Move along, nothing to see here.  Early and late Aston Villa strikes are enough to see off the benign Tigers as the Championship trap door opens wider.

Report by Steve Weatherill.

In which we trudge ever more meekly, ever more miserably towards the merciless jaws of relegation. A thoroughly deserved relegation, let me add. We had a chance or two during this game. Spurned them. But the overall picture was clear and, I suppose, not at all surprising: Aston Villa were a great deal better than us and outplayed us without ever needing to exert themselves. Also not at all surprising, and far less excusable, was the conspicuous lack of effort or fight from most of our players. They've given this up, as has the support, and the final twenty or so minutes last night were played out to a sullen silence, broken only by the sound of seats being tipped up with a plastic thud of resignation as their occupants marched glassy-eyed into the chill of a clear-skied tear-stained East Yorkshire evening.

Not being good enough, again:

Duke
McShane Sonko Mouyokolo Dawson
Boateng Fagan Bullard Cairney Kilbane
JVoH

No Altidore, 4-4-2 eschewed, presumably on the basis that Villa would have hogged the ball in midfield against such an over-ambitious line-up. The game plan, then, was to hang on to the nil-nil and hope that in the later stages a Villa side desperate for a win might allow us space to hurt them on the counter-attack. It's hardly inspirational, but it might've worked if we'd played better, and they'd played worse. We didn't, and they didn't, and there were precious few moments during the evening when 'away win' didn't look a rock-solid bet.

Not least in the first minute when McShane lost possession as he allowed himself to be outpaced by Carew, no gazelle, and Villa quickly swarmed forward, seeming to have spare men all over the pitch. The impression that they out-numbered us persisted all match long. So did McShane's wretched inadequacies as a footballer. He was our worst player last night, though others (and I am, inevitably, looking at Fagan and Kilbane, again) were rotten too.

The game settled down to the familiar Premiership pattern. The opposition get fouls by falling over. The opposition play-act, the referee smiles indulgently and awards them whatever they desire. We tackle, get booked - poor Cairney a victim after a perfectly fair intervention. Actually, it wasn't quite 'familiar Premiership' - Villa are much more loathsome than most teams at disgracing the integrity of the sport, and this was coupled to the typically ineffectual and big-name-lovin' display of the atrocious referee, Mike Dean. At one point a harmless spat between Fagan and Warnock led to a daft melee, but Agbonlahor raised his arm and shoved Fagan across the neck. Soft stuff, but you just can't do that. Dean's response? To talk firmly to Ashley Young. Sure, Young and Agbonlahor are very similar - both are whining cheating snarling diving dishonest cowardly contaminations - but it's a test of basic competence for a referee to identify players correctly. Meanwhile Warnock was writhing on the floor like a rabid breakdancer, yet miraculously was restored to full health the moment the game re-started. At the World Cup I quite enjoy the black arts of simulation as practised by moustache-twirling Italians and Argentinians but if this ghastly Villa trio make it to South Africa they'll be as deftly sly as anyone.

Myself, I don't admire it. But I'm not English.

Kilbane's punted a shot miles over the bar after good preparation from Boateng, Fagan and Dawson, while Milner, a shade ineffective early on, has slid a shot just wide. But on 13 we fall behind. It's a horrible goal in a season of endless defensive disgrace. One ricochet deep inside our box, then another one. McShane and Sonko. The ball drops kindly to Agbonlahor on the left, with ridiculous amounts of time and space within which to compose himself. He sets himself and lifts the ball beyond Duke into the net.

1-0, and almost 2-0 soon afterwards as McShane scandalously shies away from a challenge on the advancing Petrov and can count himself lucky that the shot is deflected away for a corner. We need a spark of inspiration. On 23 it arrives. Its source? An unlikely one. It's experienced utility man Kevin Kilbane. He slips a neat ball behind the defence for JVoH, his shot is blocked by 'keeper Friedel, Kilbane shoots, blocked again, but the ball runs free to serve up a third opportunity, and this time Kilbane has the goal at his mercy from five yards out with only a solitary and despairing defender on the line. This man Kilbane, he has his critics but stand back and admire, he has proved them wrong with this marauding caper through the befuddled visiting defence.

Kilbane directs his shot straight at the lonely defender. The ball is cleared.

Stop now, we're gonna lose. We're gonna be relegated.

The remainder of the first half is pretty in places, as Bullard in particular enjoys plenty of possession and does what he can to move the ball around to good effect. Cairney too continues to make a positive impression, jealous of possession, mobile and thoughtful off the ball. Fagan and Kilbane swap wings, which I understand to be a 'tactic'. Perhaps even a strategy. We even a have a glimpse of another chance, but Dawson's tentative free-kick is safely held by Friedel. But as the added 3 dawdle down to half-time Villa are solidly organised, largely comfortable and well on their way to three points.

