Category Archives: Football

Time to Get Rid of Sepp Blatter, The “Benny Hill of World Football” – by Rob Atkinson

Image

Sepp Scuttle – on a mission

There were two very worrying pieces of news from the football world in the last couple of days, which I suppose is roughly par for the course.  The first concerns Sepp Blatter, the ridiculous FIFA President.  The second should concern him, but he’s a man who tends to brush off bad news that is inconvenient to him – so don’t hold your breath.

Firstly then, we have the unwelcome tidings that Blatter may wish to continue in a role he’s singularly inadequate for, possibly well into his eighties.  Certainly he appears unwilling to countenance the prospect of being succeeded by UEFA president Michel Platini, and his remarks about having “a mission to see through” will worry those who had hoped to see an injection of sanity at the top of the world game.

Secondly – there was the frankly disgusting outbreak of racist behaviour directed at Manchester City’s Yaya Toure during the CSKA Moscow v City Champions League game. Russia of course is the venue for the 2018 World Cup, and to hear monkey noises directed at the opposition’s black players is to understand that there are still nations where this problem is endemic. That is totally unacceptable by any reasonable standards, but such considerations appear completely to pass Blatter by.  He seemed to take great delight in the choice of Russia as 2018 host nation, and has been more concerned at rubbing England’s noses in it over their failure to hold a World cup since 1966, than with any strategies for addressing the disgusting tendency of Russian “fans” to sink to gutter depths of abuse and racial hatred.

Blatter has been described as the “Benny Hill of World Football”, which would appear to be a gross and unwarranted insult to an English comedian who is not around to defend himself or express his dismay at being compared with a buffoon such as the useless Sepp. His contentment to see a World Cup take place in a cess-pool of racism isn’t the limit of his idiocy.  He has also stood four-square behind the award of the 2022 tournament to Qatar – a nation state with temperatures which preclude a normally-timed World Cup and with a population the size of Manchester’s together with an even worse human rights record.  When it was revealed earlier this year that between June 4 and August 8 this summer, 44 Nepalese migrant workers died on construction sites, most of them from heart failure or industrial accidents, Blatter could only comment ‘FIFA cannot interfere with the labour rights of any country, but we cannot ignore them,’  As meaningless contradictions and futile wastages of breath go, that’s a market leader.  Blatter’s other helpful comments in relation to Qatar 2022 include advising gays “simply to abstain from sex” due to the emirate’s medieval laws concerning homosexuality.

The more one hears of Blatter and his rampant ego, his ridiculous bearing and his asinine statements, to say nothing of his decision-making skills which would appear to be on a par with General Custer’s at the Little Big Horn, the more it’s tempting to conclude that Benny Hill’s Fred Scuttle character could hardly do a worse job.  But if Blatter really is determined to cling on to power, it’s no laughing matter.  The lack of anything resembling a backbone in the levels of FIFA below the Almighty Sepp means that he could easily get his way, and if THAT happens – it’s not impossible to imagine that we may yet see a World Cup being held in Iran, Chad or Syria.  It’s imperative that we get rid of this stupid man – but an even higher priority than that is to make it abundantly clear to both Russia and Qatar that unless they put their houses in order within the next two years, then steps will be taken to reverse the decisions identifying them as hosts for the most prestigious football tournament of them all.

Nothing less than this will do.  But as long as the Blatters of this world are in charge, with the attendant baggage of incompetence, pomposity, rampant egos and the stench of corruption – then nothing is precisely what we shall get.

Hurt Feelings and Childish Tantrums Down Millwall Way – by Rob Atkinson

No-one likes them, and apparently they care TERRIBLY

No-one likes them, and apparently they care TERRIBLY

Tears are being shed, teddies thrown out of cots, feet stamped in darkest Bermondsey. Tantrums are the order of the day.  Millwall fans are feeling hurt and slighted, and d’you know wot, Guv’nor?  They don’t fink it’s fair.

They have this catchy little song they sing to something vaguely resembling the tune of Rod Stewart’s “Sailing”.  The melody (for want of a better word) is just about recognisable, despite the distinct lack of choirboy types among the New Den congregation.  It’s sung loud and proud, if not all that sweetly, but what can you really expect from proper ‘ard ‘ooligans eh?

