Category Archives: Football

Leeds’ Master Blaster Tony Yeboah – Which Scorcher Was His Best?

Tony "Master Blaster" Yeboah

Tony “Master Blaster” Yeboah

Mention the name Tony Yeboah to any Leeds fan – in fact to any football fan with a memory long enough to stretch way back to the mid-nineties, and you can bet that a faraway look will come into their eyes, and they’ll say “Ah, yes – that incredible goal against Liverpool.  Goal of the season, that.”  It’d be difficult to find anyone to argue the point.  But as a fanatical Leeds United fan who has a very special place in his Hero File for Anthony Yeboah, I’m going to try.

The Liverpool goal certainly was a brilliant technical piece of finishing; volleys from outside the box against a class goalkeeper invariably have to be.  At Leeds over the years, we’ve been lucky enough to see a fair few of these bazookas, and Yeboah’s late effort against the Anfield men stands comparison with any of them.  The fact of the goal being at the Kop End of Elland Road was of some assistance to the spectacle, but any way you look at it, this was a hell of a strike.  It wasn’t the first goal of this type in front of the Leeds Kop and against the Reds though.  A few years before, Gary MacAllister, a future Anfield hero, scored another fizzer, the ball being played to him in mid air from the left; he let it go across his body before wrapping his right foot round it to thunderous effect, the ball scorching into the net before the ‘keeper (the same David James beaten by Yeboah) could even move.

Yeboah’s strike though was probably marginally better.  It came from a headed knock-down forcing the Ghanaian to adjust his body shape slightly as the ball descended towards him, and he caught it so sweetly and with such ferocity that James was probably slightly lucky he didn’t get a hand to it; broken wrists have been known in similar situations.  It was a violent, arcing shot, the ball dipping slightly in its trajectory and just clipping the underside of the crossbar before bouncing down to rest, relieved, in the back of the net.  David James can perhaps count himself unlucky to have been beaten by two of the finest volleys I’ve ever seen at Elland Road, then again he might reflect they’d probably have beaten any two keepers on Earth.

The thing is though – tie me up and burn me for a heretic, but I don’t think Yeboah’s howitzer against Liverpool that balmy August night was his best goal for Leeds.  In my humble opinion, that came a few weeks later at Selhurst Park, temporary home of Wimbledon FC, when the phenomenal Yerbugger struck an even more vicious blow.  Reliable witnesses, standing close by as the man from Ghana hit his shot, swore blind that they actually heard the ball squeal in pain.   I am supported in citing this strike as Tony’s best by Guardian writer Dominic Fifield who, writing in 2011, saw it as his favourite Premier League goal.  He described it thus:

“Watching the ball cannon up from a series of scrappy headers and attempted clearances clearly tested the Ghanaian’s patience. Yeboah snapped on to the loose ball, controlled it on his chest then instep, exploded away from an opponent and lashed a glorious half-volley in off the underside of the bar from distance. It is the ferocity which is most impressive; a blistering effort.”

Sadly, I only saw this goal on television, though I’d planned to attend the match at Selhurst as I was due to be in London that weekend.  Four days previously though, I’d seen a pallid performance against Notts County in a 0-0 League Cup draw – and I just thought, well sod it, I’m not wasting my London time and money watching that sort of crap.  So I was exploring the delights of Selfridges when Yeboah broke Sky TV’s velocity-measuring equipment, and serve me right for a lapse of faith.  At least my wife found it funny, but I was understandably not amused.  Leeds won 4-2 as well, with Yeboah completing a hat-trick, and Carlton Palmer scoring a goal that might well have been Goal of the Month any other day, but which paled into insignificance next to the awesome might of Yeboah.

There are several YouTube videos devoted to paying tribute to Tony’s goals in his too-brief stay at Elland Road, and I’d heartily recommend a search, they’re well worth watching over and over.  I’d be interested to know what others think – I suspect that most will feel his effort against Liverpool was the best; it was a late winner after all, and scored in front of a packed Kop.  I should think this really, because I was actually there, stood right behind the line of the shot as it ripped past the startled James.  But I just can’t help harking back to what I think was an even greater goal, albeit in humbler surroundings.  How I wish that I’d been there for that one.  Tony Yeboah: thanks for the memories – and a belated Happy 48th Birthday from last Friday.

Getting Promoted the Leeds United Way – by Rob Atkinson

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Leeds United have achieved promotion to the top League of English football (Football League Division One of blessed memory) on two occasions within my lifetime – 1963/64 and 1989/90.  Both promotions followed significant lower status periods – we don’t really do “bounce-back” promotions – and here we are again, a decade away from the game’s shop window, and this time we actually plumbed the depths of the third tier for the first time in our illustrious history. So – talking about history – do those last two promotion successes have anything to teach us today?  The answer seems to be: yes, quite a bit.  But sadly, there’s not necessarily all that much encouragement to be derived from the lessons of yesteryear.

