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05/06: Reports:
Football League Division Two, 05/11/05, 3.00pm
Hull City
versus
Watford
Dream Fixture
By Fred Riley
This used to be my dream match. For an 'Orn living in Hull, 'home'
matches are three hours drive away, and even matches Oop North need a good
two hours or more on the road to reach, not counting the obligatory time
getting lost in an unfamiliar town/city, trying desperately to find a
parking place as the clock ticks inexorably towards 3 o'clock. Plans
for leisurely pre-match pints go out of the window as you get
congealed in traffic, or take the wrong direction, or get forced into
the wrong lane, all the while frantically trying to read maps you've
printed out from the web and relate them to the chaos outside your
windscreen. You park at the first place you see, then find to your
horror that it's a good half-hour's walk away from the ground (all the
while anxiously memorising landmarks to find your way back, an
especially difficult task in the long winter nights), so you find
yourself running the last half-mile and arrive puffing and panting in
the ground just as the match kicks off. The 'away fan experience'
continues after the match as you try to navigate your way back to the
motorway through unfamiliar darkened streets in unforgiving
bumper-to-bumper post-match traffic. By the time you get back to Hull
you're shagged, and any pleasure you gained from the away win you saw
hours ago has been displaced by the sheer aggro and stress of getting
back home. That's assuming a win, of course...
So for seemingly countless, but in reality merely ten, years in Hull I
prayed for the Golden Boys to be drawn away to Hull in a cup or,
forlornly, for the Tigers to work their way up to our division.
Unfortunately, for all those years the Tigers remained obdurately down
amongst the dead men. Even when we suffered relegation to Division Three,
despite the late Second Coming of GT (praise be upon Him), Hull
contrived to get themselves relegated to Division Four. Not long after,
Hull came within an ace of going out of business and out of the
league, thanks to a dodgy Board and the self-aggrandising machinations
of the unlovely John Lloyd. Having reached their nadir, bountiful
angels, in the form of new, dynamic Chairman Adam Pearson, and Peter
Taylor - England coach, England managerial heir apparent, and the
Tigers' own God - arrived to bring new vision and prosperity to a club
for long a stereotype of skint Northern lower-division grottiness.
Hull City Council, flush with £200-odd million from the sell-off of
51% of Kingston Communications, Hull's idiosyncratic phone (or "fern",
in the lerkel dialect) company at the height of the dotcom boom before
it went pear-shaped, gave the club a big helping hand by building a
spanking state of the art stadium in the city centre, to be shared
with Hull FC egg-chasers. After two false start seasons, the
reinvigorated Tigers got their furry arse in gear and clinched
back-to-back promotions to land in Division Two at last. My dream
fixture had arrived.
Sadly, I had to leave Hull in 2003 for Nottingham, on account of jobs
being scarcer than virgins in the city, so my dream fixture became a
standard 2-hour drive away match, although at least local knowledge
meant that I knew where to drive and park and my decade in Hull had
given me a passable-enough accent to pass as a lerkel in the event of
any awkward confrontation with the Tigers hard-core.
So, for a change, I arrived at the ground, a veritable jewel in the
dungheap that is the Anlaby Road area of Hull, in plenty of time to
check out the team lists and soak up the pre-match atmosphere, but
what there was of that was drowned out by the ludicrously loud PA
system and the hyped-up MC. The teams came out to the cliched Carmina
Burrana, better known as the theme music to The Omen (yeesh! give us a
break!), and the Golden Boys' line up was much as expected.
After a tedious opening seven minutes of head tennis and midfield
scrapping, Hull broke down their left, and a fine pass found Barmby
all alone on the right just outside the area, from where he finished
clinically with a low shot into Foster's right corner. Bad marking or
great positional skill by Barmby? Probably both. The KC erupted into a
wall of noise, and an "oh shit, we're in for a tonking" feeling hit
your reporter's guts. Had the Tigers managed to hold their lead for
more than a minute the result might (though probably wouldn't) have
been different. Instead, from the kick-off we won a corner on the
right, and when it was swung in the shiny pate of Mahon rose
unchallenged in the area to power a header past Myhill in a classic
post-goal sucker punch. The Tiger's roar was silenced and rarely got
past a pitiful mewling for the rest of the match.