The thing is, the words are a bit misleading.  There’s a catchy verse or two about being Millwall, Super Millwall, from The Den, and then it goes “No-one likes us, no-one likes us, no-one likes us, we don’t care.”  And this is where the irony kicks in because, to judge by the reaction my few “home truths” articles about Millwall and its fans have received recently, they DO care.  They care terribly, and their feelings, bless ’em, are painfully, grievously hurt.  The resentment is palpable, which seems a little odd when set against the background of the misery that, over the years, these barely civilised ruffians have doled out to visiting fans.  I’d normally use an “allegedly” in that last bit, but you know. Come on. Get real.

They’ve caused mayhem on the road too, whenever they’ve travelled in sufficient numbers.  Happily, as they normally bring only a hundred or so to Elland Road, they tend to huddle together quietly at our gaff, being ever so well-behaved and not saying “Boo” to a goose.  But generally speaking, the behaviour they like to display (if their numbers are sufficiently intimidating) to opposition fans strikes a curious contrast with the prevailing attitude if anyone has a go at them in print.  Then, the collective lip starts to quiver, tears spring to the eyes and the mewling and whinging starts.  This petulant attitude can reach quite a crescendo, and seems to consist mainly of childish protests along the lines of “You’re as bad as us!  Pot, kettle, black!!  IT’S NOT FAIR!!!!”  All very disappointingly soft and lacking in the hard-as-nails, “not bovvered wot anyone else finks” image they like to portray in their little song.

So, over the past few weeks, I’ve gained a new and unfamiliar impression of your average Miwwwaww fan (they’re not very good at pronouncing their L’s darn sarf).  Previously I’d thought of them mainly as squat thugs, built on troglodyte lines, eyes close-set, knuckles tattooed “Love” and “Hate” and an anchor on the forearm with “Muvver” etched beneath it; terrifying when part of a mob – which is how they would invariably operate. But in the light of the piteous squeals and squeaks of protest I’ve received lately, I’ve had to revise this image.

Now it seems to me that yer typical New Den habitué is a more sensitive soul altogether, with perhaps a rather weak chin beneath a trembling “north & south”, vulnerable blue eyes all a-brim with big fat tears – and the whole topped by the kind of golden curls you associate with that soft lad whose mum would never let him play football in the street. He’ll be a bit skinny, built more for flight than fight, and his whole demeanour will be suggestive of someone who, if anyone should raise a voice to them or speak an angry word, might very well break down altogether and run home shrieking to hide under the bed.  It’s a picture at odds with popular folklore – but what else can you conclude when you hear such awful, grief-stricken and self-righteous fits of pique?

The kind of people I’ve been hearing from, so distraught and horrified that I could even dream of being critical or unkind, would appear to be the type that are quite happy being as offensive as they can get away with in the furtherance of their pursuit of happiness, but – and here’s the thing – who get extremely unhappy should anyone tell inconvenient truths about them, or make uncomfortable allegations – maybe even generalise a bit or otherwise paint a grim picture of the archetypal Millwall fan.  They get so cross, it’s amusing.  They take to Twitter, where they spend half their time going on about how they’re not bovvered – and the other half making it abundantly clear how awfully, painfully bovvered they are, and calling down divine judgement upon the head of the inoffensive blog that is the source of all this distress.

Such is life, I’m afraid.  Sadly for the Miwwwaww fraternity, if you live by the sword you have to accept you might very well die by the sword – or even by the pen which, as any literary type will tell you, is easily the mightier of the two.  It’s simply a case of suck it up, stop whinging, straighten up and fly right, all that kind of thing.  Or of course, the option is there to “Carry on Crying”, if that’s what floats the Millwall boat, soft and silly as it might appear to everyone else.  It’s your call, Miwwwaww fans.  I’m happy to say that I couldn’t give a toss.

Brilliant, United!! Leeds Utd 4, Birmingham City 0 – by Rob Atkinson

Image

Cometh the hour, cometh the Beast.  As Leeds United vaulted out of the doldrums with a display of all-round excellence against Birmingham City today, it was action-man skipper Rudy Austin who was their drive and inspiration.  You can pick any cliché you like to describe the excellence of Austin’s bionic performance.  He gave 110%.  He covered every blade of grass.  He was a powerhouse in midfield, a last-ditch impassable obstacle in defence – he even found time to score the goal that provided United with a precious breathing space they’ve enjoyed all too rarely in recent times.

