Leeds Legend Alfi Haaland Trolls Beardy Coward Keane – by Rob Atkinson

Posted on 07/10/2014 | 23 comments
Roy - Saddam

Roy <—————————————————> Saddam

Nineties Leeds cult hero Alf-Inge Haaland has reignited the decades-long feud between himself and former Man U bully-boy Roy Keane, with a mischievous tweet (above) comparing Royston to the late Iraqi dictator Saddam Hussein. Alf tweeted the provocative image, along with the message “can’t take a man seriously when he’s got a beard like….” Keane had earlier revisited the issue of his cowardly attack on Haaland during a Manchester derby, confusingly claiming that he never meant to injure Haaland, but had meant to hurt him. Eh?

Perhaps this self-contradiction is an insight into what goes on inside Keane’s head, which seems muddled and somewhat paranoid at the best of times. The media, as we know, are determined to portray the former Pride of Devon midfielder as the ultimate hardman, never missing an opportunity to speak in hushed tones of awe about his trademark glower and supposed talent for fisticuffs. The rest of us know, of course, that Keane’s scowl masks a coward, someone who will exact his revenge after an extended period of sulky brooding, but not face to face, preferring the over the ball tackle, as with Haaland, or sneaking up from behind to plant a crafty elbow in an opponent’s face, as he did with the not-exactly-scary Jason McAteer.

One can only wonder at Keane’s motivation for growing such a horrible dead badger of a beard – was it to reinforce his own persistent delusion that he’s somehow impressive and the type to strike terror into brave men’s hearts? Or could it have been, perhaps, to deflect the unwelcome attentions of ITV anchor Adrian Chiles, whose breathless admiration for Roy always appears to be about to cross that blurred line into unrequited love? That is one unilateral bromance which makes for particularly queasy viewing.

In his latest self-justifying whinge, Keane mentions a short list of people who were always on his mind as targets to hit “if I got the chance” – Batty, Shearer and Vieira among them. The phrase “In your dreams, Royston” springs readily to mind. And, significantly, there’s a whole world of sneaky cowardice about just those last five words, “if I got the chance“. This is not the attitude of an up and at ’em loveable nutcase like Vinnie Jones, or anyone of several of the Revie boys who weren’t shy about landing a good old-fashioned left-hook when the occasion demanded (Johnny Giles, come on down…) Keane’s modus operandi was to bide his time, wait until he could strike – and then move away, probably towards the dressing room and safety, after a rare Man U red card.

The origins of Keane’s spat with Haaland are illuminating in themselves. Keane had been pursuing a Leeds opponent at Elland Road, intent on fouling him (characteristically from behind) – and had mistimed it horribly, over-stretching and rupturing a cruciate ligament, as karma paid him a brief and devastating visit. Haaland, reasonably assuming the Man U player was faking injury to avoid a caution, was bent over the fallen Keane to communicate this point of view. Keane never forgot or forgave – despite the fact that he was the author of his own misfortune – and waited, as a coward will, for the safest opportunity to get some payback.

It’s instructive also to recall that Keane could be termed a traitor to his country, allowing his own small concerns to spark an attack of paranoia and cause him to flounce out of the Irish squad for the Japanese World Cup. Again, Roy being Roy, he could see no possible grounds for any criticism of his own actions. An immeasurably greater midfielder than Keane, Billy Bremner, used to hold as a maxim “Side Before Self, Every Time”. This kind of team spirit is not to be found in Keane’s lexicon; his mindset is best illustrated by reversing Billy’s motto. For Roy, Roy matters before all else and Roy is always right. It’s a shame he’s usually surrounded by brainless sycophants who encourage him in this sad delusion.

