Geo-force

As Manchester City's first visit to the KC Stadium nears, one man undoubtedly looking forward to the occasion will be Geovanni.

A peripheral, seemingly mistrusted figure at Eastlands last season, he's now Hull City's magical Brazilian playmaker, a nippy, pocket-sized player with typical Brazilian skill - great first touch, amazing vision, inveterate attacking instinct, confidence on the ball, accuracy in passing and shooting and, crucially, that little bit of sparkle, that facility to change a game which may otherwise be gently slipping from his team's grasp.

His goals have, of course, created most of the headlines about him. The unimaginable 30-yarder at Arsenal, the swerving free kick at Tottenham Hotspur, the flamboyant diving header at West Bromwich Albion, the unerring piece of history-making against Fulham. But now there is more to his Hull City contribution than those isolated bits of star quality.

After Fulham, Blackburn Rovers and Wigan Athletic, Phil Brown dropped Geovanni. Substituted against Wigan after an anonymous display, he didn't feature against Newcastle United, nor Everton.

City collected four points from the six available, suggesting that Brown had established Geovanni's specific worth to the team, to wit: if he's playing well, he's in. If he isn't, he's out unless it's the kind of game which might be impossible to win without him.

This means Geovanni represents a weekly risk to the manager, but at the moment it is a risk happily being taken. City have lost three in a row - albeit including two during the 'showbiz' week off - but Geovanni's contribution has not sullied, not declined. Brown has made it clear to the player and to the media that Geovanni is being coached the English way, to be able to make contributions off the ball with effort, backtracking and general teamplay, while never nullifying his capacity to do something extraordinary when on the ball. And, since his triumphant return against Arsenal, Geovanni has repaid his manager's qualified belief.

Geovanni's role in the 4-3-3 has generally been one of schemer and creator. Operating behind (or, more accurately,. hovering around) the front two of Marlon King and Daniel Cousin, he has covered considerable yardage to collect the ball, take potshots, fly wide, cut inside, seek Cousin's head or King's channel runs, or find the late bursts of Dean Marney or, when introduced from the bench, Bernard Mendy. Marney, like last season with Jay Jay Okocha, seems to have been especially inspired by the Brazilian. The structure has been flexible at certain times to make the system a 4-4-2 with Geovanni chasing the flanks more often. He has been a roaring success.

So why wasn't he the revelation at Manchester City that he surely should have been? One season, then a free transfer. That suggests not just a struggle to fit in, but almost a disruptive presence, though the quietly-spoken, churchgoing Geovanni doesn't come across as a divisive figure. Sven Goran Eriksson brought him off the bench in the Premier League no fewer than 17 times last season, but he only started two matches. He scored the only goal in the Manchester derby, which at least means he'll have the blue half of Manchester's eternal gratitude despite general lack of achievement on the whole. The stories have been bandied about concerning Geovanni's temperament, fitness and inability to communicate, while Eriksson's natural caution in midfield, plus the team's runaway start to the season which meant changes were initially unnecessary, will also have contributed to Geovanni's frustrations.

This weekend Geovanni comes face to face with another Brazilian midfielder in Robinho. He cost a lot more, has a higher profile and has courted far more headlines than his elder compatriot. Maybe the title of best Brazilian in England is up for grabs this weekend, and in the context of the game and the situation of the two clubs, there's little doubt that Geovanni represents better value right now - not just because of goals and magic, but because he has been anglicised by Hull City in exactly the way required for this country's top tier.

Halmosi on down

Peter Halmosi has started just one Premier League match for Hull City so far. He is not the only victim of Phil Brown's adventuresome 4-3-3 formation, but he is the one who has had the least chance to shine when changes have been necessary.

For the last two matches, it's Bernard Mendy whom Brown has summoned from the bench to provide the natural width lacking from the original line-up. City have been able to win games down the middle and from set-pieces, but when real, proper, authentic wideplay has been required in attack it's not been there.

Mendy's elevation has been also preferred to that of Halmosi because the width problems, when they have occurred, have come on the right flank. This is largely due to Paul McShane's unwillingness - or inability - to fortify City's attacking options, something which is desperately required of full backs when playing so narrowly. Sam Ricketts can do it on that side, as he can on the left, where Andy Dawson's revelatory form as both defensive lynchpin and offensive outlet has been one of the real highlights of a season crammed with them. Dawson's form has been as much a contributory factor in Halmosi's frustration as the fabled 4-3-3 to begin with.

For all this, Halmosi has looked very good when he has been involved. His one start was against Newcastle United, where he had a splendid day down the left flank and began the move which led to Marlon King's breakaway clincher. He has made telling substitute contributions, especially against Everton and at Tottenham. He did struggle to settle at first, which was natural after a massive money move from Plymouth Argyle, and the decision to alternate the right-sided Craig Fagan and Richard Garcia around the flanks rather than deploy Halmosi's natural left foot did not do him early favours.

But his day will come, and his international claims with Hungary haven't been affected, but he is a hell of an expensive talent not to be involved. One can assume that he is part of Brown's next tactical shuffle, and given the run of three straight defeats, such a shuffle may not be too far away.

Mills is no boon

It's astonishing to discover that Danny Mills is still on Manchester City's books. He hasn't played a League game for them since August 2006, when Stuart Pearce was manager. Since then, he has had loan spells at Charlton Athletic, Derby County and, of course, Hull City.