All that said, this was no one-man show.  From back to front, from top to bottom, Leeds were bang up for it today and would have beaten far better teams than Birmingham City, who were simply blown away by the hunger, commitment and endeavour of the Whites’ frankly voracious performance.  From the kick off, United set a tempo far too punishing for the hapless away team, and the Blues had to withstand ferocious pressure in a first fifteen minutes of siege football.  That they emerged without conceding from that opening quarter-hour was mainly about some casual finishing, but Blues had defended grimly and must have been hoping for some respite if the storm would just blow itself out.  Then City keeper Darren Randolph came out to make a neat interception but tried to be that bit too clever and had the ball nicked off him by the ubiquitous Austin.  A first time pass to Ross McCormack who looked up and, seeing an empty goal 25 yards away, calmly propelled the ball into it.

Leeds had earned that breakthrough and they now set about consolidating it. Birmingham had to redouble their defensive efforts as well as trying to make the odd foray upfield, but by and large they were swimming against a flood tide as white shirts poured forward and Leeds players won most first and second balls all over the park.  The inevitable second came after the half-hour.  McCormack found time and space wide left, and advanced on the defence before putting a quality ball into the City box where Austin, at the end of a lung-bursting 70 yard run forward, was found in splendid isolation on the edge of the six yard box to plant a neat header past the helpless Randolph.  The first half’s coup de grâce was administered by the towering Matt Smith who had headed a diagonal pass into the path of McCormack.  The striker’s shot from a narrow angle was saved, but Smith was on hand to identify the space at the near post and neatly wrong-foot Randolph to finish efficiently.

A 3-0 half-time lead was beyond the wildest dreams of the long-suffering Leeds faithful, who must have spent the interval torn between celebrating, pinching themselves and praying for a continuation of what had been a masterful performance from United, even allowing for the frailties of the opposition.  City came out with the intention of playing for pride and perhaps at least winning the second half.  The introduction of recent Leeds nemesis Nikola Zigic might have caused a few collies to wobble and Birmingham did show a greater presence in the game in the second half, pushing United back and causing the odd flurry in defence, one goal-line clearance from Tom Lees being particularly memorable with Paddy Kenny beaten by a lob.  But Leeds’ nerve held, their confidence remained high and they defended adequately when they had to while managing to attack dangerously at every opportunity.

The hard work and persistence of Austin with the subtler promptings of young Alex Mowatt, allied to Smith’s aerial presence and McCormack’s intelligent space-seeking runs, always promised a fourth goal to set the seal on a highly encouraging afternoon. That fourth goal, when it came, was a thing of beautiful simplicity.  Smith was the scorer on 74 minutes, having had an emphatic finish ruled out for a narrow offside decision two minutes earlier.  Now though, Mowatt received possession on the left in a tight enough situation to deny him the chance to do anything but feed in a first-time cross. This he did, and the quality of the ball to the far post was such that Smith’s second goal of the afternoon was served up to him cooked to perfection on a silver plate with all the trimmings.  It was a sumptuous cross and Smith snapped up the chance gratefully, powering an unstoppable header into the net at the Kop End.

This was a performance of verve and style from United, the shape and make-up of the team proving just right for the task of dispatching a Birmingham side who are capable of much, but who were simply not allowed to perform on the day and were, in the end, sent packing, well beaten and thoroughly demoralised.  City manager Clark bemoaned the crass defending that contributed to at least two of the four goals, but in truth he will be relieved that his team escaped a far more savage beating. In the first half particularly it had been men against boys and it’s no exaggeration to say that United could have run out winners by seven goals or even more.  As match-days go, it was the kind of occasion Leeds fans have been denied for far too long.  This was a banquet of a performance after too long on starvation rations, and every man played his part to the full, though nobody could deny the marvellous Austin his man of the match accolade.