At the end of the day, all Leeds fans and many other less fortunate football lovers will see clearly that Haaland has emerged from this whole saga with infinitely more credit than the ridiculous Keane. The humour at the core of his “Beard” tweet is a concept alien to poor old Roy, who really does take himself far too seriously. In retrospect, he’d have been better off remaining under the guidance of Brian Clough, who was the type of boss to batter such petulant nonsense out of a young and bumptious footballer. The Theatre of Hollow Myths, with its track record of promoting and nurturing the kind of empty-headed arrogance typified by Keane, Rooney, Cantona and too many others, was the very last place to bring out the best in the volatile but less-than-tough Irishman.

It’s a tragedy in its way. Much as is the case – and thanks, Alf, for pointing this out so wittily – with that bloody awful beard…

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Leeds United’s Giuseppe Bellusci Coccyx Conundrum – by Rob Atkinson

Posted on 06/10/2014 | 31 comments
The Warrior has landed

The Warrior has landed – and Liam Cooper looks worried

One undoubted hero for Leeds United so far this season has been Giuseppe “The Warrior” Bellusci, a centre back with a penchant for rampaging forward, delivering ballistic free-kicks and delicate chips – and, significantly, a most perturbing goal celebration.

Don’t get me wrong. There is no greater advocate than this blog for players who, upon donning the famous white shirt, are prepared to “bust their ass”, as our transatlantic friends have it, in the name of Leeds. We fans of Yorkshire’s premier club like nothing better than to see some effort being put in, some never-say-die attitude, a willingness to get some blood on the old boots. It’s what we demand of our heroes around these parts and if all this fearsomeness and belligerence can be allied to some genuine ability too, then so much the better.

The thing is – nobody with the interests of the club at heart wants to see this “ass-busting” become too much of a literal thing. And this is where the worries start with our Giuseppe. Because, when he scores, he has this celebration – first he does the traditional running around in small circles before fleeing for the nearest bunch of United fans, pursued by delighted team-mates. But then, it becomes a little scary as he ends his run by jumping into the air, tucking his knees up before extending his legs before him in flight – and landing square on the base of his spine, impacting the unforgiving earth with a hefty bump.

The first time I saw this, after his stellar dead ball strike at Bournemouth, I put it down to the fact that he’d just dispatched a worldy in a game where United had looked likely to get properly thumped. Some relief and delight was understandable – but even so, it made me wince. Bellusci is a meaty lad, and when his full weight hits terra firma from a height of even four feet, said weight jolting through his lower spine – well, you just have to fear for the headstrong guy’s coccyx.

The painful truth

The painful truth

The coccyx, for those who do not know, is the vestigial remnant of what used to be a fully-functional tail and dates back to that shadowy period of history when we all lived in trees and needed a prehensile “fifth limb” to aid us in negotiating our way from branch to branch. Those of us outside Lancashire have long since evolved beyond the need for such equipment but, nevertheless, we have that small, bony leftover at the base of the spine, much as whales still have redundant finger-bones in their flippers. Evolution, it appears, frequently fails to tidy up behind itself. The coccyx serves no function nowadays, save to remind us of the time when we all looked like Wayne Rooney – but it is a particularly vulnerable spot, as anyone who has sat down abruptly on a hard surface might testify. The risk of injury to the goal celebrant who makes a habit of abusing his coccyx (if you’ll pardon that expression) is very real indeed.

It’s lovely to see Bellusci score – obviously we will all hope he gets many more goals both this season and beyond. The sight of him rampaging forward against poor old Huddersfield was beautiful to behold; he took a return pass from Antenucci and exquisitely flighted the ball onto the Terriers’ crossbar for the redoubtable Mirko to volley the rebound into an empty net. Poetry in motion. On this occasion, as he hadn’t scored himself, Giuseppe merely modified his anguish at being denied into arms-raised joy at going two up after all. But, last time out, he was at it again with the coccyx abuse, after he’d slotted home beautifully, left-footed, to equalise against the Wendies. It was now obvious that this potentially painful celebration was not just a Bournemouth one-off. The nutter clearly intends to do it every time – and I’m very much afraid that disaster is inevitable; especially when the ground gets harder as the nights draw in.