The fact appears to be that the last two Leeds United sides to have achieved promotion to the top flight both did it with quality to spare.  Both finished as Division Two Champions, and both squads included a number of players who would go on to help add to the Club’s Honours Board.  In 1990, the team that pipped Sheffield United for the Second Division title included as mainstays Gordon Strachan, Gary Speed, Lee Chapman, Chris Fairclough, Mel Sterland and David Batty.  That’s over half a team, and all of those players figured heavily in the squad that won the last Football League Championship title in 1992.  Also appearing in that “Last Real Champions” line-up were four more survivors of the 1990 promotion side: Carl Shutt, Imre Varadi, John McClelland and Mike Whitlow.  So TEN members of the promotion squad were good enough to figure in the season that brought the ultimate League honour back to Elland Road.  All but Batty and Speed were incoming transfers, some costing what was significant money for the late eighties.

In 1964, the picture was similar, though with more of a bias towards home-grown talent – unsurprisingly given the quality of the youngsters coming through from an outstanding youth policy. The names trip off the tongue:  Gary Sprake, Paul Reaney, Billy Bremner, Jack Charlton, Norman Hunter, Paul Madeley, Terry Cooper and Peter Lorimer.  The ultimate success took longer to achieve for Revie’s boys, but all eight of these players, plus the genius of Johnny Giles – purchased for a song from Man U in a transfer Revie described as “robbery with violence” – were major contributors to the side which proved itself the best-ever in 1969. The later transfers in of Mick Jones and Allan Clarke, with the emergence of Eddie Gray from that legendary youth setup, simply applied the final coat of gloss to what was a very fine side indeed. The makings of Champions were there in the 1964 promotion team, just as they were for that of 1990.

So what does all this tell us about the here and now?  Nothing very happy, to be sure.  The squad we have today might – with a few judiciously-selected additions – have some sort of chance of achieving promotion, though you’d have to say the lottery of the play-offs would be the likeliest route.  And as a club, we’re famously poor at play-offs.  But if we DID scramble promotion – what sort of foundation would there be for becoming a successful Premier League side? Hardly any, in truth.  Look through the playing staff we have, and name players who might figure in a Premier League winning side in the next few years.  Sam Byram, maybe – and probably, almost certainly – NOT in a Leeds United shirt. So we’re in danger of becoming the Leeds United side least well-equipped in living memory to go up, and stay up to do well. Much more likely though is that – with the element of quality currently so sadly lacking – we’d just bob around in mid-table in the Championship, and listen to a load of excuses every week or so.

History shows that, on both the occasions we’ve won promotion in my lifetime, there has been relatively major investment in the team to make that possible.  It was more the case in 1990 than in ’64, but the whole game was much more about money by the 90’s – and of course vastly more so today.  But even in 1964, players had been added to the squad to see us over that promotion-winning line – Alan Peacock was an England-capped forward, bought for decent money from Middlesbrough.  Bobby Collins commanded a fee even as a “veteran” when he moved to Leeds from Everton.  In the 1990 side, Strachan, Fairclough, Chapman and Sterland all cost well into the six figures, as did John Hendrie and Vinnie Jones. This was proper investment, speculating to accumulate.

There is as yet no real indication of the path that might be trodden by the Leeds of today, under the guidance of new owner Massimo Cellino.  We are given to understand that he has inherited an almighty mess from a list of previous owners, who can only be distinguished one from the other by the slightly varying degrees of their wretched crookedness.  Some will say, serves you right Massimo for foolishly dispensing with the need for due diligence – others will simply be glad that the Italian’s on board – despite the vicious attempts by the senile and dithering old fools of the Football League to block him – and looking to sort things out.

Cellino appears determined to be faithful to his own methods and philosophy – and it’s fairly clear that we won’t find out very much about on-field recruitment until he’s laid the foundations for a properly-run club.  The Head Coach appointment seems likely to be the next significant step, and from that will flow the rest of the preparations for next season.  By now, Cellino must be aware of the fans’ voracious appetite for success – a term to be defined by the Leeds United history of the past fifty years, as opposed to the yardstick of just any old club.

The fans’ expectations are extravagant but understandable, having their roots in a proud and glorious tradition, from eras past when this club did things properly.  Where expectations such as these are dashed, sooner or later there will be rebellion – even in what might still be, relatively speaking, a honeymoon period for the new owner. Whether such rebellion would come in the form of apathy over match-day attendance, or some more incendiary form whereby dissatisfaction might be expressed by marches and sit-ins, or by the owner being barricaded inside Elland Road (Massimo has had some experience of this already) – this would depend upon the depth of supporter anger or unhappiness.

Cellino’s staff would be well-advised to do plenty of rooting about in Leeds United Football Club’s history, both to see how things were managed when the people in charge knew what they were doing, and also to advise themselves of what happens with the support – and indeed the staff and management – when they feel they’re having the urine taken out of them.  That feeling has been abroad too often for comfort in the past few years, and what is needed right now is a campaign of relative harmony.  From that point of view as much as any other, there may well be advantages in the appointment of a head coach with an intimate working knowledge of the club and its traditions and character – and of the fan-base.  This is not just any club – and we need someone at a high level in the organisation, who is acutely aware of that fact.

Former skipper and manager Gary MacAllister’s name is evidently on Cellino’s very short short-list – and if anyone can pick up the reins effectively at Elland Road right now, then maybe Macca can. He should not, in my view, be judged too harshly in the light of his previous stint in charge – he was not working under the most favourable circumstances, or indeed the most favourable owner. Even so, some of his signings turned out to be legends of their time; his eye for a player, certainly an attacking player, seems reliable – as witness Becchio and Snodgrass.

