape and spirit of the side exited stage right alongside him and there was nothing else to give.

And now we're in even more trouble. My attitude will soon change, but sometimes I feel relegation will come as a relief.

Lining up within cantering distance of a jellied eels stall were:

Myhill
McShane Mouyokolo Gardner Dawson
Fagan Boateng Cairney Hunt
Vennegoor of Hesselink Zaki

A change, then. Amr Zaki, with his missing vowels and Spongebob Squarepants shape, up front instead of Jozy Altidore. This was to prove an error. No Jimmy Bullard in midfield though, which was a relief and blessing given his patent lack of preparation.

So, the first minute, and Boaz Myhill is nearly caught, Fabianski-style, at his near post by Alessandro Diamanti's cross-cum-shot, or maybe shot-cum-cross, but scrambles back to smother the ball just in time. The relief is futile, as within another minute Andy Dawson, who had a shambolic day, played a pass that put Tom Cairney into trouble. The frightened nipper was quickly robbed of the ball, and Valon Behrami exchanged passes with Guille Franco before sliding a simple shot past the helpless Myhill. It's 1-0, way too quickly.

There have been loads of away games like this in recent times. Ones where we turn up for a cleansing, sociable pre-match ale or three and express real belief that this one is winnable, and we have every reason to be bullish as we stride confidently into the away section and sing our first witty ditty. These opponents deserve a beating from us, they really do. Then we lose a very early goal due to something bad, amateurish, embarrassing, and all that optimism exits sharply and mercilessly.

This is one such game. Indeed, it is the epitome of such games. Dawson, a player easy to love but capable on occasion of reminding us exactly why he spent a decade in the lower divisions, is having what people with doctorates, publishing deals and lifetime achievement prizes would term "a total fucking mare". Soon after gifting the Hammers possession for the goal, he slips in his own area to almost let Behrami through, forcing Steven Mouyokolo to concede a corner. Radoslav Kovac's header from Diamanti's kick is too high.

As the present tense outstayed its welcome, City struggled to clear their lines despite several chances so to do, and Carlton Cole, whose club song is a Spandau Ballet record with the word "Gold" replaced (just take our word for it though, Carlton Cole really is not indestructible), smacked a volley over the bar. City responded, briefly, with Cairney chipping a free kick on to Jan Vennegoor of Hesselink's forehead but Robert Green saved well at his far post.

Urgency and quality was really lacking from City, but in truth, from the travelling support too. Nobody really felt like being boisterous or just loud. Perhaps those who remember last season's game were saving their puff for when it would be squeezed out of them at the interval as they headed for the khazis in the tightest and least luxuriant concourse in football.

Back to the action. Julien Faubert took a quick throw and got the ball back as City kipped, allowing him room for a high and rather dangerous cross that evaded Myhill but was struck wide by Diamanti at a narrow angle. More came via the hapless Dawson as he was robbed on the edge of the box by Behrami, whose shot needed both fists from Myhill in order for it to stay away from the City net. As everyone took their positions for the corner, Dawson was seen openly cursing himself. Others felt compelled to help.

Fagan, who did swing in two crosses that seemed dangerous until the realisation that Zaki wasn't fit enough to run anywhere near them made any effort pointless, then committed a foul. Daft, cynical, not violent. Martin Atkinson, however, chose to issue a yellow card. Rightly or wrongly, it meant Fagan needed to exercise tact with both what he did and what he said. Sometimes he manages this. Sometimes he fails.

Meanwhile, the home side carried on. Diamanti's cross from the left was tremendous, Behrami's header well-placed, but Myhill's fingertip save while travelling in the wrong direction was stupendous. It deserved the roar of appreciation it got, and more, but ultimately cheering the goalkeeper for being good is less preferable than cheering the attack for being good. Myhill's save did act as a collective chest-thruster for the rest of the team, but it didn't do much good.

Cairney had a chance from a Paul McShane centre which fell on to his (very) weak right foot and he studded it wide. City then got - yes - a corner, and after two half-clearances, Dawson belted the ball back into the box, Zaki headed it down and George Boateng made room for a rasping left foot drive that Green tipped over the crossbar.

Half time came. We were a goal down, it should have been a lot more, and then it should have been level. Confused? Well, confusion was an option, along with anger and, eventually, asphyxiation. Grown men stayed in the lavatory long after re-applying their fasteners as there was air in there, albeit slightly odorous air. Only when the game threatened to restart did there seem to be walking room in the foyer.

