Hibernian 2 Kilmarnock 0

21st September 2002
Scottish Premier League
Attendance:

Scorers:
Hibernian: Murray, McManus.

This is a copy of a report of the game as it appeared in the Scotland on Sunday on Sunday 22nd September 2002

Williamson makes a killing out of old club

SUDDENLY life is tolerable again for the troubled soul that is Bobby Williamson. Having spent most of the last decade nurturing and fine-tuning Kilmarnock into a potent SPL force, the now-Hibs manager must have been concerned that his old charges would return to haunt him at Easter Road yesterday.

But, in the event, this was an afternoon when Williamson’s men not only enjoyed a comfortable victory to lift them off the bottom of the league, but also served notice, in the outstanding showings of Ian Murray and Tom McManus that their future aims should extend far beyond simply avoiding relegation or dwelling in the twilight zone.

In its entirety, the tussle was a curious mish-mash of grisly strength and infrequent glimpses of precious skill. But any nerves harboured by Hibernian were swiftly expunged with a brace of gift-wrapped goals against adversaries who were lethargic, lacklustre and terribly out of sorts.

Ultimately, Hibs were industrious without being brilliant, but considering the paucity of Kilmarnock’s resources, on Jim Jefferies first return to this stadium since Hearts were beaten 6-2 in the Edinburgh derby, sheer efficiency proved sufficient for Hibs to prosper, and with their next two fixtures at home against Livingston and Dundee United, there is no reason why they can’t improve their position in the weeks ahead.

It’s true that Williamson’s troops have been sadly bereft of confidence in recent displays, and despite a creditable rearguard battle in losing to Celtic, the mood around the ground at the outset was closer to funereal than fervent. Yet, as Williamson had declared beforehand, offering his trademark impersonation of a man trying to save the world with his briefcase primed to explode in the next five seconds, luck is a crucial component in this business and the apparent mission improbable to halt Kilmarnock’s fine Premierleague progress was soon transformed into a stirring example of how speedily footballing fortunes can ebb and flow.

There was scant indication of what lay in store when Jefferies declared his attacking intentions by deploying a 3-4-3 formation, plumping for the mercurial Jose Quitongo, to partner Gary McSwegan and Kris Boyd in an obvious ploy to penetrate the recent leaky fortification of the capital side.

But, as it transpires, and oblivious to much shimmying and jinking from Quitongo, one of those all-style-no-substance imports whose contribution invariably adds up to loitering without intent, Kilmarnock possessed all the powder puff menace of Audley Harrison’s grandmother, and it was hardly surprising that Hibs should start to profit on the lavish space in the midfield area.

Paco Luna, in particular, thrives on the opportunity to sprint at defenders, the erratic Spaniard emphasising with this performance that he boasts a priceless ability to pierce the soft underbelly of opponents, and the consequence was that the hosts’ early caution was replaced by a series of aggressive forays which saw them sweep into a two goal advantage after just 13 minutes, with the Kilmarnock effort, at this stage was, to paraphrase Bill Spiers, an abject load of keech.

They lost the plot in the ninth minute when Gary Smith delivered a treacherous free kick into Kilmarnock’s penalty box, whereupon Luna fed on to Murray, whom, despite catching his shot poorly, found Gordon Marshall leaden-footed as the ball trickled into his net whilst Jefferies looked on aghast at the dismal tracking back of his personnel.

That was bad enough for the veteran keeper, but he could at least attach blame to those in front of him. The same, alas, was not applicable when Luna sent McManus clear and the latter’s innocuous attempt was allowed to meander past Marshall’s pedestrian resistance.

In a trice, even as the long suffering home supporters rubbed their eyes in merry disbelief, a watery sunshine was tangible amongst the Leith brigade, and with Kilmarnock in some disarray, the proceedings reminded us of one of the greatest truisms in soccer, namely, always expect the unexpected. As the battle raged on, quite literally in the rumbustuous fashion with which Stevie Fulton and Peter Canero sought to regain the initiative, Hibs seemed utterly untroubled, and but for a bout of adolescent stupidity from McManus, who booted the ball away in frustration at being adjudged offside, and soon had his name in referee John Rowbotham’s book, it was difficult to credit that the visitors had travelled here with Micawberish optimism.

Unlike his youthful confrere, Garry O’Connor, who confuses precocity with maturity in talking of his interest in switching cities and joining the myriad list of Edinburgh stars who have recently prospered at Ibrox - pause for hollow laughter - McManus is wholeheartedly committed to all matters Hibernian, excessively so on occasion, but Williamson needs talent such as him, and the ubiquitous Murray to resuscitate his team’s challenge and they were certainly impressive during this outing.

As we surveyed a couple conduct their nuptials on the turf during the interval, the thought occurred that Kilmarnock could scarcely be so divorced from their normal selves on the resumption, and so it materialised. Indeed, they would rapidly have reduced the deficit, but for a couple of marvellous saves from Nick Colgan, who leapt athletically to defy Alan Mahood and then, in the twinkling of an eye, responded imperiously in thwarting Barry McLaughlin.

Given that the Irishman could hitherto have been the best man at the aforementioned wedding, this double salvage job bore ample testimony to his powers of concentration and athleticism, and although Kilmarnock pressed on, gradually earning more territory and possession, there was a strange dearth of belief to their approach.

In which light, it was irrelevant when McManus was replaced by O’Connor, and Jefferies strove to orchestrate a belated recovery by bringing on Ally Mitchell and Garry Hay for Mahood and Gary Locke.

On the contrary, despite glimmers for Boyd and Freddie Dindeleux, one never really felt they would drag anything out of this affair following Marshall’s unforced errors, and the comparisons between him and Colgan, who was once again masterful in parrying James Fowler’s shot at the death, could not have been more glaring.

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