My word, what a rum old time we've had with Danny Mills, particularly since his loan ended prematurely through a foot injury. He is one of those characters who is easy to dislike until he plays for your club, then he becomes one of yours, irrespective of past reputation or misdemeanours.

Mills had been a Leeds United player during his peak period as a combative and mouthy right back. This combination of unlikeable man at hateable club was hardly going to endear him to Hull City fans. Yet when he arrived on loan at the KC, shortly after that final games for Manchester City, he was accepted straightaway by the Tiger Nation - because he was good.

His debut was on television and immediately a pair of ducks were broken. One, we got our first home win under Phil Parkinson thanks to a Jon Parkin brace, both of which were scored before half time and after our opponents, Sheffield Wednesday, had scored a very early penalty. Two, we won on television, something the Tigers had been notoriously unable to do over the years.

Mills had played his whole career at right back. It had got him his big-money moves to Leeds United and Manchester City and suitably whopping wages. It also got him into the England team at an optimum time, with the 2002 World Cup imminent and Gary Neville ruled out with injury. He had a good, disciplined tournament as England exited in the quarter final.

So what did Parkinson do? He stuck him in at centre back.

Immediately, it was wagered that Mills had broken the record, not that one had previously existed, for the smallest central defender ever to play for Hull City. He was no Peter Skipper, no Rob Dewhurst, no Leon Cort. The method in Parkinson's madness seemed to be that Mills' leadership qualities within a dishevelled squad would be easier to convey from a central position; that as an international defender, he should be able to adapt to any back four role, especially in a lower division, and that Sam Ricketts was doing fine at right back and further upheaval was unnecessary.

Mills was instantly involved against Wednesday. A set-piece, up goes a hand and a penalty is given. It was a clear handball. Mills was the City player making the challenge. The crowd were despondent but it seemed open and shut, yet the City players were notably ferocious in their protest. As the penalty hit the net, texts came through from television viewers that the hand was that of a Sheffield Wednesday player, not Mills.

Parkin's pair of goals - a glancing header and a smart volley on the turn - gave City the win. Mills, however, was not in a forgiving mood afterwards, using his post-match interview live on television to call for the referee to apologise for making the wrong decision in the City box. He did so in a matter-of-fact yet sinister tone, clearly wanting to stir up trouble, even though the game had been won and the penalty decision, while wrong, was not crucial.

For the remaining spell of Mills' stay at the KC Stadium, it was obvious that something did not quite ring true. In a City shirt, he was obviously still a splendid defender and demonic competitor, the kind which makes opposing fans despise him and lesser characters on the pitch react, stupidly, to his chatter and tricks. QPR fans, in particular, gave me hell.

But he lapped it up. He played the game required of him, irrespective of whether he was in the centre or in his familiar role on the right. He rarely played badly in a City side which was, at times, as disjointed and clueless as it had ever been.

Mills was on a fortune at Manchester City (and presumably still is) and his loan spell at City came through the club chairman's personal friendship with the player. Adam Pearson was commercial manager at Leeds when Mills was on the playing staff, and the two had a rapport and lived close to one another. In the same way that rumours persisted that Nick Barmby was Pearson's signing, there was little doubt that Mills definitely was, and Parkinson had either agreed with his chairman that it was a worthwhile option, or gone along with it because he felt he had to. The one piece of pleasant irony was that a chunk of his wages were still coming from Leeds United, even though he'd long split for Manchester City. The short-term jollity such information prompted was soon forgotten, however, as City continued to underwhelm.

Nine games for the Tigers in total came Mills' way. City won three of them and he picked up five yellow cards, so during his short spell with the club he served a one-match ban. A broken foot in training curtailed the loan, mere weeks before Parkinson followed him out of the door. For the rest of the season, under Phil Brown, regular rumblings were heard regarding the possible return, predicted return, rumoured return, of Mills, this time for good. It would never happen, and was never on the agenda for one crucial reason...

The players hated him.

The truth came out eventually, but it was obvious that Mills was a dictatorial, arrogant, critical and divisive figure in the dressing room. Team spirit was already low, relationships were already being frayed, and then along comes a high-calibre but high-maintenance personality with gob to match. Ian Ashbee, back from his career-threatening, mobility-threatening injury just a fortnight before Mills' arrival, was especially nonplussed with the attitude of this figure. Other senior pros despaired and objected. The injury to Mills - in training, remember - disappointed the fans who saw a performer of grit and character. Yet his premature departure from the KC to have his treatment administered by his parent club probably did as much to aid City's eventual recovery as anything Dean Windass (still at Bradford at this time) would come to do.

Fast forward roughly a year, and City are playing Charlton Athletic at the KC Stadium. Parkinson was back as assistant manager to Alan Pardew, but so was Mills, signed on loan again from Manchester City, this time by the club where he had truly established himself as a top flight player a decade or so earlier.

The 90 minutes were ugly, brutish, infantile and riddled with gamesmanship, arguments and spoiling tactics. Ashbee and Mills were picking at each other, mainly verbally, all evening. Well, not quite all evening, as Ashbee took delivery of a red card after a a knee-high challenge on Lloyd Sam, followed by a horizontal scuffle with the same player. Numerous others then joined in, either as mediators, protectors or manipulators. Sam's retaliation earned him instant red. The referee then gave Ashbee a long lecture but it appeared that the Tigers skipper had earned a yellow-coloured reprieve - until Mills walked over, opened his mouth and then withdrew. Ashbee was sent from the field, exchanging insults with the Charlton bench as he disappeared down the tunnel.