But it is Gary MacAllister’s Leeds United DNA that we probably need as much as anything else right now, when one major priority should be the re-establishment of a definite Leeds United identity, now that Bates has gone, and now that GFH have been reduced to the role of mere parasites.  The club needs to hold its collective head up high, and march on saying We Are Leeds.  That was the spirit in which those previous two promotions were earned, and it is that spirit which needs to be rekindled over this summer, so that we come out fighting – and Keep Fighting – for the season ahead.

I would say – get MacAllister in, let him surround himself with people he can work with (including, please God, a defensive coach and someone with a Plan B) – and let him put his stamp back on the club.  To me, this would also add to Cellino’s credibility. Anybody who has read McAllister’s book, or who has seen how he has conducted himself throughout his career, will know that here is a real football man.  This would not be a Massimo’s yes-man type of appointment.  That would be a very important message to send out, bearing in mind the lessons of Cardiff City under Vincent Tan. One thing we could do with is the reassurance that Cellino is not cut from that cloth.

Next week might just be the start of a positive summer for Leeds – if the right appointment is made and some sort of recruitment programme can then commence.  Let’s sincerely hope so – it’s been too long since we had any really good news at Elland Road.  A feel-good factor would be a long-forgotten but welcome visitor to the club – and who knows?  If we can achieve that, then surely anything is possible.  A promotion charge next season?  England winning the World Cup with a 30 yard volley by Leeds lad Jamie Milner?  Why not?

If we’re going to dare to dream – then let’s make it a good one.  MOT – We Are Leeds.

That unquenchable Leeds United spirit

That unquenchable Leeds United spirit

LLUUE’s Leeds United “Man of the Season” 2013/14 – by Rob Atkinson

Who's the mystery winner of LLUUE's "Man of the Year"??

Who’s the mystery winner of LLUUE’s “Man of the Season” for 2013/14??

In a season with few Leeds United candidates – quite probably only one – for “Man of the Season“, this blog has had to cast its net further afield to find the one outstanding person who has brought us the most joy and pleasure in the campaign just gone.

On the face of it, the claims from within Leeds United, of our inspirational captain and lethal striker Ross McCormack, are next door to irresistible. Rarely has one man dominated to the extent that Ross has in this fractious, disrupted campaign. Any other possible contenders, such as the admirable Matt Smith who enjoyed such a promising début season, would be a country mile, at best, behind our 29 goal Scottish international. McCormack’s status as our “Man of the Season” would be undeniable – if we were merely looking for consolation in the midst of our suffering. But we’re not. We’re looking for actual joy and pleasure unconfined – and that’s really not to be found inside the bounds of Elland Road, not for a good few years now. So we must perforce look elsewhere – sorry, Rossco.

As with any set of right-thinking, well-balanced and reasonable football fans, the supporters of Leeds United know what to do when their own favourites fail to stir the blood or lift the spirits. Firstly, there’s “Win or lose, we’re on the booze” to fall back on. The soothing and pain-relieving balm of alcohol has beguiled many a sad hour over successive painfully disappointing years.  But some seasons are just so unspeakably awful that even when you spend most or all of your time in a drink-generated fug, you can’t escape the cold chill of despair that lays its clammy fingers across the back of your neck, whenever you’re sober enough to contemplate the plight of Leeds United. So you shudder miserably, and look elsewhere for a bit of cheer.

Eventually – inevitably – you resort to taking positive pleasure in the pain and misery of those you despise.  And who better to delight you with their cataclysmic plummet from grace, than the former and allegedly still “Biggest Club in the Universe and all Four Dimensions of Spacetime™”?  Yes, gentlemen and ladies, I give you – for quite frankly, I don’t want them – Manchester United, the Greatest Football Club in the World (Copyright © The UK Gutter Press). Now stop that giggling over there in Barcelona and Milan – it’s not nice to kick a football club when it’s down and deluded.

This season, the “greatest team in the world” finished, erm, seventh. Outside of the European places (yes, even those poxy, Thursday night, Europa League occasions are denied them) – but are they bovvered?  Do they look bovvered?? Well – perhaps a bit.

Their trophy haul for the campaign was similarly derisory.  Suffice to say that they won exactly the same as Leeds United – oh, hang on – I forgot that pre-season friendly against Wigan, when they were awarded a vulgar silver plate as a reward for turning out for “charidee”.  But, as any Pride of Devon fan will confirm – for this season just gone, at least – the Community Shield is, in fact, a major trophy.  Funny, that.  It’s a principle that has sometimes applied to the League Cup too, in its various guises – but only when it’s the sole trophy to have made its way to the Theatre of Hollow Myths.

This season has been remarkable – almost unprecedented – for the way in which that Man U star has fallen.  Home defeats by the barrow-load, home humiliations in the domestic cups, miles off the pace in the Title race from about Christmas onwards and a trophy cabinet that has remained gloriously bare, save for one lonely, hungry spider named Alex.

It’s been car-crash football watched through agonised slits of eyes by those armchair denizens of Devon and Cornwall as they chew distractedly on a straw, and wonder what on Earrrrth ‘as ‘appened to “Yew-noited”.  So, have we any pity to spare for these tragic creatures? Have we blooming heck as like.  It’s been far too much fun, watching this tragi-comedy – if you’re a real, non-plastic football fan, that is.  It’s been just too funny and too entertaining for words. And there may yet be more fun to come next season, what with the almighty mess that’s been left behind.  Priceless, no?