Somebody needs to have a word with the lad. He’s a cult hero already, right up there with our superb, panther-like goalie Silvestri. He’d be a big loss to the team if he went and did himself a mischief the next time he provides a world-class finish. There must be other, perhaps more elegant ways of letting off some steam after notching. Hasselbaink’s half-baked cartwheel used to trouble me slightly, but it was nowhere near athletic enough to pose much of a risk to the scorer. Something ebullient, but safe – that’s what we’re really looking for here.

Perhaps if anybody with Darko’s ear (or even access to the Sheriff himself) reads this, then they might make a subtle suggestion that a bit more caution could be observed? After all, such a crunching jolt might not only imperil this valuable player’s coccyx – he might even end up biting his bloody tongue off, or wrenching something vital in the abdominal region. Such thoughts can bring tears to the eyes, and cause a troubled shadow to cloud the brow, of even the strongest fan.

Obviously, in the heat of the moment, it’s not easy to restrain the joy of scoring for Leeds. I can well believe that’s the case. But it’s frankly painful to watch one of our heroes risking his mobility and wellbeing in quite such a cavalier fashion and, if that’s how he is going to celebrate every time he scores – well, quite frankly, I’d rather leave the goal-getting to Noel Hunt, Steve Morison or, slightly more realistically, Silvestri himself.

Fellow Leeds fans, I kid you not.

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Mail Exclusive: “LUFC Owner Cellino is Clone of Saddam” – by Rob Atkinson

Posted on 05/10/2014 | 22 comments

In a story that will rock the football world for its breathtaking lack of any supporting material, the Daily Heil can reveal that Massimo Cellino, previously supposed to be an Italian corn billionaire, is in fact a genetic mutation of executed tyrant Saddam Hussain. It is further thought – although this publication has seen no actual evidence – that the purchase of Leeds United in 2012 was funded entirely through secret funds generated by the proceeds of the sale of Weapons of Mass Destruction, transported clandestinely aboard Cellino’s evil yacht, Nélie.

Whilst the Heil is unable to prove any of these cast-iron facts, we are quite happy to go into print with them. We strongly believe that slurs and smears against Leeds United – fabricated and groundless though they may be – are firmly in the realm of public interest journalism, as per the best tradition of our current proprietors and their card-carrying Nazi forerunners.

Now it is firmly established, beyond any reasonable figment of our sports editor’s imagination, that Leeds as a club is owned by the living clone of Saddam and funded by the proceeds of his evil if non-existent WMD, we at the Heil are calling upon the gentlemen of the Football League to act – and to act now. Leeds United has for too long been a stain on our national game – although this publication has seen no evidence of this. Nevertheless, the continued existence of Leeds reflects badly on the Football League and its venerable administrators and officials, money-launderers, jailed tycoons and convicted rapists.

Your super, soaraway Heil will not rest until the Son of Saddam and his vile crew have been dispatched to the nethermost pit of Hell where they most assuredly belong – although this publication has seen no evidence of this.

Paul Dacre is the holder of the Iron Cross.

22 Comments

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We need to talk about Ivan

Posted on 02/10/2014 | 11 comments

There’s a growing discomfort over Camoron’s continual references to his late son; a feeling that the motivation is political, a mawkish attempt to shame opponents out of criticising his unelected government’s NHS and Disability Rights policies; “How dare you suggest I’d harm the NHS or Disability Benefits, I had a disabled child etc etc”. Here is that discomfort, brilliantly articulated by Alex on Sturdyblog. It’s painful reading, but I think he’s spot on with this.

I hope as many as possible actually do read it. If this man really is unscrupulous enough to use his dead child in an attempt to immunise himself from criticism in areas where he’s presiding over a great deal of harm and the infliction of massive hardship and misery – then it needs to be brought into the open. Just so that we know what kind of man the arrogant Etonian boy and Oxford Bullingdon Club member became. Because this is evil on a scale even Thatcher didn’t achieve.

sturdyblog's avatarsturdyblog

I beg your indulgence. Resist the urge to take the understandable, but impetuous, position that a dead child should not be the subject of conversation in any context. Hear me out.

