York City 0, Fulham 1

While 'The Full Monty' targets Oscar honours, the Second Division's version of 'The Full Money' flattered to deceive at York City.

No, not Ecofin, more 'Egofin', in the form of Fulham, bankrolled by the millions of Harrods' boss Mohammed Al Fayed.

That cash should raise an ugly head is inevitable whenever the Cottagers come to town. The spondulicks have been splashed with riotous abandon by Mr Fayed.

Saturday at Bootham Crescent the clash of cash contrasts was never more pointed.

Fulham, who boast five former Premiership managers on their backroom staff headed by 'director of operations' Kevin Keegan, fielded a side costing more than £6 million.

York City's injury-decimated ranks - a Friday bug floored Richard Cresswell forcing Youth Trainee Scheme defender Andrew Dawson to sit it out as substitute - started with a line-up fetching the princely sum of £175,000. That's nearly less than half the outlay on Fulham's bench-warmers.

But anyone at City's abode would be hard-pressed to tell which of the two sides was the one with more noughts behind it than a compendium of James Bond films.

Paupers City showed the keener appetite for the challenge and the greater attacking zest in a contest that for most of its 90 minutes had all the appeal of a European monetary sub-committee meeting.

Fulham were flat and feature-less, save for the darts and dashes of the impish Paul Peschisolido. No surprise then that he should eventually bundle in the only goal of a game in which respective penalty areas were treated by the protagonists as virtual exclusion zones.

Pre-match expectations had it that this could be a classic. Wrong. It was a drastically diluted and dim affair more akin to the cheerlessness of deepest winter than the first day of spring.

At least the Minstermen could allude to mitigating circumstances.

The crocked list that has swollen more than the River Ouse prompted a tactical shuffle. In the wake of stricken widemen Graeme Murty and Gary Himsworth, and Hartlepool-bound sorcerer Paul Stephenson, it was gone with the wing for the hosts.

Deprived of natural width they opted for a three-man midfield, Steve Bushell and Alan Pouton ranged either side of Mark Tinkler. Up front Gary Bull partnered Rodney Rowe with Jonathan Greening deputed in a near-Steve McManaman role.

While 'Jonno' bares more than a close physical resemblance to the lithe frame of the Liverpool star and can emulate the fanciest of footwork, as yet the York protg does not possess Supermac's stealthy presence. Instead he was buffeted into blind alleys by a Fulham defence in which £2 million Welsh international Chris Coleman was robustness personified.

City lacked penetration. What's new? Rowe, indeed, made his most telling contribution in the opening flurries when the game's threat to catch fire evaporated into a false dawn.

City's leading scorer was perfectly stationed near an upright to scramble Coleman's flick header off the goal-line, reacting swiftly to thwart Peschisolido homing in on the rebound.

For all Bushell's efforts and the Stakhanovite tackling of Pouton, City laboured against a Fulham defence supplemented often by their four-man midfield cordon.

The dismal affair was only energised sporadically in the second-half. A free-kick in Neil Thompson territory was whip-lashed by the full-back to sting Fulham goalkeeper Maik Taylor's finger-tips.

That also signalled a nasty nine-minute spell in which Fulham dispelled any southern softies' image. Three bookings were dished out by referee Michael Pike, who could have turned at least one spiteful challenge from yellow to red card.

But when stalemate loomed City got their cards. Goalkeeper Mark Samways blundered at a deep-slung Steve Hayward cross stranding himself as Neil Smith and Paul Moody glanced the ball for pesky Peschisolido to score off his thigh.

It was too harsh an outcome for City's defence, especially the willow-sturdy Martin Reed. Back in harness the 20-year-old was only once outfoxed by the £2m strikeforce of Peschisolido and Tony Thorpe.

Right at the death City almost cashed in, but Tinkler's header flashed the wrong side of an upright. Money had talked, though it had been with forked tongue.

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