Iain Dowie's debut saw the Tigers lead table-propping Portsmouth entering the last five minute, before conceding two late horror goals to sink to dispiriting defeat.

Report by Mark Gretton.

I was thinking about the Radio 5Live 'Shirt of hurt' campaign for comic relief. Sports fans were required to be photographed wearing the shirt of their most hated rivals to raise money for charity. Easy, really; for me it had to be Leeds. My loathing of them and all of their ways is visceral and pure. But is this partly a personal thing, not solely a Hull City matter? Was one of the Sheffields more properly our "real" rival, particularly United - 1971 and all that? Then again Grimsby, for the '80s generation, fitted the bill of being local and vicious and envious. Not the Scunts, surely, even though their seething small town jealousy as well as proximity and their unfortunate habit of beating us when we were fellow bottom-feeders in the '90s gave them a shout. Stoke, anyone? Perhaps wiser retreat into irony and pull on that strange green and white affair that adorns North Ferriby's finest, pretending that it appalls you. I couldn't really decide. I don't suppose it really matters.

On Saturday we went on our latest must-win trip and suffered our latest defeat, 5 on the bounce that is now, but hey, who's counting! This was another awful, stomach-churning, spirti-crushing affair, highlighting all of our vices and pointing up our team's complete lack of virtues. And yet we had travelled in some hope. We had a new manager. He wasn't Phil Brown, even if he wasn't anyone we actually wanted. And by jingo, he freshened up the lineup. We started out:

Myhill
Mendy McShane Mouyokolo Dawson
Fagan Bullard Marney Kilbane
Vennegoor of Hesselink Folan

Yes, freshened up in the sense of freshening up your lounge by tipping on to the Axminster some old cabbage stalks that you thought you'd got rid of ages ago. Fagan back. Kilbane back after a performance at Everton that made you weep, albeit shoved forward here. McShane given the opportunity to show that he's every bit as ineffective at centre half as he is at right back. And Bible-thumpin' Caleb back to resume his Holy War on the Linesmen. This last looked like what Sir Humphrey Appleby used to call a "courageous" decision - one that would not only lose you votes, it would lose you the election, for us a decision that might not just lose you the game but would get you relegated. In mitigation to Dowie, we were hearing that Altidore and Zaki were injured. It's no mitigation for Brown and the state in which he's left us, of course. Dawson was given the Captain's armband, the 107th person to wear it this season.

Folan was soon into his work, being caught offside twice in our first 2 forays forward, proving his muscle memory was still intact. And we did have an early chance, Kilbane floating a cross to Vennegoor of Hesselink whose slightly off balance header squirmed away off the foot of the post. And that was it for the next 20 minutes. Folan got caught offside some more - you just can't buy that sort of expertise these days (you certainly can't sell it) - Marney gave away the first of a series of stupid fouls that we couldn't resist committing all afternoon and they put the freekick narrowly wide. Fagan was producing a performance that was well up to his usual standard.

These bits aside, nothing happened in the first half hour. This was two poor teams, playing poorly, in front of a poor crowd. The Hull section was impressive in number, but clearly not impressed. The Pompey fans seemed numb, like mourners at a cremation. There were gaps all around the ground and it was genuinely sad to see one of the last bearpits at premiership level - the Stokeys are the only other ones I can think of who produced much of a racket when we visited them - reduced to a sad murmuring acceptance of hopes gone up in flames.

Towards the half hour it all changed most surprisingly. Bullard reminded us he was on the park and shot well, a deflection taking it out for a corner which he swung in. The ball was half cleared and fell for Fagan who spannered the volley, but not as badly as you would expect. A deflection took this into the path of Folan who tried the sort of clever flick that he's seen Tevez do on television and didn't quite get it right, but this second change of direction took it past James. 1-0, a Folan finish (more or less) from a Fagan assist (sort of). What remarkable alchemy was our Managerial Consultant working here? Never mind, joy and surprise were unrestrained.

So poor had Pompey been that I expected them to fold completely and for a few minutes this looked likely, but I had reckoned without them showing some spirit and our sheer inepititude when defending. We got caught out of position on our right and only an excellent covering tackle from Dawson got the cross away for a corner. We pulled everyone back to defend an innocuous floated offering which we somehow couldn't prevent dropping to the ground for one of theirs - Tommy Smith, maybe? - to scramble in. 1-1. Encouraged by this they buzzed forwards firing in corners that we defended with varying degrees of anxiety. Marney gave away freekicks. Folan was cought offside some more. Presumably, it was all going well.

They started more brightly in the second half but were startled by Fagan running forward and letting go a decent shot. Perhaps stunned by this, both teams hunkered down and competed in giving the ball away. In fairness neither team seemed to have sacked off their energy, but any skill was certainly on gardening leave. It was frenetic, witless, random stuff, the only reassuring constant being Folan's regular foray's offside. Bullard was having a very poor game, uncommitted and ineffective. Barmby came on for Vennegoor of Hesselink in a bemusing swap, perhaps with the instructions to kick Bullard's arse until he did something. It did no good. We looked shorn of ideas and confidence against the worst team in the division and if anything, with Kanu now on, they were looking the more likely.