All credit to Brian McDermott and his players who have evidently made good use of the fortnight’s international break to get a few things thrashed out.  The desire and hunger of this display was wonderful to see and it sets a standard that McDermott will wish to see as a default level of performance from now on.  Whether the squad is strong enough for the long haul is severely open to doubt and there are still wrongs to be righted there.  But United’s big win has shown that, on their day and with their main men available, they are capable of handing out no end of a hiding.  More of the same next week against Huddersfield would do very nicely indeed.

Millwall Cowards Tarnish Football Yet Again – by Rob Atkinson

The second "accident"

The second “accident”

It seems that not a Millwall match can go by without their simian fans perpetrating another disgrace and further confirming their club’s long-standing reputation as a pimple on the backside of the game.

This time, the assaults took the form of footballs hurled at QPR’s managerial duo Joe Jordan and Harry Redknapp. Jordan was hit first, the ball reportedly jamming the frame of his glasses into his face, smashing the lenses and drawing blood. Then Redknapp, who had arrived at the New Den on crutches following recent corrective knee surgery, suffered an almost identical experience, the accuracy of the throw for the ball to hit him on the side of the face doubtless thrilling the coward responsible.

Alex Ferguson’s ridiculous attempt last season to dress up the incident where van Persie was struck by the football as attempted murder was characteristically over the top and wide of the mark. Despite the bizarre claims of the slightly bewildered and out of touch former Man U dictator, a football is not of itself a deadly weapon. Jordan and Redknapp were not in danger as such, but it must be intensely annoying to be targeted by morons behind the dugouts while trying to direct the efforts of your team. That Millwall scored a second equaliser while Redknapp was still remonstrating with the classless ape concerned added grievous insult to what turned out fortunately as only a minor injury.

It’s the principle of the thing, of course – football men should be able to go about their work without being annoyed by over-excited cretins in the stand. The proportion of boneheads in the Millwall support makes this sort of thing a semi-regular occurrence at their matches, and sadly at the New Den not all the cowards are in the stands. Home manager Steve Lomas chose to try and dismiss the twin football salvo as “two accidents”. The employees of Millwall Football Club must surely at some point become sick and tired of having to make excuses for the pond-life support that shames the club so often and so deeply.

On this occasion, with Jordan’s glasses shattered, the craven apologists who spend so much time excusing the actions of what appear to be semi-feral savages must be relieved that no sliver of glass found it’s way into the old warrior’s eyes. Relieved for Jordan, yes, but more so because there must come a time when the comatose idiots at the Football League wake up to the fact that it’s only a matter of time before someone gets seriously hurt at Millwall.  The officials at that club must live in a state of constant readiness for severe sanctions following some or other exhibition of crass violence from their hard-of-thinking crowd.

A cowardly attack by throwing a football into people’s faces at short range is one thing – and a man on crutches plus another wearing glasses are about par for the course for today’s breed of snivelling Millwall thug. But how long before some bright lad turns up with a pool ball or a set of darts in case there’s no football handy? How long, with irresponsible idiots like Lomas blithering on about “two accidents”, before someone loses their sight, or worse?

Alex Ferguson was comically wrong to try and call a football an instrument of murder. But once opposing football staff at the New Den realise they’re likely to be pelted in the course of their work, and that their genial hosts will clumsily try to excuse this, then they would do well to worry about exactly what will be thrown at them next time. It may well become de rigueur for body armour and perhaps safety helmets to be worn in the away dugout at the New Den – because nothing, it seems, is beyond the pale at Millwall.

West Ham Crumble Against the Might of the City – by Rob Atkinson

 Allardyce_2562740

Well, I was right in predicting that Manchester’s Finest would cruise to victory at the ‘Apless ‘Ammers, and I was correct in predicting four goals too – although in the event, a suspiciously offside-looking Vaz Te notched one for the ‘Ammers to briefly haul them back into a game that City looked like running away with.

So, an unexpected entry in the “goals for” column in the Eastenders’ attacking third then but, at the other end, all was class and quality as Citeh scored three purlers, two for Aguero and a sublime third from Silva.  Fat Sam will be worried about the ease with which the diminutive Aguero soared above his lumpen defences to head his and City’s second, but in reality it was not so much how these goals were going to be scored that mattered.  It was always a question of when and how many as the City team did pretty much what they liked against opponents unable to deal with their quicksilver movement and con brio tempo.

