Category Archives: Football

Ingenious Suggestions Invited

ImageSo, I’m writing this book.

It’s going to be about my team, Leeds United, and how the club have accompanied me on the highs and lows of my life, giving me misery when I’ve been at my happiest, and more misery when I’ve been down. It’s been done before, but every fan’s story stands alone and is unique in its way. Football affects us all differently, and we all react in an individual way to the slings and arrows of outrageous misfortune that the game visits upon us. I started relatively late watching Leeds, and it was all my dad’s fault when I finally got round to it. Thanks, Dad. I think.

Really, I wasted the first 13 years of my life farting about watching old films and reading Biggles and Billy Bunter books, when I could have been watching Revie’s heroes stomping all the opposition into submission, and winning the occasional pot along the way. Instead of seeing us win our solitary FA Cup, I was reading a poem out loud at a Music Festival in Ponte, finishing runner-up in true Leeds United style. Instead of watching us take two league titles, I was being a bookworm and dreaming of a career as an astronaut. Talk about a misspent youth.

I finally started watching Leeds in April 1975. Revie had gone to his ill-fated stint as England boss. Big Jack had gone. The great days had gone too, although that wasn’t apparent at the time. Leeds were on their way to the European Cup Final, and my first game was a 0-2 defeat to Liverpool four days before I saw us beat Barcelona 2-1 in the European Cup Semi, First Leg, Cruyff, Neeskens and all. So, fittingly it was Billy Bremner who gave me my first Leeds goal, rocketing a shot into the top left corner in front of the South Stand as I watched stood precariously on my milk crate in that weird shelfy bit halfway up the Lowfields Stand. I still have the commentary of that goal as a ringtone on my iPhone. Fantastic.

And the rest is history; my history and the downs and ups of Leeds United FC over the subsequent 38 years to date. I hope you’ll buy the book, when it appears, and read more of my memories, interspersed with various rants here and there about how the game was, is and (I’m afraid) will be.

The thing is – I really need a title. I’m a bit stuck there, call it sub-editors’ block. The actual book is coming along nicely, and I think a lot of Leeds fans will empathise with what’s contained between the dust-covers – but I’m damned if I can think of a title for the front. Hang on – “The Damned United”?? Hmmmm, ideal – but I have the feeling it’s been done.

I would really appreciate some suggestions. If I end up using one of them, I will happily credit the owner of the idea on the inside front cover, as you do with proper books. And I’ll furnish a complimentary copy also, so you don’t have to wait for it to appear in the bargain bins for 99p. Can’t say fairer than that.

Honestly, I’m fresh out of original, snappy titles. Please help. As Brian McDermott says, we need to sing Marching On Together, and really mean it, suiting actions to words – so your support and inspired suggestions would be right in line with that Leeds United MOT spirit.

I look forward to some brilliant ideas, thanks in advance.

Leeds United – Does the Fightback Start With This Sweetest of Wins?

Welcome to Leeds, Brian McDermott.  Whatever else happens during your reign at Elland Road, you could hardly have had a better start, and there were signs aplenty of much-needed change in application, atmosphere and attitude in the team, the crowd, the whole club.  And who better to win against in your first game?  Sweet as a nut.  Thank you so much.

Saturday’s 2-1 victory over Sheffield Wednesday was actually beyond sweet, for several reasons. Probably the most important of these was the fact that, after months of saying “we must win today to squeeze into the play-offs”, we’d finally woken up to the brutal reality that a run of poor results had brought us juddering down to; so now it was “we must win today because, oh sweet Jesus, we could get bloody relegated.”  That pressure has at least eased off slightly in the wake of a somewhat nervous but rapturously welcomed win.  We’re not out of the woods yet, but we may at least be out-distancing the wolf and leaving poor Grandma to face a bottom three finish on her own.

The other reasons for relishing Leeds United’s win at the expense of the Wendies, as we fondly think of them, date back to the return fixture at Hillsborough earlier in the season. For those who have forgotten, Leeds played awfully, went behind and looked well on the way to defeat.  Then Michael Tonge’s stunning equaliser was followed immediately by a yob invading the pitch from among the Leeds fans who’d turned up merely to watch the game, and proceeding to land the third-best punch of the evening on the unsuspecting face of Wendies ‘keeper Chris Kirkland.  The two best punches had been landed earlier in the piece by thuggish home defender Miguel Llera on two different Leeds players, and were ignored by the ref, in the normal FA-approved manner.  Llera, a lanky dork in a head-guard, might normally have been subject to some scrutiny after the game for his free interpretation of the rules regarding lamping your opponents in the jaw, but on this occasion the focus was almost entirely upon the actions of the miscreant who’d emerged from the away support.  Questions were asked in the House, resolutions were passed by the United Nations, the NATO alert status was upgraded to Amber and the Galactic Federation issued an ultimatum demanding that Leeds United be relocated to dwarf planet Pluto.  Or that’s how it felt.

Strangely, the only person even slightly to distract the full attention of the Fourth Estate from this heinous act of a drunken thug, was Wendies manager Dave Jones, who seemed confused as to who the real victim was in the whole sorry episode.  Interviewed directly after the match, an over-emotional and highly-strung Jones was asked about his take on events, the interviewer clearly expecting a confirmation that his ‘keeper had been assaulted, that it was disgusting and that it was all Leeds United’s fault.  What Jones came up with though was a protracted whinge about the chants directed at him by Leeds fans, that he’d had this for years, that it was disgusting and that it was all Leeds United’s fault.  He rounded off his tirade of barely-suppressed sobs by stating that the Leeds fans were “vile animals”.  All of them.  No exceptions.