Ivan Reginald Ian was born in April 2002. He was diagnosed with Ohtahara Syndrome – a rare and debilitating combination of cerebral palsy and epilepsy. After an all-too-brief life of six years, Ivan died at St Mary’s in Paddington in 2009. Ivan was six. He was also the son of the soon-to-be Prime Minister, David Cameron.

I remember vividly the first time I felt an uncomfortable knot in my stomach about Ivan. I was thumbing through a copy of the Guardian and came across an article in which Cameron explained how his experience with Ivan had given him a passion and love for the NHS and the professionals within it. It was accompanied by this picture:

And then, a…

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What a Weekend! The Thrashing of Huddersfield from the Leeds United SkyBet Box – by Rob Atkinson

Posted on 25/09/2014 | 45 comments
View from the Top

View from the Top

Now that the dust has settled on my “Weekend Mirabilis” of a few days back – now that the successive hangovers have lifted and the blood pressure has reverted to its former levels of merely mildly unhealthy – now, at last, I can take the time to reflect on what was 48 hours of almost unadulterated pleasure and exultation, something very rare in the life of any Leeds United fan.

The bare bones of this orgy of enjoyment are that Leeds United thrashed Huddersfield Town 3-0 on the Saturday and then, having departed on a well-earned seaside break after returning from Elland Road, I was able to watch the once-mighty man u, the Pride of Devon themselves, comically throw away a two-goal lead not once but twice, as they salvaged a 3-5 defeat from the jaws of victory at Leicester.  Not at all a bad weekend, you’d have to agree. But that, gentle reader, is not even the half of it.

A few days prior to Huddersfield’s Humbling, with my mind on matters no higher than nettle clearance in the lower field at Atkinson Towers, I received an email out of the blue from a gentleman named Ross Watson, representing SkyBet, who were running a promotion of their Transfer Fund at Elland Road for the United v Town match. The Transfer Fund offers the chance for registered Leeds fans to win £5,000 for themselves as well as a transfer jackpot of £250,000 for Leeds United, with every £1 bet earning a token which then goes into a draw. It’s one of those “you’ve got to be in it to win it” things; the more bets made by a fan of any Football League club, the more chance there is of that club – and some lucky fan – benefiting as above. It’s easy to register, and there is the dual attraction of a flutter on your team, together with the additional chance of winning big and helping your club – even, potentially, with a losing bet.

As if that’s not enough to recommend SkyBet, they’ve also had the immense good taste to read and enjoy this blog; hence the email from Ross who was very kindly inviting me along to the Leeds v Huddersfield game to watch the match from a corporate box in the East Stand (less than fondly known as the “Delph Shelf” by Leeds fans, all too well aware of where the money came from to fit it out in such resplendent style). Furthermore, there was a three-course meal and complimentary bar, the genial company of Sky’s “Mr Deadline Day”, Jim White, the enticing possibility of meeting fellow bloggers and various celebs – and I could bring a guest.  So Mrs Rob got a day out, too.

My experience is that, when a thing appears too good to be true, it’s normally because it’s not true. My first reaction, then, was a slightly less than gracious “what’s the catch” – but I am here to record for posterity that there was no catch and that the occasion delivered beyond my wildest dreams.

Considering that I’ve always had an innate suspicion of the corporate box experience – blame my proletarian roots for that – and that I’ve always been instinctively hostile to the kind of people I imagined I’d meet in such bastions of privilege, the day was a revelation from the start. It hasn’t cured me of yearning for the return of the terraces, but it has introduced me to a more comfortable way of watching football, one more appropriate to my age, perhaps, if not my wallet. Not having to spend a bean all day certainly did appeal to the parsimonious Yorkshireman in me – and let’s face it, the result didn’t exactly harm my prospects of enjoying the experience.