The bottom line is, as I have said previously, it doesn’t really matter too much how the ‘Ammers do in games like this, just so long as they prey efficiently enough on the other bottom-feeders of the Premier League’s nearly men.  It’s dog eat dog down there, so if Allardyce can somehow mastermind wins against the likes of Cardiff, Sunderland, Norwich and the like, then they may yet be OK.  A few more fluke results as against Spurs would help, too.

You never know – it may just be that there will be three or four teams who end up demonstrably worse than the ‘Ammers, so another top-flight season is not impossible.  Just – on this showing – somewhat improbable.

Can Leeds Banish the Blues? – by Rob Atkinson

Image

League football resumes this weekend after the latest international break and for Leeds it’s a chance to return to winning ways on Sunday lunchtime at home to Birmingham City, who are four points and five places worse off than our heroes.  United sit 14th, 7 points behind the play-off places and, perhaps more relevantly, 8 points clear of the bottom three.

Suggestions that this is a “must-win” game for Leeds have more or less merit, depending on your expectations for this season.  Anyone who feels that there is any reasonable chance of a tilt at promotion will know that nothing less than three points will do.  The rest of us, more likely resigned to a mediocre campaign with the occasional fearful glance over our shoulders at the relegation battle, have longer-term problems in mind.  The bigger picture, we would argue, is of more importance right now than individual results; the direction of the club is being questioned after bleak failures to augment the squad by the additions of much needed talent up front and on the wings.  Nevertheless, a win is always welcome and Elland Road certainly needs to brush up its reputation as a fortress.

The Birmingham game also sees the welcome return as a special guest of Lucas Radebe, The Chief himself, one of the true heroes for Leeds fans everywhere and a man with a proud and deserved global profile.  The recent tendency of the owners GFH to look back at a glorious past strikes quite a contrast with earlier in the season when it was all “Forget about the past, the future is bright”.  Clearly, circumstances alter cases.  This visit of The Chief may well be seen as another distraction from the complaints of those whose concerns are more urgently current – and yet Leeds United icons such as Radebe should always be assured of a warm welcome home.

Whatever gloom might surround Elland Road, Birmingham under their lugubriously Geordie manager Lee Clark, have had a poorer time of it so far.  Two wins in their last 9 league games and no goals in their last three is not the stuff to strike fear into the hearts of the opposition, even opposition such as Leeds who have been sadly easy meat for Blues in the last few season with seven out of the last eight meetings going their way.  Leeds’ own current form is dodgy enough for us to take little comfort from Brum’s woes, so the match will kick off with head-to-head history perhaps the best guide – not a pleasant thought for the Whites.

For Leeds, Sam Byram is pressing for a start, seemingly now recovered from his chronic hip problems.  Midfielder Luke Murphy and striker Luke Varney are two more who will be hoping for recalls, with the make-up of the team, as ever, dependent upon the shape and formation manager McDermott deems best-fitted to deal with our opponents.  Birmingham have had injury worries over midfielder Wade Elliott and left-back David Murphy, both of whom will be assessed prior to kick off.

Both teams have a lot to prove and amends to make to long-suffering fans.  Leeds were awful at Derby, losing 3-1 – a scoreline that flattered them if anything.  Birmingham arguably fared even worse, losing at home to a Bolton side who have keeled over to almost all other opposition this term – even Leeds.  This Elland Road clash is a battle of the demoralised, and much will depend on who can deal the better with their currently reduced condition.  Leeds have apparently had a Big Meeting to thrash things out, and it’s to be hoped that the air has been sufficiently cleared for them to overcome a team that have been problematic lately.

I will put my most optimistic head on and, based on absolutely nothing but blind faith and wishful thinking, go for a 2-0 win to Leeds – which would at least buy GFH a few more days of grace and allow them perhaps to mollify a grumpy fan base with some success in the loan market.