In the next few days, once the laughing over Jones’ histrionics had died down somewhat, many Leeds fans took to posting pictures on social media of their sweet little eight or nine-year old lad or lass, clad in Leeds United regalia, clearly incapable of melting butter in their innocent little mouths, to point out that said little lass or lad had been tarred by the obnoxious and unwisely gobby Jones as a “Vile Animal”.  It was an apt demonstration of how silly it is to open your trap without first engaging your brain, but there was no real climb-down from the defiant Wendies boss, and – the rantings of the gutter press aside – it was generally agreed that he hadn’t come out of it too well, and had indeed made something of a prat of himself.  Apart from seeming entirely focused on his own perceived (non-physical) injuries, to the exclusion it appeared of his poor goalkeeper who had actually copped for a fourpenny one, Jones had also managed to cock a deaf ‘un to the vile – if I may borrow his word of choice – chants from the Wendies faithful about the two Leeds fans murdered in Istanbul.  Jones’ lexicon of sick insults  would seem to be a highly selective publication.  If only he could have foreseen how the “Vile Animals” tag would be taken up by the Leeds faithful, almost as an inverted badge of honour, maybe wiser counsel would have prevailed.  But it’s probably fair to say that Jones doesn’t have a wiser counsel.

Annoyingly after all this, Mr David Jones, Sheffield Wednesday’s current manager, was not apparent on the touchline at Elland Road on Saturday.  We’d all been looking forward to renewing the acquaintance, to seeing Jones trying to avoid the scornful gaze of twenty thousand people, to watching him squirm as the hated Whites (hopefully) trod his on-form Wendies into the turf.  The victory came to pass, as we know; but Jones had managed to incur a highly convenient and opportune touchline ban, so was mercifully spared running the gauntlet of vile animals and copping for another load of earthy West Yorkshire humour.  Some would say that Jones had engineered this situation by deliberately making intemperate comments after a draw at Bristol City which he knew would see him wriggle out of an Elland Road ordeal, and that it was the act of a coward and a hypocrite.  And I’d be among their number.  Dave Jones is a ridiculous and embittered little man, and I can hardly think of a more fitting victim for what was – I sincerely hope – only the first of many McDermott-inspired victories for Leeds United.

So this victory was the ideal start, but the Strife of Brian may yet be lurking ahead.  Even if Leeds do finally pull well clear of the drop-zone in the remainder of this season, the new Gaffer certainly has his work cut out to rebuild the morale of a club that has lurched through a long drawn-out crisis of a season which has brought massive disappointment in the league, only partly assuaged by two decent Cup runs and the slaying of several Premier League “giants” at Elland Road – just to remind us what being Leeds used to be all about.  Can Brian restore these heady times and glory days?  It all depends, not least on the support he can winkle out of whoever owns the club by the time summer finally comes.  Next season will be a success if the playing style can be found to suit the personnel available, and if the team actually compete like they mean it, instead of strolling through the motions like case-studies for chronic apathy.  Promotion would be nice, but it’s not mandatory, not in a manager’s first season.  Let’s just battle, show some application and skill, and let’s get that old Leeds United spirit back, so that we can be not just loud, but proud again.

Oh – and if Mr Jones has somehow clung on to his Hillsborough hot-seat – six points off the Wendies would be just lovely too.  Thanks again.

Manchester United – They’re Just Not All That Good

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Accuser and Accused

At last, a Premier League football manager has gone public and given voice to a dark suspicion that thousands of us fans have harboured for a long time now. Roberto Mancini, may his name be blessed, says that teams facing the Mighty Manchester United are infected with a fatal lack of belief which amounts a lot of the time to actual fear. This, says Mancini, explains a large proportion of the Red Devils’ domestic dominance. It’s not that they’re that good, he argues; rather it’s that a lot of the opposition simply fail to mount a robust challenge and end up meekly relinquishing league points that nobody really expects them to gain.

Predictably, Man U’s long-serving manager Alex Ferguson is having none of this, accusing the Italian coach of Manchester City of seeking “self-sympathy” – whatever that might be. But the Mancini case is quite persuasive, particularly for anyone whose second-favourite team is whoever the Champions-elect happen to be playing on any given occasion. For those people (and I am proud to count myself among their number) the ongoing spectacle is one of a succession of teams turning up to face Ferguson’s side, and doing very little apart from that – spineless capitulations being the industry standard or so it seems. Very unedifying for those with Manchester United’s worst interests at heart but also, I would strongly suggest, pretty bad for the game as a whole.

So what is the evidence for this alleged collective lack of bottle and professional application? And if it’s true, where does the fear come from? Whence, the lack of self-belief?

Let’s initially get down to cases. As I mentioned earlier, I am a steadfast watcher of the televised games of Manchester United (of which, courtesy of Mr Murdoch, a man who knows his markets, there are many.) I don’t watch with any real expectation of enjoyment; that outcome will only come about if Man U slips to an unexpected defeat or, rarely and joyfully, a real hammering. Much more often though, I sit there in an increasingly foul frame of mind as the latest feeble challengers to the Mighty Reds roll over to have their bellies tickled prior to succumbing politely, without much of a fight at all. All too often this process is aided by the dodgy decisions which famously tend to fall the way of Mr Ferguson’s men, or maybe by copious amounts of what has become known as “Fergie Time”, the perceived need for which varies according to whether his charges are winning or losing. However it happens, it’s all the more depressing because of this pitiful lack of resistance displayed by all too many opponents. You feel frustrated – on your own behalf because you want “Them” to lose – but also on behalf of all those who switch on just hoping to see a good competitive game, with both sides giving their all. That just doesn’t happen often enough, and you sit there and wonder why.

A big factor at play here could well be the psychological gap hinted at by Mancini. What exactly are teams up against Man Utd facing? Not merely eleven chaps clad in red, or whichever of their numerous other kits they might be sporting. In professional competition, especially at the very top level, at least half the battle is in the head; that’s well-established fact. Do these opposing players believe they can win, or do they enter the arena as lambs to the slaughter? Do they feel any real pressure to win from their fans, or do they suspect those fans will quite understand and accept a defeat? Not very much of this type of thinking is required to take that psychological edge off performance.

The particularly annoying thing is that this Man Utd team really aren’t all that good. They got found out twice in Europe last season, latterly by Atletico Bilbao, a team who finished well out of the running in La Liga, but who gave the Mancs the most terrible seeing-to in both legs of an extremely one-sided tie. They’ve been beaten by Chelsea – a side who are themselves in transition – in both domestic Cups this season, and chucked out of Europe this time around by a Real Madrid side who hardly let them have the ball at all.