The return fixture at the Valley was just before Christmas and it was here that Mills finally succumbed to his own self-importance. His lip and his conduct seemed to frustrate the home fans as much as it infuriated the Tiger Nation, and his comeuppance came when a display of cynicism, petulance and general juvenility was crowned by a piece of play-acting which, when spotted and admonished by the referee, was followed by a barbed comment. Although he'd been booked, the red card was a straight one. And a joyous one too. One suspects that Ashbee, and numerous other players, felt a spot of redemption that afternoon, even though City couldn't gain revenge for the 2-1 defeat at the KC, drawing the match 1-1.

Mills, notably, didn't play for Charlton again. The loan was terminated and he went to Derby County. Perhaps introducing a destructive personality into a dressing room already devoid of life and confidence wasn't the wisest move made by Paul Jewell in that woebegone season for the Rams. Poetically, Mills lasted just three games - two of which were Premier League matches ending in the inevitable defeat - before an injury ended his season and sent him back, again, to Manchester City.

Mills hasn't played a competitive game of football for any club since January and even the mega-rich new owners of Manchester City must regard his large wage packet as rather profligate. All fans who have suffered through this cretinous, nasty, lordly, supercilious character have an image of him sitting in his luxurious Harrogate property telling himself that he is right and everyone else is wrong. It's gratifying and fitting that when Manchester City come to the KC Stadium for a Premier League game this weekend, the name of Danny Mills will be as far, far away from the teamsheet as possible.

12: Hull City 0 - 1 Bolton Wanderers - 08/11/2008

The word 'watershed' never seems more appropriate after defeat to Bolton Wanderers at the KC Stadium. For all the glory, the attention, the faint ridiculousness of our spell in the Premier League sunshine, the autumn of the season is underway and we have much still to do. Anyone who thought the season was sewn up just because we caught Arsenal, Newcastle and Tottenham on bad days has little experience of the way seasons can fluctuate.

This wasn't a good game, by anyone's standards. A bitty, cautious affair which only sporadically provided excitement and drama, the majority of which came via the plunges and glovework of Jussi Jaaskelainen, the long-serving Bolton goalkeeper. Phil Brown remembers him well, rates him highly. Jasskelainen spent the majority of the second half reminding him exactly why.

Quite how City failed to score is something only the gods can answer. Jaaskelainen may himself decide he was a little lucky, but he can only do so much to prevent the ball hitting his net - anticipate, position and throw himself in the way as best he can. He did all of this and City's finishing, which wasn't especially casual or inaccurate, was simply not up to the Finnish stopper's standards.

The Tigers were the dominant side, but Bolton were suitably robust and dogged, qualities which have never left them despite Brown's right-hand and Sam Allardyce's much-measured presence being a rather distant memory. Gary Megson is not a popular figure, and there is something unappealing by the way he seems to continue bawling at his players without always purveying a decent reason for it, but he has instilled a work ethic and a resistance in a group of players for whom such attributes remain fundamental to their continuing survival as a top tier side.

Brown picked the standard XI. Ian Ashbee returned to the midfield after his suspension and Bryan Hughes, his replacement at Manchester United, was notably jettisoned from the whole teamsheet. It was as you were otherwise, with wider options like Bernard Mendy, Peter Halmosi and Richard Garcia still having to wait for the formation to crumble before their chance to shine as a starter comes along.

The edginess of the opening period was plain for all to see, and plain is also apt as a description of the football on offer. Bolton enjoyed using the height and shielding skills of the excellent, vastly underrated Kevin Davies as the classic centre forward role he portrays better than a lot proved crucial in their retention of the ball. The midfield structure allowed the more cultured Matthew Taylor and the industrious one-cap wonder Gavin McCann to make forays for Davies to find, though returning striker Johan Elmander was one visitor suffering an off-day.

Geovanni was in a deeper role, scheming, observing. His left foot strike after 14 minutes represented the first serious effort at either goal. Jaaskelainen saved, low down. The Brazilian then found space on the left to clip a clever ball towards the penalty area where Marlon King's improvisation nearly embarrassed Jaaskelainen when he moved his heel at the ball as it sailed behind him, only for it to get the connection all tricksters wish for, and the ball looped over the Fin and touched the angle of post and bar.

The goalkeeper would subsequently make sure that this was the only time he was beaten.

Elmander wastefully put one wide from Davies' insightful knockdown as Bolton cleared their lines, creating their first chance through the unfancied but effective route one manner. City, back at the other end, attacked with purpose again, but Daniel Cousin headed George Boateng's cross disappointingly too high.

It isn't pretty, this. But it is fascinating. The Tiger Nation are a little quiet. Perhaps the educated among them are understanding that after showbiz games against Manchester United and Chelsea, that sizing up less heralded opposition has to be part of the game plan prior to a frontier of all-out attacking. And Bolton are no mugs. They're streetwise, schooled well in this Premier League lark and were under no illusions about the sort of party-pooping policy they needed to adopt. They've done it many times before, be it against a club expecting to trample on them on their way to a Champions League place, or the newly-arrived upstart with ideas apparently above their station.