Will West Ham’s Fat Sam Dare to Field a Striker Against Man City? – by Rob Atkinson

A bit bloomin' rich, Guv

A bit bloomin’ rich, Guv

Fifty-Two bleedin’ quid?  That is a liberty, my son.  No wonder a certain ‘Ammers blogger has decided not to bovver going dahn the Boleyn no more, preferring to stay in his bedsit and write, all obsessive-like, about bigger clubs.  It seems to have brought out the spiteful schoolgirl in poor little HF, but you can’t blame the bloke for feeling all bitter and twisted.  When you depend on the old rock an’ roll for your bees and honey, the last thing you need is your own club treating you like some right stupid Gareth Hunt.  Even if young Scott really is as callow a youth as he sounds in his scribblings, it’s still nearly firty bladdy quid even for a dustbin lid.  He’d be better off settling for a Barclays in front of the TV when One Direction are on. Strike a light, eh Guv’nor.

Anyway, the point surely is, for that kind of dosh, the punters that do go along and support their team deserve some entertainment, even in the inevitable event of a defeat to Manchester’s finest.  Will such entertainment be on offer now that the walrus-faced manager has discovered he can nick a result without bovvering to name a striker in his line-up?  It seems somewhat doubtful.  The thing is – it worked at Spurs.  They couldn’t figure it out, even after a goal-less first half and – aided by two flukes and a worldy – the ‘Ammers left the Spuds humiliated.  Will Fat Sam be daft enough to expect Man City to fall for it too?  He looks daft enough – but could he really be contemplating such folly?

You have to conclude that Allardyce must have another plan up his sleeve.  He might look a bit thick, but you don’t get to be manager of even a minor and temporary top-flight club without being a bit fly.  Surely then, Fat Sam will have something in mind to deal with the threat of City?

He may well be encouraged by the Jekyll and Hyde nature of the opposition. City have looked like world-beaters at times this season, especially at home though the standard of opposition they have so far met at the Etihad may possibly flatter them.  Away from home, more cracks have shown than new manager Manuel Pellegrini would ideally like to see, needless defeats at Cardiff and Villa blotting the title contenders’ copybook.  On paper, the ‘Apless ‘Ammers should be a stroll in the park for one of the true big guns of the Premier League, but they will need to be wary of more self-inflicted injury.

At home, before a live TV audience and with the encouragement of three bonus points gleaned from the Spuds fixture, you might expect Fat Sam to abandon caution and Sunday League tactical tricks, and just go for it against City.  If this leads to a four goal defeat, well nobody could really hold that against him; West Ham will be looking towards their own lower end of the league to pick up points in the dog eat dog nature of a relegation fight.  But if the ‘Ammers could keep the score down, or even nick a point – then expect Sam to be bragging in the press again come Saturday night, and good luck to him too.

It promises to be a long, hard season for the ‘Ammers – so Big Fat Sam will have to make hay while the sun shines and the odd fluke result as at White Hart Lane will at least keep the old duffer smiling until the Bubbles burst and his dreams, inevitably, fade and die.

As for HF – well, he’ll probably be too busy recycling his favourite clichés as he continues to concentrate on the One True United of Elland Road – but surely some kind ‘Ammers fan will be good enough to tell him how many goals City have won by.  Publish it on the Leeds Utd NewsNow page – he’ll be sure to see it there.

England 2-0 Poland

So there we go – all that fuss over nothing. England made us sweat a bit, and Poland played their part – but it was the incentive of qualification that made the difference against a team with only (national) pride to play for. Now Woy’s Army march on to Bwazil – and a probable exit before the knockout phase.

Come on, Engerland!!

Leeds United’s “Life of Brian” – by Rob Atkinson

Image

LIFE OF BRIAN

In honour of our frustrated Manager, may I proudly present:

Leeds United’s “Life of Brian”

The “What Have the Bahrainis Ever Done For Us?” Scene, for those conspiracy theorists who maintain that the GFH regime is just more of the same old Bates crap. (With sincere apologies to the Pythons.)

ImageThe interior of COOPER’S house. A darkened room with a very conspiratorial atmosphere. BILLY and BIG JACK are seated at a table at one end of the room. EDDIE, dressed in Activist gear — white robes and a blue & yellow sash around his head — is standing by a plan (of a palatial residence in Bahrain) on the wall. He is addressing an audience of about eight MASKED ACTIVISTS including unsuspected double agent LASH. Their faces are partially hidden.

Eddie: We get in through the underground heating system here… up through to the main audience chamber here… and Haigh’s bedroom is here. Having grabbed him, we inform GFH that he is in our custody and forthwith issue our demands. Any questions?

Lash: What exactly are the demands?