The European element is of particular interest as it may well be significant that, outside of this country, opposing players aren’t subjected to the constant drip, drip, drip of Man U media adulation that is visited upon domestic foes. Everywhere a player might turn in this country, there’s another article or broadcast or pundit, invariably churning out copious praise of “United”, with emetic results for those of us who don’t buy into the popular legend. What is the cumulative effect of all this? Another dulling of that psychological edge, that’s what.

The media love to talk about Ferguson’s “mind games”, but they’ve never really been anything other than the ramblings of an ever older gentleman, notorious for his inability to see more than one point of view – his own. Greater and wiser exponents of psychological warfare exist in Mourinho, Wenger and Mancini himself – all continental chaps, significantly enough. The edge given to Man U in the battle of wits and wills tends to be provided by a complaisant media and that, I believe, is precisely what the astute Mancini is getting at.

Maybe this is why Ferguson felt the need to come out with such an immediate if not altogether fluent rebuttal. Other clubs have caught up with and perhaps surpassed his own in terms of talent on the field and punch in the transfer market. Ferguson is not likely to want to see any narrowing of the psychological advantage afforded to him by his yes-men in the Fourth Estate. If the Premier League were to be transformed – by such a relieving of the mental barrage – into a level playing field with some willingness on the part of current also-rans to compete and believe, then the current gulf at the top would be a heck of a lot smaller. And then, perhaps, we’d see Champions on merit; not merely winners by default as we will get this season, who have had almost literally nothing to beat for a large portion of the time.

Now that’s the kind of Premier League I’d like to see. Well said, Signor Mancini. Keep the pressure on.

There’s Only Two Brian McDermotts

In 1996, Arsenal confirmed the appointment as their new manager of one Monsieur Arsène Wenger. I took a distant but distinct interest as I did with any news story concerning Arsenal, a club I have always thoroughly admired. And I must confess; at first I thought it was a wind-up, some weak attempt at a joke. An Arsenal manager called Arsène? Were our major clubs recruiting managers on the basis of weirdly appropriate names now? How ridiculous. You couldn’t make it up.

History shows of course that Arsenal FC was being deadly serious and decidedly astute. They were appointing a man who would become their longest-serving and most successful manager, a man widely credited with revolutionising the whole of English football, a cerebral man with a scientific approach to the art of beautiful football. But others reacted initially as I had. Former Arsenal captain Tony Adams has said

“At first, I thought: What does this Frenchman know about football? He wears glasses and looks more like a schoolteacher. He’s not going to be as good as George [Graham]. Does he even speak English properly?”

This seemed to reflect most people’s level of incredulity at what appeared an odd decision. Who, indeed, was Wenger? What had he done? He was certainly no Johan Cruyff, a global “name” who had been touted by many for the Highbury hot-seat. Rarely though can such a seemingly strange appointment have turned out so well. Despite the more recent lack of actual silverware, look at Arsenal now. Look at the football they play. It’s enough to make a Leeds fan drool – I know I do.

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Dioufy meets McDermotty

Fast forward to 2013 and there has been another “you couldn’t make it up” appointment – the strangeness being of a somewhat different nature, but nonetheless bizarre for that. Leeds United have recruited one Brian McDermott, recently sacked by Reading FC. This appointment has come with just five games to go of a season that was always supposed to be about promotion to the top league, but has latterly taken a nightmare downturn towards a struggle to avoid relegation back to the third tier. United of course share the city of Leeds with Rugby League superstars Leeds Rhinos – Coach: another Brian McDermott. Furthermore, the Rhinos have an outstanding winger called Ryan Hall, a world-class exponent of the game and prolific try-scorer; a major contributor to his club’s dominance of the Super League. And – lo and behold – we find that Leeds United also have a winger called Ryan Hall, a man of more modest accomplishments but much promise; one who produced a game-changing, match-winning performance at Huddersfield which gave Leeds United fans a lot of hope for his future.

Two clubs in two different sports sharing one city; both managed by a Brian McDermott, both with wingers named Ryan Hall. That’s stretching credibility quite a long way; has anything like it happened before? Could weirdness of that degree have a happy ending comparable to the way the weird Wenger story turned out?

Well, maybe it could. Once you get past the long-odds coincidence which certainly rivals the strangeness of Arsenal’s Arsène, you begin to look at the merits of the appointment. It’s an move being welcomed quite whole-heartedly by long-suffering Leeds fans, who had been certain for a while that former manager Neil Warnock’s approach was going to produce nothing but dire football, inexplicable substitution decisions and a heavy reliance on his old favourites from previous incarnations of his managerial career. He was going to build on his excellent record of promotions gained; he was going to top off that record by returning his biggest-ever club to the Premier League. But it all went horribly wrong, and Neil has clearly been yearning for his Cornwall home, hearth and tractor for months now. He’s seemed tired and dispirited, forced to defend the inadequate efforts of a palpably rudderless team, reduced to cliché after cliché as he attempted to deflect criticism of the performances of a squad he’d recently described as “Leeds’ best in years.”

McDermott though appears to be a horse of a different colour. A younger, hungry man, a still slightly angry man who you’d guess feels wronged by his dismissal from Premier League Reading, a club he’d served undeniably well and against whom he now seems destined to compete in the Championship next season. That’s if Leeds stay in that league – which is by no means certain as yet. With five games to go, McDermott quite possibly needs at least four more points to secure Championship football for next season and give him the chance to plan in the longer term. He has said already that he’s been given “assurances of support”, and we can but hope that these don’t turn out to be yet more of the same forked-tongue promises we’ve heard for a good many seasons now. McDermott though has the air of a man who is happy and confident as he picks up what many in the game see as a poisoned chalice. Leeds United has the reputation of a managers’ graveyard going back many years now and – surely – nobody entering via the revolving doors that have seen so many unceremonious exits can be at all optimistic they won’t share the same fate. Nevertheless, Brian McDermott has made all the right confident and determined noises, he has his right-hand man with him and he says he can’t wait to get stuck in. This is what we want to hear.

