Millwall's only profile in the game was prompted by their notorious hooligan element. This has largely gone now - any rogueish followers that may remain have no worse a reputation than any other team's - but such was the extremity of Millwall-based violence in the bad old days that still the name of Millwall sends a mild shiver down the spine.
This shiver is as much nowadays of anticipation as it is of trepidation. Round our way, Millwall and their ample bunch of hardy perennials last turned up three seasons ago, in our first season in the Championship and our last under Peter Taylor. The game was a Friday night affair due to Hull Fair's annual strangling of the car parking facility at the KC Stadium beginning the next day, and the unconventional timing helped make sure the game wasn't a classic and the atmosphere was somewhat nullified. A Ben Burgess goal gave City a 1-1 draw.
Before that the most memorable occasion - for both sides - was a rip-roaring, tense and massively-policed encounter on the penultimate day of the 1988 season. City had shown some promise but had, since New Year's Day, been on the infamous 14-match winless streak which had seen the club sink into the bottom half, cost Brian Horton his job and begun - in retrospect - a decline which would snowball into a crisis and a coma for the next decade and more. Millwall, however, had enjoyed a splendid season, with promotion almost secured, and a win at Boothferry Park would guarantee them both elevation to the top flight and the Second Division title.
The importance of the occasion could, therefore, never be underestimated. Naturally, it was declared an all-ticket game and thousands of Millwall fans journeyed up on the railways and the M1 from south east London to see their side try to generate rare headlines for footballing reasons. The city centre was awash with chaps in blue football shirts, with Anlaby Road almost pedestrianised by the mix of football supporters on show, many of whom had travelled ticketless, despite the utterly futile warnings that no ticket should mean no travel. For all the fear one could feel at such a vast number of notorious fans wandering the streets of Hull, the football supporter mentality could easily understand their motivation.
Millwall deserved to be on top. Their now-iconic strike partnership of Teddy Sheringham and Tony Cascarino took the goalscoring glory, with expert wingplay from Jimmy Carter and Kevin O'Callaghan providing plentiful opportunities. Controlled nastiness was provided down the middle by Terry Hurlock, while Brian Horne was a good, agile goalkeeper. City were blooding a few youngsters as Dennis Booth continued in temporary charge and began the game as far outsiders.
Boothferry Park seemed to be creaking under the weight of both bodies and expectation as the away support piled into the North Stand, the normally-disused corner between the wretched Kwik Save and the closed Kempton also bursting at the seams. It was a white-hot atmosphere, intimidating but friendly, something which was received with gratitude by the City fans in the supposedly safest area - the West Stand - where a number of Millwall fans had legitimately taken seats. As Millwall needed to win to achieve something magnificent, rather than win to avoid something appalling, we could feel grateful that the tension was based on optimism. That said, we all wanted City to win and to hell with the consequences...
The 90 minutes were largely forgettable from Tigers viewpoint. The team were still shellshocked from their unpalatable snatching of mediocrity from the jaws of promise, which had seen Horton hastily pushed out by chairman Don Robinson. The players picked up their performance for Booth, who was Horton's affable assistant and really wanted the job, but they were in a mindset of wanting to write the season off and start afresh.
Millwall scored very early and the old place shook with the euphoria when O'Callaghan sent Tony Norman the wrong way from the penalty spot. City, even with more than 80 minutes to play, had no response, with only Richard Jobson's flowing runs from defence giving any hope to the home crowd. Carter had a superb game on the right wing, and the subtleties of Sheringham were obvious too, yet few goalscoring chances were concocted by either team. Millwall knew the game was on early, and the title was theirs.
Had they lost and missed out on promotion - the eventual four-point gap at the top meant that they'd have gone up as champions even in defeat - I dread to think what North Road and Askew Avenue would have resembled as the stampede got under way. Devastation in defeat would have transferred to devastation of the property and people of west Hull. That they celebrated victory mostly in good humour - although there were some arrests in the West Stand - was both a credit to their supporters and a massive relief for the rest of us.
Millwall FC and football as a culture has changed substantially, of course. It's right to be grateful for the lack of fear attached to football, but there was something about those immensely tense occasions which made football supporting as enjoyable because it was fearful, even to the large majority who never got involved in strife on the terraces at all.
Judging by their brisk ticket sales, Millwall fans will number almost 3,000 when they come to the KC Stadium this weekend. The atmosphere won't be as charged as the past, but they'll be welcome - providing this time they don't go back with a 1-0 victory and another reason to celebrate on our doorsteps.
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