And who do we have to thank for all of this joy and celebration?  Who is this man, who has brought us such rich and amusing entertainment?  Who is the saviour who at last achieved his decade-long ambition of seeing Everton finish above Man U?  What is the name of this hero who has presided over a season unparalleled in the course of Premier League history – which, as we all know, is the only history that really counts??

Faithful readers, I give you – for the inaugural Life, Leeds United, the Universe & EverythingMAN OF THE SEASON” – that fine coach, that brave and decisive manager and, above all, that determined saboteur of all things scum; I give you (Drum roll) Evertonian Special Agent ………. Daaaaaavid MOYES!!!!  (Sensation, loud applause, sustained cheering).

Well done INDEED, David.  A fine achievement and a deserved accolade. You took a club favoured by the game’s authorities, by most of the referees and other officials and, not least, by that thankless bitch Lady Luck – and you destroyed them, utterly, inside a twelvemonth. We salute you – and we wish you the best of luck as you look to re-establish yourself in football proper after this one-off year as a double-agent and “overblown reputation demolition contractor”. No praise can be too high, you have done a great service to football fans everywhere outside of Torquay, Devizes, Barnsley and Milton Keynes.

Come back this time next year, gentle reader for the second LLUUE awards blog.  Who knows, perhaps we might be able realistically to nominate an actual Leeds United person?  We’ll start brushing up on our Italian, just in case… 

Oh, and – PS.  To all of those pedantic souls who might wish to point out that Leeds United haven’t exactly covered themselves in glory this year – look again. I have sort of addressed that, I feel.  And anyway – we’re not the biggest club in the bleedin’ world, are we??

LLUUE "Man of the Year" - Our Hero, Agent David Moyes

LLUUE “Man of the Season” 2013/14 – Our Hero, Special Agent David Moyes

Newcastle Bid for Leeds Skipper: Might McCormack End Up at “Any Old Club” After All? – by Rob Atkinson

Those loveable Geordies

Those loveable Geordies

As a statement of intent and a welcome expression of loyalty, Leeds United skipper Ross McCormack’s tasty little soundbite towards the end of the season would take some beating. “I think about the feeling of being at Elland Road on the last day of the season, winning promotion and being captain,” said United’s 27 year old, 29 goal top-scorer. “That would surpass just playing in the Premier League for any old club and I don’t say that lightly.”

It was indeed a weighty statement, neither to be made nor taken lightly. McCormack was letting us know of his burning ambition to play at the highest level, whilst at the same time telling us that it would take a special club to tempt him to do this in any other but the white shirt of Leeds United. Ross is happy here, he can see himself achieving much at Elland Road – if the club’s ambition is seen to match his own. And if not, then he is well enough aware of his own value as a potent striker to be sure that he could command a move to another club in the same bracket, reputation-wise, as Leeds.

All of which on-the-record disclosure makes me feel that the rumoured interest from Newcastle might be just the start of what could develop into a bit of a clamour for Mr McCormack’s valuable services – that’s if his one-to-one with Signor Cellino has left him thinking that his future would be best spent elsewhere. If he is to leave, then this one rumoured bid could spark off an auction – with, presumably, more feasible suitors waiting in the wings.

It’s not as if McCormack will necessarily be on the radar of the “Big Four”, after all – but you’d have thought there might be interest from the likes of European make-weights Spurs and Everton, just below that élite level and pushing hard. To see our Ross go to a Newcastle or a Man U or a Southampton, though, would be somewhat perplexing. Such a transfer would put him smack in the middle of the “any old club” territory that he’d appeared conclusively to rule out. There are even rumours of interest from yet further down the food chain, with relegation fodder West Ham and Joke League Champions Glasgow Celtic reported to be sniffing around.

As far as this week’s alleged bidders Newcastle are concerned, they do have prior form as stalking horses. Their enquiry to Everton about the availability of Wayne Rooney led directly to the then-effective forward making his move to Man U – back when they were a leading club. So you may well surmise that mention of the long-trophyless Geordies, as prospective employers of the talented McCormack, might spark more serious interest among bigger, more serious clubs.

The more you look at it, then, the less likely it might appear that McCormack will end up in those oddly humbug-esque black and white stripes. And if he did go to the Wonga Stadium, you’d have to question his motivations – an area that he’s been at some pains to elucidate to those of us Leeds fans out here who have looked for ongoing reassurances of his commitment to Elland Road. Has it become a case of any Premier League port in a storm for Rossco? Or is he actually still committed to achieving success at the club to which he’s time and time again reiterated his loyalty and commitment? This blog thinks we should be informed.

Time, as ever, will eventually tell. One significant factor is the length of time left on our leading scorer’s contract. That would tend to drive the price upwards should an auction commence – and then it would rapidly become a question of where lie the best interests of Leeds United Football Club.

And whatever the priorities and motivations of Mr Ross McCormack – whatever the level of interest out there from Premier League clubs of whatever status and calibre – it is those best interests of our beloved Whites that should be the deciding factor. Not even our top goalscorer, our heart-on-the-sleeve inspiration in that No. 44 shirt, is bigger than the club – and that, my fellow vile animals, is the real bottom line.