But all that aside, my afternoon in East Stand Box 34 blew me away at least as much because of the sheer kindness of everybody, the smooth efficiency of the match-day staff, the absence of any snobbery (which I’d at least half-expected) and the novel feeling of being well looked-after – at a football match! For someone with a good few decades as a supporter behind him, and vivid memories of bricks at Millwall, police horses at Bradford and needing an oxygen tent at Sheffield – it was an eye-opener, alright.

From the very beginning, as we entered somewhat diffidently through the imposing East Stand portal, people simply couldn’t have been kinder or more friendly and considerate. A svelte blonde lady noted our names, issued our tickets and saw that we were conducted to level 4 by lift and then delivered to our plushly-appointed box. We were among the first to arrive, but gradually the room, dominated by a promising-looking dining table, filled up. I met Keith Ingham, frequent contributor to We All Love Leeds and his son Ryan, who has an article/parable in the current issue of The Square Ball; there was a heady mix of competition winners and dedicated bloggers present as the drinks kept on coming, sparking off a warm and friendly atmosphere while we anticipated what was to come.

All the way through the afternoon, I was struck by the lack of any awkwardness, the relaxed and convivial atmosphere, where I had thought there might be a certain stuffed-shirt flavour to proceedings. Nothing of the sort – just smiley happy people everywhere as liquid hospitality was absorbed along with the gathering atmosphere of a crowd approaching 30,000. We weren’t insulated from that inspiring sound either, the crowd noise was a welcome accompaniment to the friendly chat in the box. And then dinner was served; sorry Mr Keane, not a prawn sandwich in sight. It was Yorkshire Pud to start for me, as befits. A “Duo of Chicken” was the #LLUUE main course of choice and then a welcome slab of trifle. A few bottles of wine rounded things off along with coffee and mints. It was what Lord Snooty in the Beano used to call a toothsome tuck-in, and as far from anything I’d ever experienced at Elland Road before as it is possible to get. All we needed now was for the match to go well for our heroes in White…

Well, the rest, as you know, is history. The three peaks of the actual football part of the afternoon left me reassured as to exactly how the other half support. Again, I’d wondered if the atmosphere would be diluted, if the joy of seeing the ball hit the back of the opposition’s net would, in some way, be lessened by such rarefied surroundings. Not a bit of it. The seats were ridiculously comfortable; all the easier to jump out of them as first Austin, then Antenucci and finally Doukara hit the heights for Leeds. Once the action was under way, we felt as much a part of the crowd as I’d ever known; alright, there was no swaying and rib-crushing as with those dear old seventies Kop days and evenings, but equally there was no sense of detachment, no feeling of being divorced from the action. It was as enjoyable a match-watching experience as I can remember, aided of course by the decisive margin of victory and the fact that the away fans were hating every minute of it. But there was so much more to the whole afternoon than just the match.

At half time, I went into the main concourse – and immediately met Terry Yorath, one of the Revie glory boys and as approachable and friendly as you could wish. And, as if to confirm the other-wordliness of it all, there too was Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the USS Enterprise, sporting a Huddersfield Town badge on this occasion, in place of his more usual Starfleet one. For once, he was the alien in this situation. I wandered by, shields up, phaser on stun. Huddersfield were being assimilated; resistance was futile.

After the match, there was no hurry to leave. I had the chat I’d promised myself with Jim White, gently upbraiding him on his efforts to stir up interest in Ross McContract on the last deadline day but one, the night that Big Mass got barricaded inside Elland Road. It all seems so long ago now, with Ross44 gone and unlamented – and Mr White was all polished affability, flashing a smile that matched his hair for megawatt brilliance. “Aye, 11 million you got for him in the end? Extraordinary!” Indeed.