At some point, for heaven’s sake, Leeds United’s owners have to get it right. We’ve had a decade or more of stumbling, shambling descent into the pits of despair, followed by an almost equally stumbling and shambling partial recovery. As yet another era starts – and at Leeds we seem to have two or three new eras per season – the patience of the always potentially truculent masses cannot be relied upon for much longer. Leeds could so easily go the wrong way in just the next few weeks, and that would make for a terrifyingly long journey back at a time when – as in wider society – the rich are getting ever rich while the rest scrap for crumbs. Those who seek happy omens might look at how Arsenal’s strange appointment of Arsène turned out, or they may look across the city and look at the Brian McDermott who is in charge of the current Super League Champions. The omens are there, and in hard times they’re the straws we might reasonably clutch at.

We could go the wrong way – but we simply can’t afford to. It has to be safety first, followed as soon as possible by definite progress on and off the field. New investment is clearly sought, and appears to be a must-have without which the club will, at very best, continue to tread water.

This is not an option if the club is to have any real success in the foreseeable future, so the owners must deliver support to their new man. And Brian McDermott just has to be the right man; he has to get it very right very soon, establishing a pattern of success comparable with his fine work at Reading and leading us back to the top before the club is cut irretrievably adrift of the powers in the game.

That’s the scale of his task. That’s the urgency of the situation we now face. Good luck, Brian.

Memory Match No. 6: West Ham 1, Leeds United 5 – 1.5.1999

It’s about time this Memory Match series featured loveable, chirpy cockneys West Ham United, usually obliging victims for Leeds teams of most eras, and notable as lenders of a helping hand towards the end of the title run-in of 1992 when they defeated Man U in a game that turned Alex Ferguson the deepest shade of exasperated purple I’ve ever seen. It’s fitting that I should write a little about the ‘Appy ‘Ammers; at least one irritatingly chirpy blog which claims to support them spends most of its time obsessing over our own beloved United, so perhaps here I can redress the balance a little.

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Jimmy Floyd Hasselbaink

This Mayday fixture in front of a packed Boleyn Ground crowd of 25997 found Leeds United in a rich run of form, ten games unbeaten since an early February reverse to Newcastle at Elland Road, after which they had reeled off seven consecutive league victories followed by three draws on the trot. The Whites’ determination to get back to winning ways after those six dropped points was exemplified by the fastest possible start. A mere twenty seconds had ticked by when the ball nestled in the West Ham net, put there emphatically by the ebullient Jimmy Floyd Hasselbaink who ran at a retreating Neil Ruddock before finishing neatly with a left-foot shot past Shaka Hislop.

And then the game went ever so slightly mad.

Jimmy’s goal apart, the opening sallies had seen both sides engaging in tackles which verged on the thuggish side of enthusiastic. West Ham’s Eyal Berkovic was a victim early on, and Lee Bowyer was on the end of a clattering as the home side sought revenge. Then Ian Wright, no stranger to controversy and the disciplinary attentions of referees, led with his elbow when challenging for a high ball, and copped for a yellow card that looked a lot more justified than the second yellow he got after only 15 minutes, following an altercation with Ian Harte, Harte, Harte. So Wright was on his way back to the stand after a mere quarter of an hour, loudly protesting the injustice of the case and hell-bent, as it turned out, on venting his frustrations on the décor of the ref’s room.

For the next half-hour, leading up to the interval, Leeds proceeded to make a one man advantage look anything but as West Ham pressed them back, causing panic in the away defence as the promptings of Berkovic and Paolo di Canio created some decent chances to possibly level the game. Leeds had managed to be distinctly the poorer side in that first half, and yet – as if to prove once again what a daft game football can be – they hit West Ham with a sucker punch in stoppage time. David Batty appeared to have committed a foul in midfield which might well have justified a booking had the ref not totally ignored it and waved for play to continue. Harry Kewell obliged, picking the ball up wide on the left and mesmerising the overstretched Hammers defence before cutting the ball back from the by-line for Alan Smith to convert gleefully. 2-0 at half time and – for once – it had pretty much all gone Leeds’ way. They had been outplayed for most of the first forty-five minutes, but were somehow two goals and one man to the good; courtesy, it has to be said, of some not exactly even-handed refereeing.

The second half began much as most of the first had been spent, with Leeds on the back foot and defending precariously. Straight away, the dangerous Berkovic bamboozled Jonathan Woodgate, turning him inside out before supplying di Canio with the perfect chance to pull a goal back. 2-1 to the visitors then, but the balance of the play had been with West Ham, and maybe now the momentum was theirs too. None of us could feel over-confident despite a man and a goal advantage, because all of us could recall Leeds blowing such enviable positions many times in the past. This time, for once, we were not to be let down. A rare defensive slip just after the hour from the otherwise excellent Marc-Vivien Foé saw Hasselbaink sprint clear to round Hislop, who then brought him down. Penalty to Leeds and, despite the presence of defensive cover, Hislop was sent off. It was a slightly unfortunate second red card for West Ham, who felt compelled to replace star man Berkovic with reserve keeper Craig Forrest as the calamities mounted for the home team. Forrest’s first act was to pick Harte’s penalty out of the back of the net, and Leeds were 3-1 up and cruising against 9 men. Foé, we will remember, sadly died four years later at the tragically young age of 28, from an unsuspected heart condition whilst representing his country in the FIFA Confederations Cup.

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Alf-Inge Haaland

Now at last Leeds started to dominate as a two-man advantage would suggest they should. The best goal of the game arrived on 78 minutes, Bowyer hitting an unstoppable right-footed shot from twenty-five yards, which curved slightly as it found the corner of Forrest’s net. Just a minute later, Alf-Inge Haaland sprinted on to a Hasselbaink pass into a massive amount of space on the right hand side. Unchallenged, he was able to advance into the penalty area and beat Forrest with an accurate shot just inside the far post.