Happy Silver Celebration for a Leeds United Widow – by Rob Atkinson

June 3rd, 1989

Bear with me this once, gentle reader, as I thank my partner in life for twenty-five years of wedded more-or-less bliss – and for the patient tolerance with which she’s borne her status as a Leeds United widow all this time. It’s self-indulgent – but this blog feels the need to pay tribute.

You know you’re fortunate in the ladies that adorn your life, when they share in the joy and sorrow that visit you from time to time as a result of your preoccupation with what is a daft game in general – and one daft club in particular. So it is for me, and that’s why I’m so grateful to have the wife and daughter I have, lasses who will celebrate and commiserate with me as appropriate when really they’re both far more interested in The Great British Bake-Off.

This happy fact is illustrated by a few incidents over the years. When Man City won the Title a couple of seasons back, I was rescued from utter misery as it had looked as though the Pride of Devon were going to nick it in a typically undeserving fashion. So my daughter Kate (not pictured above, for obvious reasons) hurtled downstairs to celebrate with me when that last-gasp Aguero goal went in, knowing exactly how I felt, ready to rejoice in the tragedy that had befallen the scum. My ladies know that the love of Leeds United is closely enmeshed with an absolute hatred of everything concerned with the Theatre of Hollow Myths, and they are prepared to join with me in this, despite a female inability to understand or completely relate to it.

So also, twenty-two years ago, Mrs Rob was “over the moon” for me, as we football types say, when the Real United became the Last Champions. She came out with me to celebrate, dragging through to Leeds City Centre with me on a Sunday morning in those pre-car days when we had to hop a train to get anywhere. She shared the celebration of City Square and the Headrow as the team waved the Championship trophy at us and Eric Cantona told us deceitfully how he loved us.

It was so fitting that she should be there for that moment of achievement, despite her preference for matters less frivolous than football. She’d been the first woman I’d ever taken to Elland Road who hadn’t jinxed the occasion. After a series of relationship-ending defeats in the company of lesser ladies, I took my newish fiancée along for her Leeds debut with some trepidation. What if she let me down as so many others had? I’d shelled out for a ring and everything, after all. But, where several others had failed before her, the future Mrs Rob came through faultlessly. We beat Sheffield United 5-0 and John Pearson even scored a hat-trick. I knew then that she was confirmed beyond doubt as The One.

Much later, on holiday in the South of France, with a seven year old child in tow, Mrs Rob positively insisted that I should abandon them both on their camp-site to take a train to Barcelona and see us hammered 4-0 in the opening match of the Champions League proper, the year we went all the way to the semis. I ended up in 5 star luxury before and after the match, whilst she held the fort – well, the tent. I thought then, that was above and beyond the call of duty.

It was twenty-five years ago today that we tied the knot at St Peters church in Horbury on one of those “four seasons” days when we had a bit of everything weather-wise, but when the sun obediently appeared when the photographer demanded it. Some gave us linen, some gave us crockery, some gave us the traditional kitchen appliances. And some gave us six months. But here we are, a quarter of a century on, ready for another twenty-five years or so of life’s and football’s battles, tragedies and triumphs. Who knows what the future will bring?

That first year of marriage brought a house-move, a change of jobs for us both – and promotion to the top flight for Leeds United. That last thing would do for me this time around, the other two being fortunately off the agenda.

Happy Anniversary, love – and thanks for everything.

Leeds Front-Runner Hockaday Mirrors Beckham Experience – by Rob Atkinson

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Dave “Who??” Hockaday

With only two weeks to go until the World Cup in Brazil, former England captain and global superstar David Beckham has been back in the media spotlight. A camera crew has followed the intrepid Essex boy deep into the Amazon jungle where this veteran of footballing conflicts with the likes of Diego Simeone and the Sir Alex Taggart hair dryer has encountered more natural perils such as snakes, alligators and mosquitoes.

The biggest shock for the former Premier League pin-up boy, though, was the discovery that – a mere 800 miles into the usually impenetrable rain forest of the Amazon basin – there lives a tribe of people who have never heard of him. Think of that. A whole group of villagers who have lived, moved and had their being in total ignorance of the identity and global celebrity of David Joseph Beckham.

It really does defy belief – particularly as there is a thriving Spice Girls fan club in this remote outpost. Or perhaps that’s just a mischievous rumour. Whatever the case, the fact is that just about the most famous sportsman on the planet had to journey far, far into the back of beyond to find a spot where his name and fame have failed to reach.

Spookily, the surprises don’t end there. Although these rustic and agricultural people are blissfully unaware of the global celebrity of Mr Beckham, it turns out that they worship as a god another football personality entirely – one whose name is unknown practically everywhere else on the globe, with the possible exceptions of Blackpool, Swindon and Hull.

Paradoxical as it may seem in a society innocent of any trace of Beckham mania, it is the almost totally anonymous front-runner for the Leeds job, Dave Hockaday, who is revered and idolised by these simple farmers and tillers of the Brazilian earth. Ignorant alike of the magic of Beckham’s right foot and the legendary reputations of some of the world-renowned giants he’s played for (as well as Man U), the villagers ignored him completely – and yet plied the former Real and DC United star’s camera crew for more details of Hockaday, the man they venerate as a local deity.

What about Dave’s goal-scoring exploits at Bloomfield Road, they demanded, eagerly. Could they have details, please, of his coaching contribution to Watford’s play-off success in 2006? Why had Forest Green seen fit to part company with a legend such as Hockaday – and would he, could he now be tempted to take over at Elland Road?