Boaz Myhill nearly ruins it by chasing an overhit cross he was never going to reach, and City were fortunate that the listless Elmander didn't anticipate Ricardo Gardner's return ball across an empty net. This was the last element of opportunity of the half, and 0-0 was reflective of a nervy, tactical spectacle which wasn't out-and-out thrilling, but certainly had intrigue.

The second half, and Bolton grab the opening goal. Sucker punch stuff. A corner on the left is swung in and two City defenders have separate goes at heading clear. Neither really make a good job of it, and the ball bounces in front of Taylor who guides a shot beyond the unsighted Myhill and in at his near post. Taylor's left peg has, famously, found the net from much longer distances than this, but the importance of the goal makes the tidiness of it entirely irrelevant. Bolton's large contingent of extremely bombastic support go rightly wild, and there's a new task ahead of the Tigers.

Brown makes a change quickly, withdrawing Cousin and introducing the unpredictable Mendy, whose entrance gets as large an ovation from the visiting support as it does from the Tiger Nation. Instantly, he's in the action, providing the width that a full back in a 4-3-3 can't provide, and with Paul McShane providing good support, the enigmatic Frenchman becomes City's main target when starting fresh assaults on the Bolton goal.

Dean Marney is fouled on the edge of the box and Geovanni wants this. After the stylish set-piece he swerved in at Tottenham, he should always be backed to make a keeper work. But Jaaskelainen has so much more on that clown in the Spurs net, and he flies across his goal to fist out the Brazilian's curling, placed and definitely goalbound effort. A fine save. Finer would come, still.

Mendy then takes a King flick and his persistence gets him to the byline. The clip back is gorgeous, but nobody is there to anticipate it. A waste, and a pity. Brown brings on Sam Ricketts in a straight swap for Andy Dawson, which could be for injury or for extra mobility down the other flank to complement Mendy's work. It may well be both.

City begin to put the squeeze on, and Bolton's rearguard responds. You have to admire them for it. Marney's free kick is fabulously delivered and Geovanni heads the equaliser. Like Peter Lorimer at Wembley in 1973, the players and supporters were celebrating a goal, such was the obviousness of the ball's destination. But Jaaskelainen had alternative ideas. He dived in anticipation and hope and judged the header immaculately as the ball struck his legs and bounced out; even then he had a moment to get up and deny Michael Turner the spoils from the rebound.

Unbelievable. But City were undeterred. There was surely a leveller to be had here. Brown takes off Boateng and slings on Caleb Folan, essentially making it a 4-2-4, with Mendy playing further forward than even his crazy, directionless habits would permit. Bolton have one counter attack, as sub Ebi Smolarek gets on the end of a Jaaskelainen punt, gets through Kamil Zayatte and across Turner before shooting over. It's brief respite.

Geovanni shoots at goal from a narrow but gettable angle, and the Fin saves again, and saves well. King then gets a yard as he cuts in and his shot is well struck and placed. Jaaskelainen gets across, palms the ball down and then, in a way Dave Beasant would have been proud, flings up a hand, at the risk of seeing it sliced clean off, as Geovanni charges in for the rebound. Unbelievable goalkeeping, Brilliant goalkeeping. The Bolton fans have just one chant now, consisting of the two syllables of their heroic custodian's first name. They are in awe, as are we all.

Four minutes are added, and City still lay siege. A last chance comes when Mendy again finds enough room to curl in a teasing ball. The clearing header drops to Ashbee, who hits a vicious shot inches too high. The game is up. A roar of delight and relief from Bolton's supporters rings across the city as they claim three precious points and leave City without anything from three matches. The entire Bolton outfield rushes to congratulate Jaaskelainen, as the vocal lauding of the Fin continues behind his goal.

Brown's faith in his 4-3-3 and the players therein is well-placed, of course. It won four in a row, earned plaudits and apologies and acquired clean sheets. But it's notable that the rescue package against Bolton was the same as the comeback package at Old Trafford - that is, only the introduction of natural width seems to allow City to be creative. Certainly Marney and Boateng can provide width from their narrower default position, but they're not natural exponents of it and Mendy's two cameos from the bench, and City's lack of cohesion or dominance prior to this, suggests that maybe a rethink is due.

Mendy awaits the chance to show he can do his act from the start, as does Halmosi, and indeed both did so when City won at Newcastle. Craig Fagan's return will be complete in the next month, and Garcia's close control and finishing skills make him a candidate too. Bolton were as resistant to pressure as you would expect them to be, and their goalkeeper's very presence makes them a most fortunate side. Jaaskelainen's singular brilliance robbed City of a share, but maybe Brown needs to look beyond a charmed stopper's lot for a reason why the Tigers lost.

Hull City: Myhill, McShane, Turner, Zayatte, Dawson (Ricketts 64), Boateng (Folan 73), Ashbee, Marney, Geovanni, King, Cousin (Mendy 54). Subs not used: Duke, Barmby, Garcia, Halmosi.

Bolton Wanderers: Jaaskelainen, Steinsson, Cahill, Andrew O'Brien, Samuel, Muamba, Gardner, McCann, Taylor, Elmander (Smolarek 77), Davies. Subs not used: Al Habsi, Helguson, Shittu, Basham, Sissons, Obadeyi.

Bolton and Brown

The visit of Bolton Wanderers to the KC Stadium tomorrow represents an important day for our manager.

Phil Brown's success at Hull City, taking an unfancied club with little historical significance into the top tier for the first time, then bloodying the nose of many a member of the Premier League establishment afterwards has prompted, rightly, a wave of praise for the manager himself.

