Hull City 2 – 0 Brighton & H.A
France (40)
Burgess (87)

Att: 18,648

Saturday May 11th 1991, shortly before five o’clock in the afternoon. Do you remember where you were? I do. Last match of a rotten season. I was in the corner of St James’s Park that at the time served as the away section of Newcastle United’s ground, and I was watching with mounting apprehension as waves of home fans entered the pitch, some intent on celebrating the end of the season but others displaying a vigorous and purposeful interest in hand-to-hand combat with the small ban of Hull City fans who had just witnessed a surprising 2-1 victory achieved by their tattered team that had spent most of the season capitulating woefully en route to a dismal relegation that had been confirmed several weeks earlier. I am, of course, as hard as nails but I feared for the safety of some of my less physically imposing tiger chums. Happily the fence stayed sturdy, the stewards were not overwhelmed, and we exited both St James Park and League Division 2 with a degree of dignity intact.

And why, you may ask, should I be inviting you to reflect on events a decade-and-a-half ago? Not merely because the legendary Dave Walmsley scored for us that day, though he surely did. Not simply because the win is among the rather small number of triumphs recorded by Hull City on grounds that have staged Champions’ League football. But most of all because until yesterday it was the last time we won a League match played at the second level of English football.

So hurray for us. We’re back! Beating Brighton at home does not sounds as glamorous as cuffing the club now so astutely piloted by popular but no longer mustachioed man-manager Graeme Souness on their own midden, but football is about the future more than it is about the past, and this opening win of season 2005/06 is just what we needed to get cracking in this new loftier Division. And it was deserved too. Not by a wide margin. We didn’t play particularly well, and Brighton were generally our superior in the matter of ball retention. But though possession may be nine-tenths of the law (an analysis doubtless concocted by the same imbecile who considers it a breach of human rights to keep away fans in a football ground for a short period after the final whistle) but it doesn’t get you goals, and our display inside the final third comfortably bested Brighton’s. And so we won.

Kicking off on a warm and sunny afternoon:

Hull City: Myhill, Wiseman, Coles, Delaney, Dawson, France, Ashbee, Green, Elliott, Fagan, Barmby. (subs) Leite, Joseph, Ellison, Woodhouse, Burgess

Brighton: Henderson, Dodd, Butters, McShane, Reid, Knight, Oatway, Carpenter, Robinson, Kazim-Richards, Hammond. (subs) Carole, El-Abd, Chaigneau, Nicholas, McCammon

Ref: P Joslin (Nottinghamshire).

Fagan produced the first strike on goal when, 4 minutes in, he turned deftly inside the box to leave his marker comically flat-footed, and whipped a low shot just the wrong side of the post. Then, on 11, Brighton took their turn as Kazim-Richards slipped blind-side of Delaney and flicked a looping header just over Myhill’s bar. Even at this early stage the pattern of play that was to endure was plain enough – Brighton content to keep possession and maintain a solid, largely defensive shape, City more ambitious but not particularly fluent. No one demonstrated our superior ambition better than Andy Dawson. On 15 Fagan skipped clear down the left and hoisted an inviting cross towards the edge of the six-yard box where, to general bemusement, our left-back had arrived ahead of likelier goal poachers, needing only a composed downward header to open the scoring. Instead he managed to roll the ball off an ungainly shoulder square across the face of the goal, where it was eventually bundled away for a corner. But Dawson wasn’t daunted, and ten minutes later swept majestically downfield to drive a right-footed shot just wide of Henderson’s left-hand post. Had an opportunity ever fallen to his preferred left foot then maybe the adventurous Dawson would have chalked up his first of the season. But it didn’t.

Guy Butters, built like a Welsh Dresser and no more mobile, was at the heart of the Brighton defence and therefore you had to fancy the pace and verve of Fagan to catch him out. It took a while, though. On 36 a superb run by France was ruined when Fagan thoughtlessly delayed his pass and allowed the offside trap to ensnare France. But two minutes later our Brummie was on the end of a delicious move down the right involving France and Barmby, allowing him a volley from the edge of the area which he struck cleanly but just wide of the post. Two minutes more, and we take the lead. Fagan dribbles powerfully at a nervous defence on the retreat, slips the ball to France and his strike earns a meaty deflection that sends it spiraling beyond the hapless keeper Henderson, who won’t have relished his dose of misfortune. Tough – it’s 1-0, it’s not been much of a half but we’re half way to the first win of the season.