The previously undiscovered Amazonian village was all abuzz with these burning questions, even as they scratched their heads and wondered aloud who this Beckham geezer was. Such total and uncritical worship of a man quite literally unknown everywhere else is a phenomenon just as striking, in quite the opposite fashion, as their total lack of any idea of Beckham’s own place in the Beautiful Game.

Meanwhile, in LS11 – a society just as insular as any to be found in a South American jungle – it remains unclear as to who exactly will be granted the dubious honour of succeeding previous incumbent Brian McDermott as Leeds United coach/manager/whatever. Whether it turns out to be Hockaday himself, Uncle Festa, or any other of the rumoured ten candidates to be interviewed by il Duce Massimo Cellino, the Leeds United fans are likely to be the last people whose preference will be taken into account. That’s the way the wind is blowing and the cookie crumbling around LS11 these days.

If it is Hockaday – then perhaps we can look forward to the formation of the Amazonian Jungle Branch of the Leeds United Supporters Club. Any suggestions of Beckham for Hon. President, though, are likely to be rejected. They’d be looking for someone with Elland Road connections and – ideally – a bloke they’ve actually heard of.

Dear Massimo…. A Postcard From Filey to Leeds – by Rob Atkinson

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Dear Massimo

Weather beautiful, having a lovely time – wish you were here. In fact, I really wish you were here. There are a couple of questions that, given such a golden opportunity, I’d like to ask you. Things appear to be happening at Elland Road, just as this blog’s back is turned – a small matter of a silver wedding anniversary to celebrate. You know the way it is. How is the family, by the way? Anyway, as I was saying, change appears to be afoot down LS11 – and some of us out here are less than sure about the way things are going.

Personally, I’ve only had my eye off the ball for twenty-four hours or so – yet in that time, it transpires that the club is yet again unable to pay the playing staff. On the other hand, somebody appears to have found sufficient loose change – perhaps down the back of one of those banqueting suite sofas – to compass the demise of the manager. Whatever we out here may think of Brian’s predictable fate – and you’ll be aware, Massimo, that there are at least two schools of thought on that one – can the club really afford to be reaching settlements when the blokes at the sharp end aren’t getting their wages? We’ve heard the usual phrases – gentlemen’s agreement, mutual consent – but let’s face it, there’s always a few bob involved. One and a half million quid is what I’d heard. I know Brian’s a gent – a rare thing at Leeds United – but there’s a limit.

As far as this blog is concerned, no fuss will be made about the managerial change we could all see coming. New brooms tend to sweep clean, and no takeover is without its casualties. Being grown-up, sensible types, we know this. But given that mature and pragmatic outlook, what we crave above all is clarity – a few outbursts of frankness and information-sharing. If we know what’s going on, we tend to be happier and a bit more tractable. This is a significant consideration at that season-ticket selling time of the year.

The matter of our departed manager Brian is a case in point – but it’s not the only example of confusion arising out of mixed messages. We’d heard variously that you wanted to work with Brian, that you didn’t need a manager, that you couldn’t understand why the manager was at his poorly mum’s bedside rather than at his desk, and that you were astounded he hadn’t resigned. We have the likes of Lorimer and Gray to try and explain the meaning of this and other mixed bags – but you might concede that it’s not easy to pick the bones out of it all.

Would that it were only the managerial situation that’s causing such a mass scratching of heads – but things are confusing and bewildering in a wider sense, too. There’s the stadium and the now chained and padlocked training ground. It seems a long time now since you were speaking breezily of assuming control one day, and then nipping down the nearest ATM to withdraw enough cash to buy Elland Road the next. All of that early determination to act swiftly and decisively appears to have dissipated. We can well believe that you’ve found the odd skeleton in the closet – a mass grave and a veritable boneyard would not surprise us, given the immense dodginess of your immediate predecessors, to say nothing of the one before – or the chap currently in police custody in Dubai. We fans were ready for bleak news about the mess at Leeds United. What we’re really after is a revised statement of intentions in the light of the bodies you’ve dug up so far. For example, last I heard on Elland Road was the hope that it might come back under club ownership by November. Is that still the plan? It wouldn’t be surprising if it was becoming unlikely. But it’d be good to know.

Transfer policy is another thing. Mixed messages again there. Various younger Cellinos have been active on social media, outlining recruitment plans that appear to include Serie A players, an English left-back, and so on. The news from higher up is more confusing. Next season might well be one of fire-fighting and consolidation, we are told. But the club captain’s ambitions run more to a promotion challenge – and that’s quite reasonable, really. As a footballer, time is not on his side.

We are a little worried and unsettled out here, Massimo. Actually, that is to understate the case by quite a bit. Some clarity is badly needed – some good news would be welcome, too. In the absence of those two desirable factors, nerves are being shredded out here and fingernails nibbled. That’s hardly conducive to the making of financial commitments such as the purchase of highly-expensive season tickets – even if the club’s banking situation were sufficiently up and running to receive such payments. And we’re getting idiots from the likes of West Ham and no-mark clubs like that taking the mick, for God’s sake – how humiliating can it get?? We’re wondering, some of us, if it’s Fred Karno’s Army we’re following – rather than Super Leeds.