But we got the unexpected breakthrough; Garcia had come on for a limping Dawson (no, me neither ) allowing Kilbane to reprise his Everton left back masterclass with the falsetto colonial slotting into a right sided midfield berth with characteristic ineffectualness. But on 75 he mishit a pass that smeared off referee Dowd's legs and this change in trajectory put it into the path of a remarkably onside Caleb, whose heavy first touch took him wide but clear of the defence. He then, to universal surprise, positioned himself correctly and finished competently, wide of James's right hand. A proper striker's finish, in fact. Blimey. Perhaps this fellow Dowie can plait sawdust. Folan got rather carried away by this, the happy bemusement of his first goal forgotten, he strutted towards us and glared angrily, Old Testament prophet-style, presumably at all those who had dared doubt him, just because he's shit. Another 6 tidy finishes before the end of the campaign, son, and I'll reconsider. Not before. No matter. 2-1

Pompey heads dropped at this second disappointment. We fell back and looked to attack on the break, which seemed a reasonable option given the paucity of threat. I've since heard a number of people saying what happened next was due to Pompey's freedom to play now that they know they've nothing to lose. What terrible balls that is. They were utterly dispirited and carried no obvious threat. All we had to do was to defend properly. Ha.

2 minutes to go and they had a swirling shot that missed, but only just, as we let them get too close. They got the ball back and Bullard made an ill-judged, poorly-timed foot up tackle that gave them another freekick in a shooting position, a thing we had done too often all afternoon. O'Hara addressed the ball and swung it sweetly over and around the wall and past Myhill's right hand. A lovely finish, the only proper goal of the afternoon and a real choker for 2-2. But we were not finished yet, by thunder we weren't. A minute later Garcia blundered in attempting to intercept a crossfield pass but chased down the advancing left back who obligingly gave the ball to Garcia. Not to be outdone, Garcia passed it straight into the path of another advancing Pompster who made the byline and pulled back the cross for Kanu who we had left on his own and, setting aside any surpise he might feel that as the one premiership-quality striker on show he didn't rate being marked, he clipped the ball past Myhill amd two defenders who had run to try and defend the goalline. 3-2 and that was just about it. There was barely chance for Folan to run offside again, but pro that he is, he managed it with aplomb. In the remaining minute plus 5 extra we produced absolutely nothing.

I hated this. I really did. Like others, I came away wondering why I do this. This isn't enjoyable anymore. The away fans have stayed loyal - there was no embarrassing of Dowie by singing for Brown, though enthusiasm for Dowie was about as prevalent as a Marney pass finding a team mate. Singing 'How shit must you be, we're winning away' is funny, but in a bitter, disappointed way, given that people used to sing to the same tune that this was the best trip they'd ever been on. And that was as good as it got. This was a wretched defeat by a poor team with nothing to play for at all. Like Phil Tigerrice and others I too have recently wondered why I still do this. The best possible outcome of this season is that we somehow scramble clear (perhaps West Ham go into administration and we somehow beat Burnley) and we stay up, Dowie is rewarded with a year's contract, Pearson manages to get rid of a third of our squad and Dowie wheels and deals effectively enough that we replace them with players no worse than we've got but much cheaper to run. Then we go out next season for more of the same with, as Phil so tellingly putting it, it feeling like we've won the cup win if we get a point at Manchester City. Yes, that's the best possible outcome, one we don't remotely look like achieving. "Depressing" doesn't nearly describe it.

Since I've got home all I've seemed to read is about drunkenness, lateness and similar acts of indiscipline by a number of our players. I don't mind people drinking, I've done a bit myself, but it's long been a matter of personal pride to never let it impair me at work. If the players are failing in this, well, shame on them. If this includes players earning more in a week than the majority of those watching earn in a year, then it's really hard to put into words how awful this is. Shame on them and shame on those who have allowed this to go unchecked.

The shirt of hurt? The team that you have most reason to curse, the one that thwarts you at every turn, the one that makes you seethe at what they done to you, the team that has spoiled football for you and, in low moments, makes you feel as though you've wasted your life itself, the team that, above all others, raise your emotions so high that what you feel about them can fairly be called hate? The team that really makes me feel like that is Hull City. That's the shirt I wear.

HULL CITY (4-4-2): Myhill; Mendy, McShane, Mouyokolo, Dawson; Fagan, Bullard, Marney, Kilbane; Vennegoor of Hesselink, Folan.  Subs: Barmby (for Vennegoor of Hesselink, 66), Garcia (for Dawson, 70), Geovanni, Olofinjana, Cooper, Cairney, Duke.

Goals: Folan 27, 73

Booked: Myhill

Sent Off: None

PORTSMOUTH: James, Rocha, Belhadj, Hreidarrson, Mokoena, Mullins, Owusu-Abeyie, O'Hara, Wilson, Piquionne, Smith.  Subs: Kanu (for Mokoena, 57), Webber (for Owusu-Abeyie, 82), Basinas (for Rocha, 85), Brown, Diop, Finnan, Ashdown.

Goals: Smith 37; O'Hara 88; Kanu 89

Booked: James

Sent Off: None

REFEREE:    P Dowd

ATTENDANCE: 16,513