The eight outfield players in claret and blue were clearly finding the pace too hot, and suddenly there was room aplenty all over the pitch for Leeds to exploit, and exploit it they did. Aided by the fact that the Hammers – to their eternal credit – were still trying to attack Leeds in spite of their depleted resources, our heroes were granted the licence to ping the ball about as they pleased, always able to find a man or two in space, making the tired home players work overtime to chase possession as the Upton Park faithful bayed their hate at the referee. Truth to tell, we could easily empathise with the ‘Arrassed ‘Ammers; far too many times down the years had we been in their shoes, watching impotently enraged as some git of a ref casually destroyed our afternoon. It was somewhat bizarre to watch the situation unfold in reverse – but what the hell. We made hay while the sun was shining, and happily the team was doing the same.

The game had long been over as a contest and, at 5-1 up with no credible opposition to deal with, Leeds seemed intent solely on playing out time. Smith still managed to miss a passable chance to make it 6-1 and Clyde Wijnhard contrived to get himself booked, eliciting gleefully ironic chants of “Who’s the bastard in the black” from the jubilant Leeds fans, displaying a gallows humour not altogether appreciated by the home supporters. Finally, hothead Irons defender Steve Lomas allowed his mounting frustration to get the better of him, launching an agricultural challenge in the direction of Harte and duly collecting his marching orders to reduce the hapless, helpless Hammers to eight at the death.

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Dirty Den

It had been a strange game, a romp for the Whites on the face of it – judging by the lop-sided score line anyway. But it had never been quite like that; not that our awareness of having been outplayed for long stretches diluted our joy one tiny bit. 5-1 away wins do not come along every day, and we enjoyed this one to the full. We enjoyed it for the whole of the slightly perilous walk back to the tube station, and we were still enjoying it when we beheld the distinctly pissed-off figure of Leslie Grantham heading down the stairway to the platform where we were celebrating noisily. Leslie Grantham, soap-opera legend as Eastenders’ Dirty Den, Leslie Grantham who had done time for killing a German taxi-driver, Leslie Grantham, Hammers fanatic, who – despite being accompanied by his two young boys – bore a grim aspect which looked rather as if he wouldn’t mind adding a couple of Leeds fans to that record.

Tactful and understanding to the last of private grief, we wisely kept our distance and refrained from seeking autographs. It had been a memorably bizarre day for Leeds United and an equally happy summer evening awaited us in the sinful fleshpots of London, crap cockney beer and semi-hostile natives notwithstanding. Dirty Den 1, Dirty Leeds 5.

Next: Memory Match No. 7: Blackburn Rovers 3, Leeds United 4. Another game to give the lie to those who insist that George Graham’s reign at Elland Road was dour and colourless. This televised match at Ewood Park was a real roller-coaster affair, punctuated with some great goals.

Leeds United Back at the Crossroads

Bye bye, Colin

As the final whistle blew after Leeds United’s most recent defeat at home to Derby County, in many ways it just seemed like business as usual. The team had huffed and puffed, flattered to deceive, taken the lead through a goal of genuine quality and then finally – as seems all too normal – frittered away a fragile advantage to end up with nothing. It could be a metaphor for the entire season, or even for the whole three year period since United dragged itself back, by the skin of its teeth, to the second tier of English football which represents the very minimum acceptable status for a great old club. It’s been three years of hollow promises, screwed-up priorities, bizarre transfer activities and chronic instability.

The last point – that lack of stability – has been felt even more acutely than ever these last few weeks. Ever since Neil Warnock made his first wistful noises about wanting to be in Cornwall with his family and his Massey-Ferguson, the alarm bells have been ringing. The one thing above all that any sports team needs is a high degree of certainty as to where it is going and how it proposes to get there. Take away the certainty, the sense of direction and leadership, and – try though the individual team members might – the fine edge will be taken off that team’s performance. In a game of fine margins, as any game is at a high professional level, the lack of that edge makes all the difference.

It’s actually been worse even than that for Leeds. Rumours of a second takeover won’t go away, and memories are returning of the long and drawn-out saga of last summer, with all the disruption that entailed for any planning and preparation for the season ahead. Those rumours have gathered pace, and have come to a head at about the same time Warnock made it clear he was sidling towards the exit door. So not only does the team itself lack for leadership and the security of knowing who’s calling the shots on the football side – the whole club is embroiled once again in a fever of speculation as to who will own it, or various discrete chunks of it, by the time the next transfer window opens, and the all-important work has to start in order to ready us for a tilt at promotion next time around.

The past week has seen 10% of the club sold off to a “strategic investor”, but there is no clarity as to what this might mean for team-building. Is it any wonder that the mood among fans, despite reduced admission prices, is one of apathy at best? Now it has been confirmed that Neil Warnock has indeed parted company with Leeds United, so a club in a state of anguished flux must seek the right appointment at a time when it’s difficult to see any credible candidate being tempted to take up the challenge of restoring direction to a once-mighty ship, now seemingly rudderless and hopelessly adrift.

So we find ourselves speculating on two fronts, as this season sputters to an uninspiring close – always supposing that we don’t get dragged into an unseemly scrap to avoid relegation. Fans are bound to speculate after all – it’s in the nature of passionate support that we will be preoccupied by what, if anything, the future holds. But at Leeds United, more than at most clubs, that speculation is undertaken in an information vacuum and in almost complete darkness in terms of what’s going on behind the doors.

What we can and should do, with some degree of self-righteousness, is point out that the changes taking place now regarding team management might more usefully have been accomplished weeks ago, when there was still a realistic chance of making the play-offs, and when the introduction of a degree of certainty might have paid dividends. The points so carelessly tossed away in recent weeks as Warnock has yearned for his tractor from afar, taking his eye right off the ball, would have seen Leeds bang in contention. Last minute equalisers conceded at Wolves and Leicester, silly home defeats to Huddersfield and Derby, awful beatings at Ipswich and Barnsley, all these avoidable calamities add up in terms of points we could and should have taken. A Mick McCarthy at the helm, or maybe a Nigel Adkins or – dare I say it – a Simon Grayson, and I’m convinced a good proportion of those points could have been snapped up, and we might yet have found ourselves occupying a play-off berth right now. The club, the new owners, have let a golden opportunity slip through their fingers, from the moment those alarm bells started to ring.