Sorry to be a nag – I know you’re busy. But all this gloominess and uncertainty is fair putting me off my cockles and mussels. So if there’s any chance of some positive tidings…? Thanks ever so.

Meanwhile, the weather continues fine on the East Coast’s golden sands. Off to Whitby today. Will write again soon. All the best!!

Rob

UKIP : Nothing but the Same Old Story

A message of defiance and anger, but also of hope. That last thing has echoes of Clement Attlee in 1945 – still our greatest Prime Minister.

One Don Revie!! Why We Were RIGHT To Sing Through the Busby Silence – by Rob Atkinson

One Don Revie! There’s only ONE Don Revie!!

Twenty-five years to the day after we lost football’s greatest-ever manager, I’m irresistibly reminded of a tribute Leeds United fans paid to The Don of Elland Road, some time after his death.  It was a tribute paid in the face of compulsory mourning for Matt Busby, a manager rightly held in great esteem by the Establishment, and indeed by football as a whole – but this prescribed mourning was shoved at us as a fait accompli – like it or lump it.

We Leeds fans, deeply conscious of the fact that our own Don Revie’s death had been disrespectfully ignored by the FA, chose in our turn to ignore the official edict. So we paid our own tribute, singing the name of Don Revie instead of standing silent and resentful before an away game at Blackburn – and in so doing, we brought upon ourselves the self-righteous and sanctimonious disdain of many, many fools and hypocrites.

But the simple fact is that what we did at Blackburn that night in 1994 was absolutely right and proper.  It was not a calculated act of disrespect to a manager in Busby who had nothing to do with us.  Rather, it was a timely and positive tribute to our own legendary but marginalised manager, placed right in the face of official sanctimony, so that the whole world would know that it had been made – and why. Clearly, not everyone agrees with this point of view, many Leeds fans among those dissenters.  But here’s why they’re wrong to dissent.

The chanting of Revie’s name that night was admittedly pretty strong meat – it was a maverick stand to take at a time when the whole country seemed to have been brainwashed into accepting that one club’s heroes should be treated with a reverence denied to all others. Some misgivings I can understand – but I’m completely sick to death of hearing from those Leeds fans who profess still to be ashamed, all these years later, of the fact that we made the protest. The fact of the matter is, that this was the moment to stand up and be counted, collectively – and collectively, we’d not have been able to hold our heads up if some sort of gesture hadn’t been made at that game.

Look at the facts. The death of Busby was predictably and nauseatingly over-hyped by the scum-loving media. The FA-prescribed national minute’s silence was just the tip of the iceberg – there was also endless eulogising all over the TV and the sickeningly mawkish spectacle of the lone bloody piper at Old Trafford, beamed into all our front rooms whether we liked it or not.

On the other hand, the FA couldn’t even be bothered to send a representative to Don’s funeral, the hypocrites. So why the hell is there such a disparity, and more to the point, why the hell are we expected to just put up with it and go along with such blatant stinking hypocrisy and double standards? Are we supposed to have no pride? Well, I’m sorry, but sod ’em. Whatever anyone says – and I include the Leeds players of the time and those from Revie’s era who condemned what happened – the chanting of Revie’s name at Blackburn was a very necessary stand against the establishment view that Busby was a saint and Don was a sinner. It was a statement of our reverence for the Don, against a background of organised and compulsory national mourning for someone who was a hero only to Scum, City and possibly Liverpool fans. And it was an assertion of the fact that we are Leeds and nobody tells us when to show respect, especially when no bugger showed any respect for the Don in life or in death.

The players from any era who were wheeled onto camera to criticise the actions of the fans at Blackburn, have one thing in common. They haven’t got a bloody clue what it’s like to be a fan. They’re players, club employees, and they come and they go, even the best and most loyal of them. Strachan – not a clue. Eddie Gray – not a clue. Not one of them knows what it is to be a fan and continually to have the media’s favourite bloody club shoved down your throat, to the exclusion of everything and everyone you care about as a Leeds supporter.

I don’t give a toss for all the apologists who sit there bleating, oh it was a terrible thing, they dragged the name of our club through the mud. Well in case you haven’t noticed, the name of Leeds United is always being dragged through the mud, and not by us, but by the FA, by the buffoons of the Football League, by nonentities who work for or support other clubs, by the Daily bloody Mirror and other gutter rags, and by Uncle Tom Cobleigh and all. So sod ’em. We did the right thing at Blackburn, just as we did in the Galatasaray ground years later, turning our backs to the field of play. We showed pride for our club, respect for our dead, and a big fat V-sign to all those who are so overtly against us.

It’s all about pride and self-respect at the end of the day – well, I was proud of us in the Ali-Sami-Yen that night in 2000, and I was no less proud of us at Blackburn. I’ll always be glad we didn’t just meekly toe the line and do as the hypocrites in the establishment wanted us to do, as every other simple-minded donkey did. I’m glad and I’m proud that we were big and angry enough to be different and stand up for our point of view.

That’s what it means to be Leeds – we are United, and we are the best.  You know what you can do with the rest.

 

Taken From Us 25 Years Ago Today: Revie, The Don of Elland Road – by Rob Atkinson

The Don - the Greatest

The Don – the Greatest

They say that great players don’t always make great managers, and Bobby Charlton is a stand-out example of that essential truth.  His brother Jack, by common consent not anything like the player Bobby was, but ten times the bloke, was by far the more successful manager.  Then again – he learned from the best.