After the free bar, the good company, the sumptuous meal, the fantastic Leeds United performance and the chance to mingle and chat with some of the great and the good – the best was still to come. We were all gathered in a happy knot in the box, finishing off drinks, chatting and celebrating – when one of our number pointed out that Massimo Cellino himself was just a few boxes down from us, holding court for the Sky reporters. Emboldened by the occasion (and by the red wine), a few of us negotiated the metal barriers between boxes – and there we were, shaking hands with il Presidente, asking for and being granted selfies with the Sheriff, smiling and laughing with the one and only driver of the Leeds United bus. For a Leeds fan who has suffered along with thousands of others for the greater part of this century as well as a goodly chunk of the last one, it was like a dream – something I could scarcely have envisaged when I was digging up nettles just a few short days before.

Regrets? I have a few. Well, just one really. It was a shame that my good friend Andy Gregory, owner of the excellent We All Love Leeds blog, couldn’t make it along, due to holiday commitments. I know he’d have loved every minute of it, too. Characteristically, he made sure that his loss was someone else’s gain and Keith and Ryan, both contributors to the great body of Leeds United reportage, deservedly reaped the benefit. By Saturday evening, heading for the Mysterious East (Filey), I honestly thought that the weekend had given me all it possibly could – I was just looking forward to a few days’ relaxation to treasure my memories and “chillax”, as the young people say. But then came Leicester City to make my Sunday a cause for celebration too, and precipitate a second consecutive hangover. Corporate box or no corporate box, it’s tough at the top.

Thanks, in no particular order, to Leeds United, Leicester City, Huddersfield Town, man u, SkyBet, Massimo Cellino, Jim White and his lovely partner Katie, Ross Watson, the guy called Dave whose surname I didn’t catch, Keith & Ryan Ingham and the rest of the Box 34 fraternity, my wife who got me the Cellino signed programme and the SkyBet Football League pin badge, Terry Yorath and the kind and hard-working catering staff in the Elland Road East Stand.  You’ve all made an old fan very happy – and that makes a very refreshing change.

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Steve Clarke for Leeds? Yes Please! – by Rob Atkinson

Posted on 29/08/2014 | 42 comments
Steve Clarke - next up for United hot-seat?

Steve Clarke – next up for United hot-seat?

Rumours are growing and becoming more solid by the minute that Steve Clarke, former manager of West Brom and before that assistant to Jose Mourinho at Chelsea and Kenny Dalglish at Liverpool, is currently “in dialogue” with Leeds United regarding the newly vacant Head Coach position at Elland Road. A quick trawl through the saner end of the Leeds Twitter newsfeed reveals that this would be a highly popular appointment. This blog shares that opinion, and will be getting extremely drunk in celebration – should Cellino be able to pull off such a coup.

Make no mistake, Steve Clarke ticks all the boxes for “ideal appointment” under the current regime in LS11. Well used to the role of Head Coach and apparently happy and comfortable with that title, Clarke’s coaching credentials and club pedigree are impeccable and command respect. In our current position, Leeds United could hardly ask more or better than someone who has worked well and successfully with the Special One, not to mention the legend that is Dalglish. Along with the apparently “imminent” (God, how I hate that word) signing of Adryan, the appointment of Clarke would salvage a hell of a lot out of what has been a miserable time for the Whites since a slightly fortuitous win over Middlesbrough.

The buzz around the internet over the past couple of days has been that Cellino simply has to get this next appointment right. It’s very difficult to argue with that assessment; there is a season to be rescued and some faith and belief to be restored among the most important people of all: the Leeds United supporters. In Steve Clarke, Cellino might just be looking at the candidate who could form the cornerstone of his reign as President/Sheriff/Duce of Yorkshire’s premier club. If there’s a definite chance of getting Clarke, where else should he realistically look?? Massimo should move heaven and earth to secure this man for Leeds.

For Clarke himself, Leeds could be the kind of club that offers him a real chance of becoming a living legend. Get United back to the top, and he’ll be revered as the Messiah, remembered forever. It’s that kind of club, with that kind of support. If he’s as sensible as I hope and trust he is, he’ll nail down the terms of reference for his role at the club before he signs anything. It seems he’s better as a coach than as a spotter of transfer targets; Clarke and Salerno could just be the dream ticket under President Cellino.