Now, they simply have to get it right. There’s been a bit of talk around the city this last few days – wouldn’t it be strange if the Leeds Rhinos and Leeds United both had a winger called Ryan Hall, and a coach called Brian McDermott. Maybe that could now come to pass, and I for one wouldn’t object – as Mr McDermott has done a genuinely competent job at Reading, and was possibly unlucky to get the sack there. But whoever we get, he has to be installed, made to feel happy and welcome, and backed financially to undertake the surgery the squad still undeniably needs. The right appointment would still get the crowd back onside, as would some definitive statement of intent from the current owners about their plans. It has to happen, and it has to happen soon, or we can write off another season in the long-term quest to return to the top flight – it will now be a minimum of ten years out of the Premier League and a club like Leeds simply has to aim to be there in order to have any chance of fulfilling the potential that its still-devoted fans and its global profile afford it. A return to the top, then, is now a matter of increasing urgency.

So here we are again, at yet another crossroads, between managers and with everything up in the air for the umpteenth time. Situation normal. But it can’t go on. Whatever happens between now and August, one thing we know beyond doubt is that we certainly can’t afford another season like this one.

Please Support This Blog and Get The Truth Out There

I’d like to invite and entreat any WordPress users who feel that the current government of the United Kingdom are acting in a callous manner towards the poor and vulnerable in society to read, follow, share and otherwise support this blog.  I ask this respectfully, but in the hope of gaining your support, because I need your help – or I’m just whistling in the dark.  I believe that, from small beginnings, I can help to make a difference – but not on my own.

In among all the Leeds United and other light-hearted football rubbish within these pages, I’m trying to get a serious message out there as to what this despicable Tory-led Coalition government is doing to people who are being unjustly targeted, and are extremely ill-equipped to fight back.

I’m talking about people driven to suicide by vicious cuts to what is already poverty-level income.  People in extreme stages of ill-health being found fit for work, and dying mere days afterwards.  People who are almost blind, suffering from paralysis, multiple amputations, cancer, cardiac failure and other distressing, limiting and life-threatening conditions, being told that they’re fit for work, being accused – in effect – of shirking.

Meanwhile, the lucky ones earning in excess of £1 million a year will shortly benefit from a £100,000 a year tax-cut – an amount EXTRA for each of them every year that might otherwise fund four newly-qualified teacher posts – or more nurses, better healthcare, less child poverty.  But no, these vast amounts of money are going straight into the back pockets of those who are already fat cats, creaming off the resources so desperately needed elsewhere.

Do you think this is right?

Do you think this is fair?

Do you think this is just?

Or do you think that the truth about our government’s policies should be told, and then spread as far and wide as possible, so that people sit up and take notice of what’s actually going on?  Sharing a blog is the modern-day equivalent of shouting from the rooftops.  So – let’s shout a little.  Please.

It will be June at least before I can hope to gain endorsement by the News Now platform, and so gain a wider audience. In the meantime it would be extremely helpful if WordPress readers/users could help me to expand my readership, with a view to spreading that truth where currently we seem to see mostly lies and malicious propaganda. You may well, if you’re the type of person I’m aiming at, who hates injustice and stands up for the disadvantaged, find some stuff that you can agree with!

Please take a minute to have a read, and then share with your like-minded contacts.

Thank you in advance.

Memory Match No. 5: Leeds Utd 4, Southampton 0 (25.11.1978)

A journey further back in time for this week’s Memory Match, to the golden, hazy days of theImage late seventies. This was a post-glory era Leeds United, but not too bad a side for all that – especially during the early part of Jimmy Adamson’s Elland Road managership. These were the days when the famous old stadium was dominated from all four corners by the tallest floodlights in Britain, towering 260 feet into the Yorkshire sky, and illuminating proceedings with their distinctive diamond-shaped arrays of 220 lamps each. Genial Jim Callaghan was Old Labour’s last Prime Minister before Maggie Thatcher took charge for the Tories, we said goodbye to two long-running police drama series in Z-Cars and The Sweeney and songs from the soundtrack of hit musical Grease figured large in the singles charts along with the likes of Kate Bush, the Bee Gees and Boney M.

Leeds at this point were a club still trying to re-establish themselves as a success following a distinct decline from the greatness of Don Revie’s all-conquering United warriors. The previous two seasons had seen progress to both domestic semi-finals, but defeat to Man Utd in the FA Cup, and Brian Clough’s Nottingham Forest in the League Cup had blocked the path to Wembley on each occasion. Billy Bremner had moved on, Norman Hunter had gone – but the home crowd had a new favourite in Tony Currie, one of the few players who could genuinely live up to the sobriquet of “Midfield Maestro”. Currie had been signed from Sheffield United in the summer of 1976, and as the 78/79 season dawned he was surely in the prime of his career, shining for club and country alike, pulling the strings which controlled the team’s performance and frequently doing just as he pleased against helpless opponents.

This season had started with the surprise appointment of former Celtic manager Jock Stein to replace the sacked Jimmy Armfield. I still remember being on holiday in Spain, and my Dad chucking a hard-to-obtain English newspaper across at me with the headline “Stein For Leeds” on the back. I had been delighted, but sadly Big Jock’s stay at Elland Road was a mere 44 days before he left to take up his dream job as Scotland manager. So it was Adamson’s Army which greeted the teams on a bleak November afternoon as newly-promoted Southampton provided the opposition. Leeds’ home form had been reasonable, with a draw against West Brom and a narrow defeat to Arsenal in the previous five games, though Birmingham and Derby had both been convincingly beaten, and there had been a welcome 2-1 victory over Chelsea. Attendance levels though were relatively disappointing other than for the traditionally attractive matches against top teams, and a fairly sparse crowd of 23592 turned up for what was, on the face of it, a mundane fixture.