And this is not least from Bolton fans. Brown was their club captain for a while, then returned to the club as a coach after retiring as a player. He was fortunate to be kept on by Sam Allardyce when he became manager - given the propensity of new managers to clear out the old regime upon receiving the job - though Brown's old association with Allardyce when he played for him at Blackpool could also have contributed to his retention.



And so a partnership was born. Two promotions via the play-offs, the second of which came with a masterplan to make sure that, unlike the first, it wouldn't result in the Trotters popping straight back down again, and Allardyce had a legacy as a manager to go with the somewhat ruthless reputation he claimed as a player at the old Burnden Park. A City player called George Lyall will confirm this - a tackle by Allardyce as the Tigers played Bolton in 1977 broke his leg and ended his professional career.

Bolton fans still laud Allardyce as his reputation in the wider football bosom takes downturn after downturn, but Brown's glorious spell at the KC has prompted supporters of all clubs to wonder whether his influence at Bolton was greater than initially perceived, and that Allardyce leant far more on his batman than we assumed. Certainly Allardyce talked fondly of his relationship with Brown while doing a spot of punditry on Sky Sports for City's day at Wembley, and letters to varying media sources have questioned whether Brown was as influential on Allardyce as Allardyce was on Brown.

So, Bolton fans are watching their old first-team coach take a club to unfound heights while they continue to flounder without their all-compassing (figuratively and literally) boss of yore, who seems more and more unemployable by the day. Brown has used his Bolton days to benefit the Tigers, bringing in Jay Jay Okocha and Henrik Pedersen last season, fetching in Bernard Mendy and Stelios Giannakopoulos this season and acquiring Ricardo Vaz Te on loan the year before last. Four out of five ain't bad.

As the game gets closer, one comes to the simple conclusion that Brown will take no pleasure from seeing Bolton beaten at any other time of the season, but my word will he want them accounted for at the KC tomorrow. He doesn't do sentiment, remember...

Merry go-round

A trio of Hull City folklore figures in the news this week.



First up, I can't say I'm disappointed that Stan Ternent has got the bullet from Huddersfield Town. He signed a shedload of players in the summer and only managed four wins thus far. But his loathsome demeanour and near-bankruptcy of the Tigers thanks to obscene contracts given to has-been players mean he will always be rather low in the estimation of Hull City supporters. He obtained some goodwill by saving us from relegation in 1990, then dissolved it by utterly ruining the team and morale. The fact that one was relieved to get Terry Dolan in afterwards says it all, really.

Meanwhile, John Ward's departure from Carlisle United means that Greg Abbott and Dennis Booth, bot fine Hull City players in their day, are in temporary charge. Booth is one of football's survivors, associated predominantly with Brian Horton (and not just at Boothferry Park) as the exuberant assistant and previously a fine right back, while Abbott was a ratting, stalwart midfielder in Dolan's hump 'n' lump days of darkness who was given the most undeserved free transfer in the club's history. Their continuing contact with the club probably enabled them to acquire John Welsh on loan last week, though two defeats since Welsh joined suggests the City reserve has been able to do little. Whether Abbott or Booth will get the chance to manage Carlisle permanently we'll see, but no Hull City supporter would wish them anything but well.

Game, Set and Match: Tiger Nation

This weekend, Hull City host Bolton Wanderers in the Premier League. Little more than a decade ago, a game against the same side over at their Horwich ground involved a three-division gap and one of the most infamous bits of direct action any indignant set of supporters could concoct. Boyhood Dreams asked ANDY DALTON to recall the Tennis Ball Protest. You may find some of the language used hilarious.

September 1998, and City were struggling. As usual. Mark Hateley's second season was starting as badly as his first one had gone, and the Tigers were stuck near the arse end of Division Four. The gut-wrenchingly familiar off-field problems we thought had ended with the arrival of David Lloyd and Tim Wilby were beginning to bubble up again, with rumours of the crap-haired southerner wanting to shift City into Hull FC's decrepit Boulevard "stadium" swirling.

It was against this backdrop that City prepared for a League Cup second round first leg tie at Premiership side Bolton Wanderers following a surprise away goals victory over Stockport County in the first round - this being more creditable than it sounds, with the Hatters then lying in the second tier. The build up to what was actually a fairly glamorous occasion was spectacularly dismal, with a humiliating 4-1 defeat at Barnet being the warm-up fixture. The City fans were outraged by the prospect of being herded into a sub-Conference standard ground by an increasingly unpopular and out of touch southerner, and feelings were running high. And so one of the most imaginative supporter protests ever seen came into being...

City fanzines Amber Nectar and City Independent clubbed together to purchase several hundred tennis balls, which we spent an afternoon in the White Lion pub scrawling a large "NO" onto using marker pens - the negative in question being a direct response to Lloyd's insane Boulevard scheme. The plan was to surreptitiously distribute these in Hull, en route to Bolton and outside the ground, with an explanation being provided as the protest's purpose and timing. It worked a treat.

Despite a heavy police presence outside the ground, the home stewards and constabulary had no idea of the plan, and although most City fans were frisked on the way in, let it be known that if you're determined to smuggle items into a football ground, it can certainly be done. Yet...the precise timing was the one thing that'd remain slightly vague. Before the game? During the game, to hold it up and ensure maximum publicity? At half-time? We hadn't nailed this down, and as kick-off approached and the hundreds of City fans armed with luminous yellow tennis balls were uncertain and unsure.