Following the two goals, the previous fare of head tennis, scrapping
and hoofing was resumed, but slowly, inexorably, our greater
organisation, composure, and skill built into total dominance. There
was a scare on the quarter-hour, when a hopeful shot from outside the
'Orns area took a bad deflection and looked to be looping, in awful
slo-mo, under the crossbar until Foster managed to bend his back and
tip it over - a great, and crucial save. For the most part, though,
the match was played in the Tigers' half as we clamped the midfield and
spread crossfield passes at will to Macca and Devlin. Despite this
we didn't really create any chances against Hull's brick outhouse
defence, although a great solo run from McNamee on 25 minutes resulted
in the ball drifting inches past the post. As the half drew to a close
I had the awful feeling that we'd get nowt for our dominance and come
to regret it, but on 45 minutes a long throw-in from the left saw the
gleaming black bonce of Carlise flick a back header across the area
and over Myhill to Spring, who finished with a shot into the roof of the net. 2-1 at half
time, and no more than we deserved.
As expected, the Tigers came roaring (cut the cliches - Ed) out of the
traps at the start of the second half, after Peter Taylor made two
substitutions and adopted a more pressing, attacking formation. City
forced five or six corners in the first ten minutes, occasionally causing
controlled panic in the 'Orns defence. At one corner an attacker got a
free header but, wastefully, directed it straight at Foster. After eight
minutes Betty brought on Bangura for Macca, to add weight to the
overrun midfield. Soon afterwards a City break down the left resulted
in a loud penalty shout as Barmby (I think) went down in a heap, but
the ref waved play on. The more open Hull formation gave us room on
the break, and King came close after controlling an upfield punt from
Foster, turning his marker and getting in a low shot that Myhill saved
well in the corner.
After Hull's mad ten minutes the game settled back into the pattern of
the first half, with the Watford defence soaking up the unimaginative
Hull attacks and the midfield re-establishing its stranglehold,
although we were defending rather deeper than was comfortable. Still,
it seemed as if only one team was going to win it, and we were plainly
a class above the Tigers, but on the half-hour a stupid, stupid
challenge by Carlisle (I think) clattered into a Hull defender on the
edge of the area who was going nowhere - a stone-cold pen, even from
our long-distance perspective. I shook my head with the brainlessness
of it - a pen was the only way that Hull were going to score, and we'd
handed it to them gift-wrapped on a plate with wet kisses. Without
fuss Stuart Green placed the ball on the spot, languidly
walked back, ran up - and ballooned it into row Z. A rugby league
kick. The travelling 'Orns went wild, the Tigers' heads dropped, and
it was all over.
On thirty minutes Betty made what at first seemed a strange double
substitution, bringing Demerit (who'd had a crackingly assured game)
and Devlin off for Mackay and Henderson. I scratched my barnet in
puzzlement but Betty's plan soon became clear as Henderson's hulking
Lurch-like presence as target man forced the play upfield so that the
rest of the game was played out comfortably in the Hull half. Nice
move, Betty.
As Hull tried in vain to push forwards we had a couple more chances.
On 35 minutes Young skipped past two defenders on the left and looped
the ball over Myhill at the near post to three waiting red shirts who
bundled the ball into the open goal, but the whistle had gone as the
ball left Young's foot, presumably for multiple offside. Not long
after, King shot across goal scraping the outside of the post. The
Tigers did have one last gasp on 42 minutes, when the ever-threatening
Barmby skipped free down the right and brought a fine save from
Foster, but it would have been rough justice had Hull scraped a point
off us. The game meandered to the final whistle with us taking the
piss and the Tigers faithful streaming from the stadium.
So, in the end, the match was a routine away win for Betty's squad of
wunderkinden against a lumbering, limited Hull side in which only the
evergreen Barmby showed any serious class. It could all have gone
terribly wrong after the early Hull goal, but Betty's Bunch have a
steel, a discipline, a self-belief, and a patience which makes them as
hard to stop as the incoming tide. Ball control, one-touch passing,
and tactical imagination placed us a class above the Tigers, who are a
useful but limited team that will likely finish the season in a
consolidating bottom-half place. The only gripe I have from the
performance was the lack of real chances created, despite having a
fully-fit front line, but credit to Hull's defence for shutting out
Ashley Young.
The men of the match for me, although it was above all a strong team
performance, were the imperious Carlisle and, a couple of dodgy kicks
apart, Foster, not just for two fine saves but also for his swift and
accurate throws which were an essential part of our high-tempo
pressing game. Special mention also goes to the ref who, apart from a
couple of minor errors, ran the game smoothly and without fuss, and
didn't dish out a single booking.
As for my dream fixture, roll on an away draw in the FA Cup to
Nottingham Forest, if they overcome the mighty Weymouth in the
replay...
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