Leeds started as they preferred, attacking the South Stand end of the ground so as to save the Kop for a second-half assault, and they had the breakthrough after only fourteen minutes. Trevor Cherry, coming out of defence, played a probing ball up field where the burly Ray Hankin rose to head downwards to little Brian Flynn. United’s pocket dynamo was always adept at picking up possession in dangerous areas and making good use of the ball, and he was quick to scurry across the edge of the Saints penalty area towards the right, where he neatly slipped a pass to Arthur Graham. The Scottish winger was well-known for his ability to cut in from either wing, and once he got the ball in space on either foot, he could be quite lethal, as he proved now. Moving back infield, he easily evaded a defender before turning smartly to fire left-footed past former Halifax ‘keeper Terry Gennoe into the bottom right-hand corner. It was a clinical finish, giving the Southampton stopper no chance at all.

Eight minutes later, the lead was doubled, and this was a collectors’ item of a goal. Not since Boxing Day 1975 had Paul Madeley troubled the scorers, but here he was suddenly in what was nose-bleed territory for him, just outside the opposition area as Graham rolled in a pass from the right. United’s Rolls-Royce, as he had been dubbed, was a Mr Versatile of many years standing, having worn every outfield number for Leeds, but he was never exactly prolific in front of goal. Now though he seized on Graham’s pass and struck a left foot shot which took a cruel deflection, hopelessly wrong-footing Gennoe who could only watch as the ball bobbled into the net. 2-0 to United who were cruising at half-time, having been rather unluckily denied a third when John Hawley’s header thudded against an upright after a flowing move down the left.

The second half was only ten or so minutes old when one of the most famous Leeds United goals in living memory drew rapturous applause from the fans massed behind the goal at the Gelderd End. Tony Currie had been in full-on matador mode all day, taunting opponents with his mastery of possession, effortless control, trademark step-over and change of pace. His range of passing on form like today’s was almost Giles-esque, and there really is no higher praise than that. It had always looked like being Currie’s match to dominate, and now he scored the goal that cemented his place in United folklore. Snatching possession midway inside the Saints half, Currie mastered a lively bouncing ball before advancing on a nervously retreating Chris Nicholl. Rather than doing anything so mundane as beating his man, Currie looked up and, using the Saints defender as a shield, he simply bent the ball around him on a beautiful, curving trajectory, past the diving Gennoe to nestle in the far right-hand corner of the goal.

“Oh, my goodness!” intoned an awestruck Martin Tyler commentating for Yorkshire TV, “…and Tony Currie milks the applause that is so deserved.”

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The rout of the Saints was complete on 65 minutes, when a Trevor Cherry cross from deep on the right caught the visitors’ defence hopelessly square, leaving Hankin in space and onside. Yugoslav defender Ivan Golac, who had never scored in English football until today, now broke his duck in the most undesirable fashion, chasing back nobly to dispossess Hankin who was casually weighing up his options, but tragically succeeding only in lifting the ball over his ‘keeper and into his own net for 4-0.

For much of the remaining 25 minutes, Leeds seemed to take their foot off the gas somewhat, and allowed a Southampton side – who had, in truth, battled well throughout – a number of pots at David Harvey’s goal. The Leeds ‘keeper though, unaccountably frozen out of a Scottish International side that could well have used his agility and experience, was equal to everything thrown at him, and preserved a clean sheet without being troubled unduly.

It hadn’t been a fantastic match, or indeed an especially memorable one, apart from two superlative goals from Graham and Currie. History shows, too, that Southampton would have the last laugh that season, coming back from trailing 2-0 against Leeds United in the first leg of the League Cup semi-final at Elland Road, to draw that game 2-2. They then completed the job with a 1-0 victory in the second leg at The Dell, going through to lose the Wembley final against Nottingham Forest.

But for United it was the season that saw us back into European competition for the first time since our ill-fated European Cup Final against Bayern four years previously, and the Saints win contributed its fair share to that achievement. Sadly though Tony Currie was soon to depart, his then wife apparently homesick for London. He duly joined QPR and eventually graced Wembley at club level himself as Rangers played Tottenham in the FA Cup Final of 1982, before injury drew a close to a flamboyant and entertaining career. Leeds without Currie were never quite the same force again, and we were now on the downward spiral to eventual relegation in the 1981-82 season.

In many ways then 1978-79 was United’s last hurrah in the top flight, our last decent stab at competing in the top league until Howard Wilkinson restored that status in 1990; and Tony Currie was certainly in my opinion the last real Leeds Legend of the immediate post-Revie era. For me, he was one of the greatest, and I mourned his departure more than most I have witnessed over the years. It felt like the end of an era when he went, and so it ultimately proved to be. But Currie left us with some magical memories, perhaps the greatest of which remains that terrific banana shot at the Kop End, a goal worthy of any superstar, and one fit to grace any occasion.

Next: Memory Match No. 6: West Ham Utd 1, Leeds United 5. Upton Park was frequently a happy hunting ground for Leeds, and the Whites’ cause was aided on this occasion by a couple of Hammers dismissals in a May 1999 game where – for once – we seemed to get the rub of the green where the ref was concerned.

Leeds United For Sale Again – But What Happens In The Short Term?

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Leeds United’s Elland Road Stadium

Leeds United are officially up for sale again, just three months after GFH Capital completed their “bargain purchase” of the Club from cuddly Uncle Ken Bates on 21 December last year. This news might be received with joy, despair or indifference, depending on your current attitude to the low-budget kitchen-sink drama that is LUFC these days.

The joyous ones are the optimists, dreaming that – at last – a rich billionaire (as opposed to the sort of impoverished billionaires normally linked to the Club) will come steaming in on his souped-up camel, and purchase for us long-suffering fans the baubles we have craved ever since winning the Last Proper League Championship.

The pessimists meanwhile are withdrawing their heads back under the carapace of their impenetrable gloom, pausing only to remind the rest of us that they knew all this takeover talk was bollocks right from the start last May, that no-one with any dosh would come within a mile of Leeds United, and that we’ll now probably be sold back to Ken Bates for ten bob after a second administration, so that he can fulfill his stated aim of reducing us to the Ryman League, Division Three.

Personally, I’m languishing among the indifferent tendency, somewhere between these first two groups. I’ve quite frankly had enough of Leeds United this last year or so, especially after the battering all our psyches took with the roller-coaster TOMA* saga of last summer, and being roundly laughed at and suffering from chronic urine-extraction by dopey fans of daft little cobble-stone clubs (you know who you are.) It’s just not good for morale, and mine is shot through, thanks very much.