The second half’s opening is delayed by some repair work needed for the North Stand goal net– Colin Appleton would have fixed it in a jiffy, but Mr Taylor manages England U-21 in his spare time, no handyman he – but disgruntled Brighton begin with not one but two substitutes. The main idea seems to revolve round bringing on a big beefy centre-forward, McCammon, to lead the line. And then playing the ball everywhere except in the air to him. Well, fine.

Still, McCammon is desperately close to equalising on 51. Mike Scott’s testimony is something I trust as if it were to come from my own brother, so when he assured me before the match that Danny Coles “simply doesn’t make mistakes” I naturally assumed that our new centre-back wouldn’t sell Myhill criminally short on a backpass just as we were looking to make the game safe. Well, I don’t have a brother, and Coles could only watch aghast as McCammon homed in on this disastrous error, looking certain to level things up at 1-1. Well done, Boaz. He hurtled off his line and threw himself at the ball bravely, and succeeded in blocking the goal attempt. Coles is certainly a highly promising acquisition, but no more of this nonsense is required.

Brighton spent a large chunk of the second half on top, but in the main they failed miserably to subject Myhill to serious pressure. Periodically crosses flew dangerously into our box; blocks and hoofs were demanded from our defenders. We were never sitting comfortably on our lead and, not for the first time in the last year or two, we were struggling with our shape and ball retention in midfield while Ashbee himself, though not the most natural of possession footballers, could not be faulted for effort or leadership.

But at bottom Brighton lacked the rhythm or imagination needed to damage us. Highly-rated Leon Knight had looked feebly ineffective through the first-half but looked livelier now, and he was their best bet for an equaliser. On 67 he out muscled Dawson in pursuit of a cross but nudged his header from eight yards wide of Myhill’s right-hand post. Then, on 75, confusion between Delaney and Myhill allowed Knight to insert a toe and divert the ball goalwards, only for the opportunistic effort to trickle just wide. Delaney, by the way, was culpable of failure to give the loose ball the Row Z treatment in this instance. Did someone mention Justin Whittle?

Meanwhile, after the harrowing scenes a fortnight ago of hundreds of QPR fans walking out in disgust, many in tears, after hearing a few people sing a song at a football match, it was gratifying to see Brighton’s traveling support proving hardy enough to make it through to the final whistle. Still, they were wary, and understandably so. Before the match, one of their number was in front of me in the queue for food at the splendidly appointed trattoria “Viking Fisheries” on Anlaby Road. He had hidden his colours, and he spoke softly to minimise the risk that his accent would be detected. It was all going so well. Until he asked for “cod and chips” …

Ben Burgess arrived for Barmby on the hour, while the summit of a disappointing afternoon for Stuart Green had been to hoof the ball clean out of the ground during the first half. He departed on 76, replaced by Woodhouse Curtis, whose short but lively stint might have catapulted him up the midfield pecking order.

Such ideas as Brighton might have had now seemed to be running out. On 77 a glorious move transferred the ball from Curtis on to Elliott, then Dawson, whose lofted diagonal ball to the far post sailed invitingly on to the Burgess forehead. His forceful downward header looked perfect, but was superbly blocked by the agile Henderson. Now that one he will have relished. But Burgess, looking fit and fluent, was not to be denied.

Ten minutes later, with Brighton pressing men forward more in hope than expectation of reward from the afternoon, Elliott was able to release a marvelously well-judged pass behind the defence for Burgess to chase. He homed in on goal and, with two, even three, team-mates in support and wholly unmarked, he elected to do what any proper striker would - he ignored them, put his head down and lashed the ball goalwards. Henderson stuck out a hand and deflected the ball on to the far post, but it bounced back directly into Big Ben’s path and he gleefully rolled it into the back of the unguarded net. That put us 2-0 up, which was maybe a margin double that which we deserved over the piece, but no matter – game won, points total ticking over steadily enough, four games in.

To finish, here’s another date for you. Tuesday November 10th 1998, in the evening. Where were you then? Me, I was standing in the Kempton watching as limp, witless and gutless a performance as I would ever wish to see from Hull City. Then, as now, it was Brighton who came visiting. They beat us 2-0. They only needed nine men to do it, a brace having received their marching orders from a fussy referee. We were simply awful, it was freezing cold, and a largely deserted Boothferry Park was sinking in funereal gloom. A few weeks later we saw in the New Year several points adrift at the foot of the League, and seemingly on the critical list. Less than 7 years ago! Yesterday’s win over Brighton was nothing spectacular, and plenty of players can do better. But when Messrs Pearson and Taylor talk about how far we’ve come as a club and how quickly we’ve done it, I don’t think they know the half of it. We’re in the middle of Division 2! Where we belong! Some journey since that cold night at home to Brighton in 1998.

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