Then suddenly, with the players preparing for kick-off, a lone tennis ball arced through the air, propelled from the upper tier. Then madness took over, as this was taken as the signal for hundreds of tennis balls to be hurled onto the pitch from the corner of the ground we were congregated in. Steve Wilson, the City keeper nearest to the surreality, held his arms out in utter bemusement. Bolton instantly deployed stewards and ball boys to clear the field, which was now covered in tennis balls - and as this was being done, a deafening chorus of "say no to the Boulevard" echoed from the City fans.

To this day, it remains a spine-tingling memory, the sheer intensity and duration of this verbal protest booming from the away end of the Reebok Stadium. The Tigers lost the game 3-1, which saw plenty of City fans ejected by the embarrassed officials, and outside the game police dogs and horses were needlessly deployed in what looked suspiciously like an act of revenge by the home plod.

No matter - the protest worked beautifully. Crushed by the embarrassingly personal nature of our action, David Lloyd was chased out of town soon after, and the legend of one of the most thrilling and original protests by a set of desperate fans fighting for the club's survival was born. Lloyd's sudden capitulation did, however, rob British sport of the possibility of a protest that'd have made even more national headlines - for a follow-up had been mooted about travelling to a Davis Cup tennis match and throwing footballs onto the court. Would this really have happened? We'll never know...but in those mad, bad times, desperate times were calling for desperate measures. And so the Tennis Ball Protest passed into City folklore.

Andy Dalton is the co-editor of Amber Nectar.

A prince among Mendy

Bernard Mendy is arguably the most endearing player Hull City has had in a generation. His cameo turn at Old Trafford, during which he single-handedly turned the most illustrious team in the world into gibbering incompetents, has added an extra dollop of fuel to a fast-growing bit of legend.

Phil Brown signed Mendy as a consequence of his good relationship with the Frenchman when he spent a year on loan at Bolton Wanderers a few years back. Mendy spurned offers from clubs like Werder Bremen in order to team up with Brown again, and although starting places have been rare (in fact, he has only begun one Premier League game for the Tigers) he has become something of a darling, a cult hero, a figure of jollity, within a Hull City squad brimming with heroes.

Mendy will frustrate everyone, manager included, because it's in his nature, it would appear. In pre-season he missed penalties and scored an own goal at Crewe Alexandra, a feat rarely achieved by any professional player, even allowing for the entirely groundless meaning of the game. Into the season proper, and in our second game of the campaign at Blackburn, Mendy is introduced as a second half sub and spends half an hour losing the ball, diving with such lack of disguise that everybody laughed, and then going on a faintly ridiculous mazy dribble which almost presents a shooting chance which could have won the game.

At Arsenal, Mendy was again brought on as a second half sub and immediately stood statuesque as William Gallas got ahead of him to head a corner on to the crossbar. The stick Mendy took from a raging Ian Ashbee and Michael Turner was comical to see afterwards on television, if only because ultimately - by dint of immensely good fortune - this failure of concentration did not lead to an Arsenal goal. It was on the final whistle that Mendy's entrance deep into Tiger Nation hearts was confirmed, when he proceeded to do a jig of triumph for a good few seconds before the thrilled visiting masses. Each victory since has seen a repeat from Mendy.

Finally, we get to Manchester United and Mendy's introduction for the woeful Bryan Hughes. Supplying width, he scored one goal from a difficult position and then outmuscled the world's most expensive defender to earn a penalty. That Hull City still lost the game isn't quite the point here; Mendy's half-hour contribution will immediately match some of the great impacts by substitutes down the years, as until he came on City were staring at a possible scoreline of 5-1, 6-1 or shudderingly, more than that. As if to prove he enjoyed restoring Tiger Nation's hopes of another astonishing scalp, Mendy was the last to leave the pitch, applauding the travelling supporters for longer. A dance was inappropriate in defeat, and indeed he chose not to perform it, but thanks to Mendy, this defeat felt like a victory in almost every conceivable way.

Dare he be trusted with a starting position? Brown used Mendy, a natural wide midfielder, because the width required of the full backs in a narrow 4-3-3 simply wasn't there. Against (coincidentally) Bolton Wanderers this weekend, Mendy's time might just have come, eccentricities and all.

11: Manchester United 4 - 3 Hull City - 01/11/2008

I love that scoreline, even though it is as useless as a 6-0 reversal when it comes to acquiring points on the board. A defeat, but a defeat bathed and drizzled in glory, in determination and in spirit which should now set any remaining seals on Hull City's status as the most admired football club in the country.

A 4-3 scoreline can also, should you have not attended the game or read any reports, prompt numerous theories on how the match transpired. Did the home side score a late winner? Did the visitors peg back three times, or even lead the game on a couple of occasions? Or was it over long before the end and the winners ultimately eased their toes from the throttle a little too much?

The latter, in fact. Well, partly. The game was over by the hour, when Manchester United scored their fourth and established a three-goal lead. Here, lesser teams would have collapsed entirely, lost their will and fight, and succumbed to a fifth, sixth, even seventh. Not Hull City. Two strikes, thanks entirely to the industry and endearing awkwardness of substitute Bernard Mendy, triggered the European champions to soil their underclothes for the closing ten minutes or so, and although the equaliser couldn't be found, the losing side left the Theatre of Dreams with a far more heroic aura around them than their distinguished conquerors.

