After the four away game marathon that preceded Hull, the Lads made another short trip to Yorkshire and did the usual against a team from the lower reaches. It seems we can beat those at the top but struggle against those with their backs to the wall. In a first half of few chances, we hit the target with none while we needed three good saves in quick succession from Patto to keep us in it. An unstoppable shot put them ahead before the break and it was down to Clarke, with a bouncing deflected effort, to level things. Despite intense, Pritch-inspired, pressure towards the end, the Millers were resolute in defence and it ended 1-1. Deeply disappointing.
Our journey south continued in the manner of our return from Humberside - for the first time in what seemed like ages, we'd been in a celebratory homeward mood. More renditions of Jingle Bells were interspersed with tales from awaydays of the past, recounted to eager young ears, the owners of which learned of Snoop's Green Monster pints, battered beans, and seasickness in Portsmouth while the hydrofoil was still docked. I know it was only a couple of hours anyway, but return journeys seem so much more shorter with three points in the bag. Today's journey down was punctuated by folks cursing at their phones and damning Ticketmaster to the far reaches of Hell because of their inability to provide access to mag tickets at the allotted time. Had they forgotten what day of the week it is because of Christmas? Do us a favour, SAFC, and ditch the useless leeches.