Billy: We’re giving them two days to dismantle the entire apparatus of GFH Capital’s management structure of Leeds United and all related offshore companies, and if they don’t agree immediately we execute him.

Cooper: Cut his head off?

Eddie: Cut all his bits off, send ’em back every hour on the hour… show them we’re not to be trifled with.

Billy: Also, we’re demanding a ten foot mahogany statue of Brian Mawhinney with his cock hanging out.

Big Jack: What? They’ll never agree to that, Billy.

Billy: That’s just a bargaining counter. And of course, we point out that they bear full responsibility when we chop him up, and… that we shall not submit to blackmail.

All: (Applause) No blackmail!

Billy: They’ve bled us Whites white, the bastards. They’ve taken everything we had, not just from us, from our fathers and from our fathers’ fathers.

Big Jack: And from our fathers’ fathers’ fathers.

Billy: Yes.

Big Jack: And from our fathers’ fathers’ fathers’ fathers.

Billy: All right, Jack. Don’t labour the point. And what have they ever given us in return?

Lash: Luke Murphy?

Billy: Oh yeah, yeah they gave us that. Yeah. That’s true.

Masked Activist: And got rid of Bates!

Big Jack: Oh yes… Bates, Billy, you remember what he used to be like.

Billy: All right, I’ll grant you that buying Luke Murphy and getting rid of Bates are two things GFH have done…

Cooper: And Scott Wootton.

Billy: (sharply) Well yes obviously Scott Wootton … Scott Wootton goes without saying. But apart from Luke Murphy and getting rid of Bates and Scott Wootton…

Another Masked Activist: Ticket prices…

Other Masked Voices: Closing Bates FM… cheaper season Tickets… Fan re-engagement…

Billy: Yes… all right, fair enough…

Activist Near Front: And bringing back Radio Leeds…

All: Oh yes! True!

Eddie: Yeah. That’s something we’d really miss if GFH left, Billy.

Masked Activist at Back: Social media – a Facebook and Twitter presence for LUFC!

Big Jack: And it’s nice and quiet sitting in the North Stand now.

Eddie: Yes, they certainly know how to keep order… (general nodding)… let’s face it, they’re the only ones who could in a place like this.

(rueful grins and more general murmurs of agreement)

Billy: All right… all right… but apart from Luke Murphy and getting rid of Bates and Scott Wootton and closing Bates FM and re-engaging with the fans and bringing back Radio Leeds and social media and stewards shutting everyone up and Stadium Security making us sit down or chucking us out…. what have GFH Capital done for us?

Lash: Student tickets!?

Billy: (very angry, he’s not having a good meeting at all) What!? Student tickets?? Oh… (scornfully) Student tickets, yes… shut up!!

Psychological Breakdown of Brian Clough at Leeds United.

Fascinating in-depth study of Brian Clough’s disintegration during 44 days in Hell at Leeds United. The hell was of his own making, and he ventured into what was undeniably hostile territory without his trusted Lieutenant Taylor.

People tend to indulge in what-ifs over Clough’s Elland Road tenure – what if Leeds had stuck by him, what if he’d had a better start, what if Bremner hadn’t got himself suspended by being sent off in the Charity Shield. For me, the only relevant what-if is: what if Taylor had agreed to up sticks at Brighton and join his mate in Leeds?

Then, I believe, subsequent history for a number of clubs might have been very, very different indeed.

Erig Alexander Billinghurst's avatarPensieve

I think it’s a very sad day for Leeds and I think it’s slightly sad for football.”

The echo of Brian Clough’s words in the aftermath of his 6-week sacking at Leeds in 1974 still rings true in the ears of modern day football managers. Just ask Paolo Di Canio. In light of the premature sacking of Di Canio after a mere 12 matches, you cannot help but draw comparisons to Brian Clough and his terrible tenure at Leeds. Two dictators, two big personalities, two training-ground bust-ups and ultimately, two terminated contracts. Many are claiming this latest scalp hammers the final nail in the coffin of dictatorial managers, what with the resignation of Sir Alex Ferguson who can you now point at to say are cut from the same controlling, disciplinarian cloth as the aforementioned managers? The question remains, what went wrong? Why are the managerial autocrats being cut…

View original post 3,176 more words