Some suggested that Mendy might start at Old Trafford as a consequence of Ian Ashbee's suspension. However, Phil Brown eschewed the idea of using extra width in midfield and merely elevated Bryan Hughes to the starting XI while giving George Boateng the armband. Other than that, as you were.

And, just like Chelsea in midweek, City did not get anything like the required period to size up their opposition. United smelled blood, blood of black and amber stripes, and set about their visitors with ruthless efficiency and attacking instinct, leading to a goal after little more than two minutes. Cristano Ronaldo heeled down Gary Neville's diagonal ball to Dimitar Berbatov, then controlled a strongly-hit return before lashing a left-footer beyond Boaz Myhill's stretch and in off the near post.

Ulp. Chelsea were never in trouble afterwards when they did this to us on Wednesday night, but they weren't at home and never felt the need to rip us to pieces. At Old Trafford, a Manchester United side containing Ronaldo, Berbatov and the spud-headed pocket of petulance Wayne Rooney would have no qualms about doing to us what their predecessors did to Ipswich a decade and a bit ago.

Still, we had to grin and bear it, and the City contingent, crammed in like battery chickens in the corner of the East Stand, did at least outdo Manchester United in the singing stakes. This is not surprising. A ground so vast contains, on a percentage basis, so few Mancunian obsessives in comparison to the tourists, from both Surrey and Shanghai, that singing audible pro-Manc songs is a little difficult. Gleefully, the Tiger Nation lapped up the legendary lack of atmosphere from the home quarters and created their own little world of noise and bravado. Now the City players needed to respond.

Geovanni, afforded extra booing from the dozen or so people within the home stands who knew he played for Manchester City last season, swiped a free kick high over the bar - the Tottenham one was no fluke, but he hasn't tested a goalkeeper properly with one season - as City struggled initially to know what to do with the spherical object bouncing near these red shirts.

Rooney swatted a left-footer high over the bar as United maintained possession, keeping it simple with Michael Carrick and those two first-name-only peripheral figures, Anderson and Nani, gently feeding the illustrious trio of headliners who chose to attack purely when it suited them. City's possession began to grow too, but there was little Marlon King or Daniel Cousin could do with the channelled balls from Dean Marney and Geovanni as the central defenders - they're good, Rio Ferdinand and Nemanja Vidic - frequently read the pass before it had even been played.

City lacked width too - there were occasions where Marney was pleading for a wide outlet as he faced two red-shirted oppressors, but Paul McShane patently failed to provide it, much to Tiger Nation chagrin. Days like this make on yearn again for an on-song Sam Ricketts, but the width problem would be devastatingly remedied by Brown later on.



Anyway, the best hope for an equaliser appeared to be via a set-piece. And so, it was with little surprise but indescribable joy that, after Vidic had been a little too friendly with King, Andy Dawson bent in a wicked free kick which Cousin glanced home. His second goal for the Tigers had finally come, and having got his first at Arsenal, clearly he is relishing the big occasions. Someone should tell him, without any element of blame or criticism, that we are Hull City and therefore all these occasions are big. Still, he celebrated grinningly with the travelling masses whose own celebrations were hellishly insane, and quite superb.

So it's 1-1, at Old Trafford. Flip. Is this going to be another of those iconic examples of Hollywood-style underdog victory which most dreamcatchers would allow to slip through its web because it's too far-fetched?

No. It's level for only six minutes.

United break in truly jaw-dropping manner. Rooney, then Berbatov, and ultimately the unheralded but useful Carrick collected the ball and drove a low left-footer, like United's opener, again beyond Myhill and in via his post.

It's 2-1, and this time the hosts don't fancy letting anything slip. Ronaldo quickly hares through on goal but Myhill bashes away his chance. The same Portuguese whining genius then takes his time as he find room again, only for Kamil Zayatte to get in the way. Still 2-1, and anything but a disgrace to be going in with that score at the break, we think.

Fatal. Just as we observe the fourth official start twiddling his knobs on the touchline, United force a corner which is delivered on to Ronaldo's forehead, despite the attentions of four (yes, four) Tigers defenders, and Myhill hasn't a prayer.

It's still not a disgrace to be 3-1 down, though the opportunity for a crafty point to take home is severely dampened by a two-goal margin. Irrespective of who the opposition is, it's also annoying to lose a goal top such a simple set-piece when City has prided itself on defensive strength when corners and free-kicks have been swerved into our box. We have Rory Delap's long throws to cope with before the end of the month, too...

Having joined an immovable pie queue at half time for non-existent pies (Old Trafford is more disgraceful in some quarters than a lot of so-called 'lesser' stadia - the catering being one issue, the stewarding another), I returned to my seat, just in time for the restart. With City now attacking the Stretford End, I bemoaned the craning my neck may need to do to spot the correct protagonists when we attacked. Then I realised that City in attack may be an irregular event in this second half so I should be grateful for any cricking.

Indeed, Manchester United were quickly into their European-dominating, American-bankrupting stride. Rooney got to the byline after some glorious interplay and, after a slightly lucky deflection on the shaven Scouse antagonist's cross, Berbatov screwed a shot wastefully wide.