The match programme, which I buy dutifully and read cursorily, is on this occasion worth a look. Mr Pearson's column is savage and angry. The reign of Mr Duffen is depicted as 'morally abhorrent'. There's a sideswipe at Phil Brown too, as Mr Pearson notes Iain Dowie's refreshing lack of ego, but it's his predecessor as Chairman who is vilified for stretching the club's spending far beyond what it could feasibly afford. And, one might add, for getting appalling value for money in assembling a highly-paid yet disinterested squad. Outspoken stuff. Headline-making - presumably calculatedly so, given Mr Pearson's shrewdness. From the perspective of City fans, the most favourable interpretation of these utterances is that Mr Pearson, the man most responsible for hauling Hull City out of the mire and re-establishing it as a solidly viable member of the English second tier, is shocked and deeply frustrated at how the wrongs that pre-dated his first arrival have been recklessly repeated (in spades) on his departure. But I doubt Mr Pearson is so shallow. Much more likely, and much more alarming for City fans, is that Mr Pearson has some very bad news about the future of our football club waiting round the corner, and he wants the national media to be running stories in advance about where the finger of blame should be pointed.

The second half begins with a moment of Cairney magic, as he spins on the ball to evade momentarily confused Villa folk and win a corner. This leads to a couple of long throws by Sonko, and from the second the ball drops to the feet of a surprised Moulokolo only six yards out. A chance this, but the defender's shot is weak and rising and Friedel tips it over the bar. A chance that, and near enough our last.

The game is then paused for an extended period as JVoH takes a knock, which, it quickly becomes obvious, is serious. The stretcher is called for. This has happened to us worryingly often just lately, though I suspect that never in football history has a stretcher arrived with such lack of urgency as last night at the Circle. Eventually however the Dutchman is removed, and Jozy Altidore takes his place.

We play moderately well for a while, even if the impression is that Villa are content at 1-0 and don't believe we can hurt them in the penalty box. Wherever did they get that idea from? Amid an increasing stalemate one moment of beauty stands out - a peach of a through ball from McShane, which is slid expertly behind the defence and with perfect weight into the path of the grateful striker. Terrific vision by the Irish international, though spoiled a little by the fact that the defence in question is ours and the recipient striker John Carew. The giant Norwegian contrives to waste the opportunity.

A decent break by us follows, on this occasion targeted towards the correct goalmouth - teach 'em and they learn, these players, just like gerbils - and Kevin Kilbane, heaven help us, briefly looks capable of slicing through a Villa defence that is briefly confronting eternal shame. But the ballplaying Irishman is eventually crowded out, and Villa calmly resume a grip.

We're 4-4-2 (ish) by now as the useless Fagan has been pushed forward to support Jozy. Cairney goes leftside, Kilbane right. Fair enough, we're a goal behind and flooding the midfield to the detriment of attacking options is no longer a sensible option. But it's now too easy for Villa to control possession by controlling central midfield. Which they proceed to do. With some ease. James Milner has developed into a player of real substance, a bit like a Michael Carrick who can pass, tackle and relish physical combat, but he will have no easier game than this between now and the start of his summer holidays in late June.

68, Duke tips over a wicked cross-shot from Agbonlahor. 70, Mr Dowie replaces Tom Cairney with Geovanni.

I don't think Mr Pearson was wrong to remove Phil Brown. I could see no possibility that he'd keep us up. We'd lost a million games in the last eight months of his tenure, or so it felt anyway. But Iain Dowie hasn't improved things at all. Maybe he inherited a thin squad devoid of confidence. But he shouldn't have taken off Tom Cairney last night. And left Kilbane and Fagan on the pitch. It makes no sense. No sense at all. I didn't boo. I don't. But plenty did. Brian Horton was my preferred choice for caretaker.

Quarter of an hour to go. We enjoy a fair slice of possession, but there's no subtlety or imagination going forward, and Villa are not finding it difficult to keep us at bay. And we are gruesomely vulnerable to the counter-attack. When it comes, it's horribly predictable. Villa swarm forward, George Boateng wafts a foolish toe in Milner's direction, down he goes and that's a penalty. Which Milner expertly converts, low to Duke's left.

And that, the late great Alec Skelding would have observed, concludes the entertainment for the day. There are 15 minutes left, and another 10 on top of that to compensate for time lost to caring for the stricken JVoH. And rarely, if ever, can so little have occurred during 25 minutes of a football match. Olofinjana replaced Kilbane. Dawson blocked a fierce shot from Downing. That's all.

That really is all.

HULL CITY (4-5-1): Duke; McShane, Sonko, Mouyokolo, Dawson; Fagan, Bullard, Boateng, Cairney, Kilbane; Vennegoor of Hesselink.  Subs: Altidore (for Vennegoor of Hesselink, 55), Geovanni (for Cairney, 70), Olofinjana (for Kilbane, 84), Barmby, Cullen, Cooper, Myhill.

Goals: None

Booked: Cairney, Fagan

Sent Off: None

ASTON VILLA: Friedel, Warnock, Cuellar, Dunne, Collins, Downing, Milner, A Young, Petrov, Agbonlahor, Carew.  Subs: Sidwell (for Petrov, 84), Heskey (for Carew, 89), Reo-Coker, L Young, Guzan, Delfouneso, Beye.

Goals: Agbonlahor 13; Milner 76 (pen)

Booked: Milner, Petrov

Sent Off: None

REFEREE:    M Dean

ATTENDANCE: 23,842