And they will twist the argument around to show that average players can make great managers. We’re usually invited by a brainwashed and indoctrinated media to take Alex Ferguson as an example of this; my own choice would be Arsene Wenger, a deeply average player but a highly superior coach, tactician and innovator who made a significant dent in the Man U monopoly of the Premier League – despite the vast off-field advantages of the Salford club. Remember Wenger’s “Invincibles”?  There is also, of course, Jose Mourinho – and many others who pulled up no trees as players, but blossomed into legendary managers.

But there are a select few examples of truly great players who went on to be truly great managers – the likes of Busby and Dalglish, for instance – and I will argue passionately to my last breath that the best of the best was Donald George Revie, who died of Motor Neurone Disease 25 years ago today.

Don Revie was an innovative, thinking footballer, the pivot of the famous “Revie Plan” at Manchester City when he was the first to exploit deep-lying centre-forward play to great effect as City hit the heights in the mid to late fifties. He was instrumental in the Wembley defeat of Birmingham City in the FA Cup Final of 1956, and also helped restore English pride after two batterings by Hungary – the Magnificent Magyars having trounced England 6-3 at Wembley and 7-1 in Budapest. Revie’s adapted attacking role helped the National team annihilate Scotland 7-2 and his reputation was made as a selfless team player who was adept at making the ball do the work while team-mates found space as he dropped deep, baffling the defences of the time.

Revie was clearly a thinker, and developed very definite ideas about the game during his playing career, ideas he would later put into practice to devastating effect as a club manager. It is undeniable that, during his thirteen years in charge at Leeds, he elevated them from simply nowhere in the game to its very pinnacle, preaching togetherness and the team ethic above all else. Respected judges within the game have described the football played by Leeds at their peak as unmatched, before or since. In the eyes of many, that Leeds United team were the finest English side ever, a unit of grisly efficiency and teak-hardness yet capable of football which was outstandingly, breathtakingly beautiful, intricate in its conception and build-up, devastating in its effect.

Here is the scale of Revie’s achievement: in an era before the advent of lavish sponsorship and advanced commercial operations, he built a club from the ground upwards – a club with an apathetic support, which had hardly two ha’pennies to rub together, and whose prime asset was a group of raw but promising youngsters. The way that Revie nurtured those youngsters, moulding them into a team of supreme talent and majestic ability, is the stuff of legend. In some cases, he had to ward off the threats of homesickness: a young Billy Bremner was determined to go home to his native Scotland and Revie arranged for his girlfriend to move to Leeds, helping the lad settle down. Sometimes he had to adapt a player from one position to another – Terry Cooper was an indifferent winger who was made into a world-class overlapping full-back. Examples of his inspirational and man-management skills are many; he wrote the modern managerial manual from scratch.

Revie raised almost an entire squad from the junior ranks through to full international status, but he also had an unerring eye for a transfer market bargain. He took Bobby Collins from Everton, and saw the diminutive veteran midfielder produce the best form of his career. He lured a disaffected John Giles from Old Trafford where he was an under-rated performer. Giles swore that he would “haunt” Matt Busby, the manager who let him go, and Revie enabled this vow to be realised, converting Giles to a more central role after the end of Collins’ first team career. Giles and Bremner would form an almost telepathic central midfield partnership for Leeds, carrying all before them over the muddy battlefields of Division One. Revie later described his recruitment of Giles from Man U as “robbery with violence”.

As the sixties wore on, the Don would add Mick Jones and Allan Clarke to his formidable squad while it grew up together in a family atmosphere at Elland Road. Rarely if ever before or since can a manager have been so involved in his team’s welfare and well-being, no mere tracksuit manager this. There would be flowers and chocolates when a girlfriend or wife celebrated a birthday, a listening ear and helping hand whenever problems threatened to affect a player’s form. Revie was a father figure to his players for over a decade, forming a bond of mutual loyalty and respect that still sets the standard for enlightened management today.

Don Revie has been described in scornful terms by the ignorant, as a dossier-obsessed and over-superstitious manager by some people of insight and judgement, and as simply the best by his players who still survive from that amazing period of Leeds United’s dominance at home and abroad. He was perhaps too reliant on lucky suits and the lifting of gypsy curses, and other such supernatural preoccupations. He could maybe have let his team “off the leash” a little earlier than he did – when given full rein, they were next door to unstoppable. But it’s hard to hold the caution and superstition of the man against him; this was a time unlike today when livelihoods depended on a bounce of the ball, when results mattered in a bread and butter way. There were no cossetted millionaires then, no examples of young men who could pack it all in tomorrow and live in luxury for the rest of their lives. It all meant so much more in those days and the word “pressure” had real resonance.

The modern coaches have greats among their number, there’s no doubt about that. It would be invidious to single out names; after all, the media in a misguided fit of uncritical and commercially-motivated hero-worship have been busily engaged for most of the last three decades in dubbing “S’ralex” as the greatest ever. But the legend that is Don Revie can sit comfortably on his laurels, the man who – more than any other – took a sow’s ear of a football club and made of it a purse of the very finest silk which yet concealed a core of Yorkshire steel.

Donald George Revie (1927 – 1989) – Simply The Best.