All City had to show for the opening 15 minutes of the half was another Geovanni free kick off target. It was otherwise the Manchester United showcase event. Berbatov, inexplicably wearing gloves (just how tropical is Bulgaria in the winter to make 11 degrees celsius tantamount to a cold snap?), delivered a sublime ball into Ronaldo's path but again he didn't smell the hat-trick quite enough and put his shot far from the post.

Ronaldo was then sent, one-on-one, at Myhill. This was it, the hat-trick, the match ball, the posing, the preening. We couldn't bear the idea of it. Neither, gratifyingly, could Zayatte, who made sure the Portuguese's disrespectful dithering came to nought by haring across his nemesis and making count a fabulous, applause-inducing tackle. Sadly, from the corner, City fell asleep again Vidic sidefooted home, unmarked, from close range. Another soft goal against opposition who are talented enough to rip teams to shreds without poor marking to assist them.

Enough, thinks Phil Brown. At 4-1 down, and with width (not to mention keeping the ball) a severe issue, off comes the anonymous, frustrating Hughes (another chance gone begging there) and on comes Mendy.

Bernard Mendy. Unquestionably the cult figure of the Tigers squad, an experienced French international midfielder, now in his 30s, whose bungling, effervescent, almost maverick style has made him both a hero and a source of immense frustration to the Tiger Nation and, presumably, to his manager too. And now, here he is, expected to help transform a game already lost, against the greatest side in club football, on their own patch.

He succeeds.

Taking a fine ball from Boateng, Mendy chests it down past his French compatriot Patrice Evra and lobs the onrushing Edwin Van der Sar. The ball drops and is volleyed clear by Vidic but the assistant referee correctly (brilliantly) flags for a goal. Replays later confirm he was bang on. City have pulled one back.

Then, with little under ten minutes remaining (during which time United have profligately missed through Rooney and sub Carlos Tevez), Mendy gets both strength and pace on Ferdinand, who hauls him down in the box. Not many opponents get penalties at Old Trafford, especially at the Stretford End, and Mike Dean was as brave as he was accurate in his assessment of the challenge. Geovanni found the corner and it was 4-3.

If we're honest, City didn't really create anything resembling a great chance to equalise in the remaining minutes, and other issues came instead - Michael Turner, booked earlier, was lucky not to be sent off for a tackle on Carrick as the midfielder glided into a shooting position, while the loony Rooney went into his usual sulky, kick-out-at-all mode and picked up a yellow himself. Breakaways for the Tigers did raise hopes but no chance came of them, and after much chortling at the way Manchester United's multi-millionaires were panicking at the end, the whistle sounded.

Three goals at Old Trafford, but not a point to be had. Ah well. There was certainly a restoration of pride following the tepid showing against Chelsea, and another occasion to store in the memory bank for when the grandchildren start asking questions about City in a few years time. The players stayed on the pitch for a long session of mutual appreciation with the Tiger Nation, and quite right too. Everything about Hull City represented pride, progress and talent today. The lack of points, the concession of our unbeaten away record, and the drop into a meagre sixth place in the Premier League table is almost incidental. You should never feel happy after defeat but this is the closest feeling one can have to it.

The holiday is over and City return to the real business next week with Bolton Wanderers coming to the KC. Ashbee will be back, and I just wonder if Bernard Mendy might play?

Manchester United: Van der Sar, Neville, Ferdinand, Vidic, Evra, Ronaldo, Carrick (Giggs 72), Anderson (O'Shea 88), Nani (Tevez 64), Berbatov, Rooney. Subs not used: Foster, Park, Rafael Da Silva, Fletcher.

Hull City: Myhill, McShane, Turner, Zayatte, Dawson, Marney, Hughes (Mendy 59), Boateng (Folan 86), Geovanni, King (Halmosi 63), Cousin. Subs not used: Duke, Barmby, Garcia, Ricketts.

Stuart

Ask most Hull City fans of a certain vintage who they think of when they connect Hull City and Manchester United, and Stuart Pearson is the name which comes out.

Pearson was the last player to leave Hull City directly for Old Trafford, back in 1974. Tommy Docherty signed him after being impressed with the Cottingham lad's sturdy, unflinching effort to step into the iconic goalscoring boots vacated by Chris Chilton.

Docherty was only at Boothferry Park for a bit, as an experienced assistant to Terry Neill, before the call to manage Scotland naturally drew him away. Within a year he had left his country behind to go to Manchester United and, having realised Denis Law was past his best, aimed for youth and enthusiasm to rebuild a falling giant of the game.

Pearson, along with future household names like Macari, Hill, Coppell and Greenhoff, was part of it. It was a big deal around the city when Manchester United, freshly relegated into the same division as the Tigers, forked out £200,000 for the centre forward's services, but it represented good business all round. A year in a division he was already familiar with helped Pearson settle quickly, and he scored vital goals within typically bustling displays that endeared him quickly to a demoralised Old Trafford faithful and sent Manchester United straight back up. This was the last season that the two clubs would face each other in the League until now, and each side won at home.

Pearson also became a rare breed of Hull City player to have left the club and gone on to represent England, which he did sporadically for Don Revie and Ron Greenwood from 1976 until 1978. Only Brian Marwood has done this since. His Manchester United career was blighted by injury, but he won the FA Cup in 1977, scored in the final at Wembley, and went on to win another FA Cup with West Ham United after joining them, back in the second tier, in 1979. He remains on the hospitality roster at Old Trafford but his family are still in Hull, and it would be of mild interest to know who he roots for at Old Trafford today.