Back we come after the international break, which in theory should have given us a football-free weekend. As it turned out, I had England on Saturday, England Ladies on Sunday afternoon, then the Masters on Sunday evening. Don Goodman still knocking them in for Wolves, and Kavanagh pairing up with Cooper for Boro – perhaps the only three players in the tournament (apart from Dean Windass) who haven’t doubled in size since last you saw them. Good fun nonetheless.

Our comings and goings having settled down, we now have to see whether Brucie’s buys have indeed been Joplings rather than Jackie White’s Market, and the (bit of a surprise) sale of Collins seems set to test our strength in depth immediately. With McCartney staying fit being about as likely as those police dogs at the Central after the Hibs game REALLY being called Clio, Floyd, Earl and Diesel (rather than Fang, Tyson, Wolf, and Satan), we’re light on the left for several weeks to come. A new-look defence was inevitable, but with the players we’ve now got, a 3-4-3 wouldn’t surprise me, with Campbell or Richardson the third attacker and any three from Mensah, Da Silva (mebbe not yet), Ferdy, Bardsley, and Turner at the back. Just maybe. But perhaps by next week Michel Platini will have closed down English football as he seems intent on slagging off our teams/league/anything else he can think of. Stones and glass houses is the phrase that springs to mind.

With the England national team struggling through the pointless (literally) friendly on Saturday, some of us doubted their ability to do the business over Croatia on Wednesday. Couldn’t have been more wrong, and even Gerrard (refraining from punching anyone he thought might pull a face at him later) and Lampard produced an impressive partnership. So while we in England are watching World Cup previews, our Scottish chums will be watching the classic film Out Of Africa. Mackems, on the other hand, will have been working up a bit of a passion for the Hull game, including Andrew Hardy in Queensland, who’ll doubtless be joining other Red and Whites down under in front of the TV. While it might be three o’clock on a Saturday for us, it’ll me the silly o’clock for our Antipodean fans. Apparently the Hull fans appreciate Turner for several seasons of good performances, but think a bit less of Campbell despite his goals, for not joining them when the chance came along.

So, off to Sunny Sunderland with the rest of south West Durham’s (formerly) fit young men. A post-match holiday meant no pre-match pint, so I wandered around the ground watching the Hull fans, dressed as Wolves fans, congregate.

Gordon managed to be fit, so was behind Bardsley, Ferdy, Turner, and Richo, with Steed, Cana, Cat, and Reid across the middle and Bent up front with Campbell in for Jet-Lag Jones.

Despite being a crock when we sold him, McShane was fit to be captain of Hull, win the toss, and force us to kick North in the first half, the bugger. Campbell showed the way early on, outstripping their defence to a through ball, but the cut-back was cleared, and when he got forward again soon after, he held on to the ball too long. Steed, who linked well with Bardsley throughout the afternoon, burst down the right and found Campbell, who in turn found Reid, but the cross was cleared. Hull broke away and a curling shot from distance was adjudged to have been saved by Gordon, so we had a corner to deal with. We were quickly down the North Stand again, and when Reid’s shot went for a corner, he took the kick himself and a Hull defender produced one of the stupidest handballs you’re ever likely to see, palming away the ball when it was three feet above his head. Bent duly hit it hard and low to the keeper’s right. In front after only 11 minutes – nice – and we were knocking it about well, having the visiting defence beaten for pace virtually every time, and could have had another penalty when Turner took a mighty shove when going for another Reid corner. The formerly cuddly midfielder was a busy man, with free-kicks and corners coming along with almost monotonous regularity, but we couldn’t create a real chance despite always looking likely to. Balls in the air were meat and drink to their big defenders, and the whole Hull team was not averse to putting in the odd bump. Some lovely one-twos ended when Bardsley’s ball to Steed was way too strong. McShane was booked for a handball – the lad just can’t stop himself doing daft things – then Gordon produced a comfy save at height, then more impressively from a low header following a free-kick. Steed twinkled his way into the box but couldn’t get a shot away, and many of our attacks foundered at the feet of their number 44, who held them together in front of the defence.

So we came to the danger time, five minutes to half time and with Hull having got back into the game since the half hour. Typically, we didn’t deal with a corner and it was 1-1 on 43. the 2 added minutes brought more Hull pressure, but we kept it level when, with the pressure and possession we’d enjoyed in the first 30, we should have scored at least another. Saves? Three by Gordon, none by Myhill.

No changes at the break, and with the scoreboard showing City 10 Arsenal 0, we believed we could score enough to win. Unfortunately, the first action brought a scandalous booking for Cana following a clean tackle, then Bent burst down the right to flash the ball in front of Campbell, but Myhill did enough to prevent meaningful contact, but the ball came back in for another decent penalty claim, broke on the right, found its way across the box to Reid at the far corner who drove it, hard and low, into the net. Lovely, and only four minutes in. Soon after Hull brought on Vannegooor of Hesselink, or whatever, living proof that Celtic would bring very little to the Prem. Cat set Campbell free, but he was halted by a great tackle in the box. Altidore (spelling?) came on for the visitors, but his first bit of action was to be excellently outmuscled by Ferdy, who fed the right wing, and Bent drove into the box with one thing on his mind. He carried the ball direct and straight towards the near post, and thumped it past the keeper for 3-1. Even nicer, even lovelier, and less than 65 gone.

Despite their energy levels very obviously falling, Hull pressed and it needed a tremendous flick over his own bar from Bardsley to keep our goal intact, and a flurry of corners followed. Our right back was obviously still suffering from his exploits when the ball eventual went away, and required treatment for what was only a flesh wound, and he was back on the field as soon as possible. Steed, Bent, and Campbell combined to get to the edge of the Hull box, but the chance wouldn’t come, and Jones came on for Bent, who received a tremendous ovation - as you’d expect. Bards was flattened four yards from the goal line and a couple of yards from the box, and Reid’s shot was clawed (I think that’s the right term) away for a corner. In it came, and there was new boy Turner to force his former team mate Zayatte to thump in a header. Mild taunting of the Hull fans in the box behind us ensued, but there was no witty riposte. Mensah came on for the obviously suffering Bards, and produced a series of longish throws and runs down the right. His full-back partner changed when Steed was replaced by Da Silva, and we produced several minutes of Booh-Ray football, with many more Rays the Boohs, and quite a few Oles as well. Steve Hunt flung himself to the deck at every opportunity as the visitors looked completely sick of life. Gordon charged out to take a high ball, and landed badly, but managed to keep hold of the ball while being treated. Four extra minutes, much to the despair of the Tigers fans, as we relaxed (for once) as the whistle approached. There was even time for Cana to produce a backheel tackle followed by a blood and thunder tackle right under the ref’s nose, as if to make a point.

So 4-1, and everybody’s happy. Bent had one chance and scored two, which is pretty good going, and Campbell ran his socks off. Comfy debuts for Mensah and Da Silva, and a more hardworking one for Turner. Tactially, Bruce got it right, but the old failing against corners just before the break is still there. Man of the match, though, goes to Reid, for a masterly midfield display and a cracking finish.

Keep the faith

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