And the Tigers were progressive in the opening spell of the second half. Possession, passes, reclamation of wayward balls, pressure. No chances, but one would surely come. Then Fagan lost the ball to Jonathan Spector on the right flank, legged up the robber in a fit of juvenile pique and was issued with a sickening, unarguable second yellow. Only insults yet to be invented would do justice to how irritated Fagan had made the City fans.

Soon afterwards, the game really was done. Faubert, a very good player indeed, sent a slide rule ball through the inside right channel that just missed Gardner's stretching leg and Cole had plenty of time to place his shot under Myhill from an acute angle. Two goals down, one man down, all systems down.

Phil Brown made three substitutions, withdrawing Cairney (frightened), Zaki (unfit and too prone to hitting the deck) and Stephen Hunt (too ineffective to have even been mentioned in this report until now). On came Nick Barmby, Seyi Olofinjana and Jozy Altidore. You can tell Brown knew the game was up, as perennial saviour and purveyor of all that is good and worthy, Kevin Kilbane, kept his trackie top on.

None of it was of any use, or interest, or good. Barmby will be on 99 career goals forever and a day. Myhill, meanwhile, had to backpedal with some ferocity to palm aside a Diamanti shot from halfway that probably wasn't going in anyway but needed to be dealt with. The West Ham fans liked that. Maybe Julian Dicks once tried it.

A short corner routine followed which Diamanti got back from Scott Parker and whizzed over the bar. Then, weirdly, City looked keen and the unlucky Altidore used shoulders and hips to get free of Matthew Upson after Vennegoor of Hesselink's flick, but stabbed his shot wide. Pity. One feels West Ham, even at two up and with a man extra, might wither under pressure if their opponents get one back.

Barmby hacked an Upson header off the line at the other end, before a counter attack was ended by a Gardner challenge which left this most effective of defenders - but quietest of captains - in agony on the turf. It took a while to get him on to the stretcher and now City were down to nine. That said, Dawson, by this stage, had been whacked hard on the ankle and was hobbling with comical uselessness, making the Tigers actually an eight-man side. Farcical. Had Neil Warnock been in charge, he'd have ordered a few extra stampings to get the game abandoned.

Five minutes were added on, and Faubert got a goal he genuinely deserved when his marker was too injured to get close to him, and he sized up a 20 yard effort which flew past Myhill in style. Can't argue with that. Can argue with plenty else. Fagan especially.

The last time Fagan truly cocked up was at Sunderland, when he handballed needlessly in the early stages and gave away a penalty. Brown shoved him into obscurity afterwards and may feel obliged to do so again. His chairman, less indulgent than that one we had in charge when we visited the Stadium of Light, may advise him to punish but not begrudge. But Brown still now can watch Richard Garcia and Bernard Mendy train, and decide which would be a better option than Fagan. Or he could pick a corpse.

Days like this make you understand, if not condone, the attitude of other supporters when they call Hull City the worst team in the division. We were truly poor, humiliatingly abject, lacking in confidence, shorn of restraint. It wouldn't be City if it was conventional, of course, and we should remember that this was, mainly, the team that were masterly against Chelsea and Manchester City, yet now they have become, again, a team that has ruined many a weekend for those who believe in them.

Nobody has a foolproof answer, though a shaggy-haired Londoner with wonky knees may come close to providing one, assuming he can stand up. It's all too much to bear right now, though. Let's ask for a fortnight off to recover.

HULL CITY (4-4-2): Myhill; McShane, Mouyokolo, Gardner, Dawson; Fagan, Boateng, Cairney, Hunt; Vennegoor of Hesselink, Zaki.  Subs: Barmby (for Hunt, 65), Altidore (for Zaki, 65), Olofinjana (for Cairney, 65), Kilbane, Zayatte, Garcia, Duke.

Goals: None

Booked: Fagan

Sent Off: Fagan

WEST HAM UNITED: Green, Upson, Spector, Tomkins, Parker, Kovac, Behrami, Faubert, Cole, Franco, Diamanti.  Subs: Ilan (for Franco, 63), Mido (for Cole, 79), Collison (for Diamanti, 86), Noble, Da Costa, Stech, Stanislas.

Goals: Behrami 3; Cole 59; Faubert 90

Booked: Parker

Sent Off: None

REFEREE:    M Atkinson

ATTENDANCE: 33,971