Hibernian 1 Motherwell 1

December 8 th 2001
Scottish Premier League
Attendance: 11,158.

Scorers:
Hibernian: O'Neil.
Motherwell: Elliot.

This is a copy of a report of the game as it appeared in the Scotland on Sunday on Sunday 9th December 2001

Hibs deceived by work ethic

HERE was a classic confrontation of brain against brawn, sophisticates pitted against Stakhanovites with Hibernian’s United Nations squad strutting around like fancy dans and coming a cropper in the process. You might envisage they had nothing to be complacent about, considering that Hibs had taken just four points from their past 21 in the SPL, but despite securing an early lead and carving out sufficient chances to win two or three matches, Hibs were ultimately the victims of their own superiority complex.

Motherwell, in contrast, have no illusions as to their task in fighting relegation: they are short of money and have even fewer supporters - a paltry 250 could be bothered to attend this fixture. But there’s an infinite grip coursed in the veins of men with names like Ready and Strong and Kelly and Leitch. By the death, and in a bedlam of noise as Motherwell scrambled and chased until they finally achieved parity, they could derive more comfort than Alex McLeish’s troops. Motherwell know their limitations, whereas Hibs seemed to think they are better than they actually are.

To be honest, this scarcely appeared the most attractive afternoon’s fare in advance, given that Hibs had failed to score in their previous four SPL outings, while Motherwell’s lapses against Livingston the previous Saturday had earned the kind of scabrous reviews which Pauline Kael used to dish out to trashy disaster movies in the 1970s. McLeish, commendably, demonstrated a positive mindset in striving to alter his side’s lacklustre season, fielding debutant striker, Eduardo Hurtado, another Ecuadorian recruit, to partner Ulises de la Cruz in Edinburgh next to David Zitelli and Francisco Luna in a distinctively-global line-up. Yet, when Hibs rapidly ended their barren sequence in the sixth minute, you might as well have credited it to the Motherwell defence, such was the abject manner in which they guarded their ramparts.

Perhaps they were still seething at the linesman’s decision to award a contentious corner; or maybe Karl Ready, a fellow about as well prepared for this battle as Ethelred, and his cohorts were merely contemplating whether to buy their partners perfume or lingerie for Christmas. But, whatever the reason, when Zitelli whipped in a treacherous cross towards the back post, who should rise to convert the opportunity but that towering Goliath, John O’Neil.

Eric Black looked on aghast, no doubt harbouring an occasional desire to return to the BBC couch with Dougie Vipond, where being a pundit means never having to say you’re sorry. Instead, as Hibs visibly perked up, with Hurtado serving immediate notice of his prowess and strength, and accompanied by the illusive Zitelli and Luna, Motherwell barely survived, and Keith Lasley was deservedly booked for an agricultural scythe at Ulrik Laursen, prior to Ready receiving the same punishment after fouling Hurtado.

At this stage, the visitors were about as comfortable as Clarissa Dickson Wright and Tommy Sheridan sharing veal cutlets and socialist tracts, and until James McFadden produced an excellent foray, before delivering a promising but ultimately futile cross, Liz McColgan could have coped as easily as Nick Colgan between the sticks.

Indeed, young McFadden and the industrious Elliott could scarcely be faulted for their energy, and their barnstorming attitude never strayed into surly niggle, which was hardly true of some of those around them. But even though Motherwell resembled what they are, a club strapped for cash and bereft of genuine class, they scrapped and nipped away at Hibs’ resolve with all the passion you might anticipate from an organisation based in Lanarkshire.

It did the trick, and as the contest carried on, you could see why their Edinburgh opponents are not the force this season they were in the previous campaign. Yes, there’s flair and no little skill, but there’s also a brittleness and inconsistency, which owes much to the absence of the injured Franck Sauzee, but also to their tendency to be over-elaborate and intricate.

Mercifully, for McLeish’s personnel, their opponents were rarely able to profit on this deficiency, and their philosophy was neatly summed up in the crude lunge on Luna which brought a caution for Greg Strong as the contrast of styles was regularly re-emphasised, Hibs trying too often to walk the ball into the Motherwell net, while Black’s side were otherwise occupied in unstinting hard graft to the cause.

Mind you, one could understand a mounting concern of the crowd as the second period wore on with Hibs holding a slender cushion. Their adversaries, let’s remember, have made a habit recently of improving as matches drag on, yet on the hour Hibs should have wrapped the points up after a dreadful mistake from Ready allowed Luna ample time to score, only for him to pick his spot and calmly deliver a deftly-chipped shot attempt - straight into the Carlsberg sign!

Nonetheless, with the clock ticking down, Hibs were now defending as deep as the cast of Stingray, and it was no real surprise when Motherwell equalised in the 83rd minute. Even Hammill, who received so much flak in the wake of his own goal last weekend, redeemed himself here with a splendid incursion, weaving past two defenders and then feeding Elliott, who made no mistake.

In a trice, Hibs were galvanised again, and substitute Tom McManus was agonisingly close to sealing victory in the dying seconds. But it was too late to regain the momentum, and the crescendo of boos at the climax told its own story of how Hibs frittered away this game.

The Teams:

Hibernian: Colgan, Laursen, G Smith, Murray, Zitteli, Jack, J O’Neil, De La Cruz, Orman, Luna, Hurtado.

Motherwell: Brown, Corrigan, Forrest, Ready, Dow, Twaddle, Leitch, Elliot, Pearson, Kelly, Adams.

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