The thing is though, the Club has somehow to carry on its business of playing games of football with some appearance of trying to win them, and maybe in the process attracting what they are nowadays pleased to call “customers” through the computerised turnstiles. And this undertaking is not helped at all, not in the least, by any measure of uncertainty among the fanbase. Last summer was awful, and now – with GFH Capital apparently anticipating completion of a sale withing a window of between six and twelve months – we have more of the same in the offing. So another transfer window will pass without the urgent surgery needed to transform the current squad into a lean, mean winning machine. Another six months to a year during which the creeping disease of apathy will spread further throughout the body of support, once so vibrant and fanatically motivated. The manager is off, the latest boy wonder Super Sam is being tipped for a move to a proper football club and the fans are in the dark – as usual – regarding any long-term vision for our once-great Club.

Surely (you’d have thought) there must be some plan, some concrete strategy, for getting back to the Premier League, which is the only environment where a club like Leeds United – with its history, tradition, remaining infrastructure and global fanbase – can hope to survive and prosper. This has to be the minimum aim, and nobody with any ambitions of running the club should be under any illusions – once the Promised Land is reached, the support will not be content, like any old Wigan or Norwich, with mere survival. The Leeds fans will want to swagger in like they own the place, have a brief look around, and then win it. That’s what we did last time, 21 years ago, and the fact that it’s a totally different world nowadays will not stop that urgent demand for success, that imperious need to take on the game’s elite, and make them eat crow.

This demand, this greed and yearning for past glories to be repeated, can serve either as an inspiration for ambitious and visionary owners, or as a millstone around the neck of people who might want to come in, seek to have the club tick over in the lower reaches of the Premier League, and depart with some sort of profit. Obviously it’s to be hoped we might attract the former type, but they’ve not emerged as yet despite months of speculation about the shape of things to come post-Bates. The time is fast approaching when decisions need to be made for the good of Leeds United, about its strategy for success in the 21st Century, its model for progress in the new high-finance structure at the top end of the game and the picture it can justifiably paint for the fans of the type of club they’re going to have to support going forward. GFH Capital told us that they were here for the long haul, but now they’re jumping ship faster than the scarediest rat, making some of us wonder just how quickly that ship is sinking. What leadership can we expect from them now, what confidence can we have in them when they’re already yesterday’s men? Meanwhile we all remain firmly, blindly in the dark, where we’ve spent the bulk of the last decade, wondering what’s to become of our beloved Leeds.

Now that’s far, far too long a period of unhappiness and uncertainty for a group of people who have – mostly – continued to shell out their hard-earned, buy the tacky merchandise and roar their support from over-priced seats during a period of sustained failure and mostly crap football. The fact is that the Club is bang to rights on accusations of gross complacency and mistreatment of its prime asset – the highly vocal, passionate and still predominantly dedicated support, both immediate and match-going, and more generally in all parts of the globe. Fans want to know what’s going on at their club; quite understandably they want to be involved, they want to feel part of what’s going on. The Club have callously disregarded all of this for ages now, recent cosmetic gestures towards “fan engagement” notwithstanding, and despite welcome moves towards a more realistic pricing structure. There just hasn’t been enough transparency, and now we’re going to enter another disturbing period of uncertainty, to emerge eventually – well who knows in what shape we’ll emerge? Treat any group of “customers” (if we really must so term fans) with such blatant disregard and such arrogant refusal to consult them and address their concerns, and eventually – even with fanatics and people who live their lives through their obsession – you’ll lose them. I’ve been a fanatic, for 38 years, at some cost to my financial and social well-being, and yet they’ve damn nearly lost me. I’m starting to prefer my football wrapped in a film of nostalgia – it’s less painful than the current reality. But whatever defiant noises I might make, and however much I might warn of erosive apathy – I still care. Too deeply for my own good. And there remain thousands like me.

But we can’t carry on like this. It’s got way beyond a joke, and the jibes from opposing fans – all too well aware of our history, and nursing the standard anti-Leeds chip on their shoulders – are far less worrying than the grumbles of discontent from the ranks of the still-faithful. Get your act together, Leeds United, and do it soon, or preferably do it NOW. We’re still with you. But for how much longer?

*TOMA – For the uninitiated, this is an acronym referring to the perceived unlikelihood of Leeds United benefiting from a buyout to its advantage. Take Over My Arse.

Mini-rant #1- An Act of Faithlessness.

This is the first in a series of mini-rants, being bite-sized portions of my large supply of bile and spleen concerning matters that piss me off.  These handy snacks of vitriol shall be served occasionally by way of appetisers for the more verbose offerings I share as main courses.  The dessert menu is a work in progress, but you’re welcome to ask for the Whine List.

Apparently an Everton fan of 36 years support left today’s FA Cup tie against Wigan before half time with his team 0-3 down. He’d already booked a hotel room for what he’d obviously assumed was a nailed-on semi-final appearance at Wembley for the Toffees.

Well now – where to begin?  Honestly, doesn’t that make this outraged supporter, on two counts, the kind of “fan” you need like you need a sharp attack of dysentery. First the arrogance, assuming quarter-final success like that. Any football fan, deluded scummers* apart, will tell you that’s just begging for fate to kick you in the teeth. Idiot.

And walking out before 45 minutes is up. What a spineless, spoiled, selfish thing to do, showing a lack of faith, courage and moral fibre. Look at Arsenal, 0-4 down at Reading this season, and won 7-5. They had fans desert them too, and boy did those of little faith look stupid.

So well done that soft, limp Toffee.  Double idiot, and a wimp to boot.  He should take his support elsewhere if you ask me – and I think I know just the place.  He sounds absolutely ideal for the plastic, whinging, glory-hunting congregation at Old Toilet, home of the “Greatest Football Club In The World™” – he’d fit right in there, though he’d probably need to adopt a home counties accent.

What is the game, and the support, coming to these days??  Yours, Disgusted of Leeds.

*Scummers: a term of endearment employed by Leeds United fans to denote followers of The Mighty Manchester United.