Please, please – make this happen. It feels right, it sounds right. It hits the back of the net as the most goal-bound rumour I’ve ever wanted to emerge as a fact. Clarke – one nil!!

Let’s keep our fingers crossed.

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Crocodile Tears from Lineker and Stelling Won’t Fool Leeds Fans – by Rob Atkinson

Posted on 29/08/2014 | 36 comments
Gary "Wingnut" Lineker

Gary “Wingnut” Lineker

What have Gary Lineker and Jeff Stelling got in common? Well, they’re both engaging chaps who front popular football programmes on the telly; they have both developed a “style” – for want of a better word – designed to endear them to the less demanding fans out there – and, most recently, they have both taken out an onion and wept tears of breathtaking falseness over what they sincerely hope is the impending demise of Leeds United.

Lineker is the latest incarnation of Match of the Day man, presiding over the ongoing popularity of a football highlights programme with fifty years of variable quality behind it. It was under his stewardship that one of the programme’s less glorious deeds was perpetrated when, in the wake of S’ralex’s long-overdue retirement from the Theatre of Hollow Myths, the programme put together a montage of managerial greats, with the Purple-Nosed One at the head of the parade, natch. This item was notable to real students of the game for its studied failure to even mention the name of the greatest club manager of all, Sir Don Revie. It was a tawdry attempt to reinvent history and appeal in the most insidious and deceitful fashion to the vast army of the programme’s viewers out there who “all hate Leeds” – but couldn’t tell you why, beyond a mumbled “….well, me Dad hated ’em, like…” Complaints to the BBC elicited nothing more than that cowardly corporation’s usual bland, patronising stonewall response – and Lineker did nothing other than essay his well-practised boyish grin, which apparently has middle-aged women the nation over suddenly needing a change of undies.

Now Lineker’s Twitter account states that he “genuinely feels for Leeds fans”. He clearly feels the need to qualify his sincerity by use of that word “genuinely” – that’s a sign of someone talking about someone or something on which they’d normally waste no finer feelings. But Gary feels “the heart has been torn out of the club”, hence his crocodile tears. Well, we’ll wait until the next time Match of the Day needs to revisit the managerial greats issue, thanks, and see if you’ve actually learned anything – no breath will be held.

Stelling: Countdown to hypocrisy

Stelling: Countdown to hypocrisy

Jeff Stelling is a sort of semi-comic front man for Sky’s Soccer Saturday programme, where one of his chief delights is to let a few seconds of tension build up for Leeds fans out there in TV land, before delivering a hammer blow with news of another goal against us – all with that trademark smug smirk on his gob. Now he, too, has chosen to sob publicly about his anguish over the Leeds situation. Jeff clearly thinks no small beans of himself – part of his counterfeit yet tear-stained lament includes the telling phrase “On the field, it is a total shambles with unknown player after unknown player coming into the club – I defy Leeds fans to say they have heard of them because I certainly haven’t – and it looks like it is going to be a terrible, terrible season”. Overlooking for a moment the fierce hope detectable in those last few words, it’s amusing to see that Stelling is so sure that, if he’s never heard of a player, then no Leeds fan can possibly have heard of him either. That’s some ego, for a Hartlepool fan. Unbelievable, Jeff! If he were to cast his mind back, Stelling might possibly reflect on who, exactly, had heard of Patrick Vieira before he signed for Arsenal – or Jimmy Floyd Hasselbaink (Leeds), Eric Cantona (Sheffield Wendies on trial), and so on and so forth. Mr Stelling should, perhaps, wind his neck in a little and admit the possibility that he is not the fount of all football wisdom – except, maybe, when compared to Paul “I fink he’s only got free goals all season, Jeff” Merson. The Sky front-man’s expert opinion is that Leeds are doomed to relegation this season. Wishful thinking, Jeff?

When times are hard and you’re not all that popular to begin with, then you should expect wolves in sheep’s clothing, people who will smile and smile and be villains, well-meaning types who will sidle around behind as if to pat you on the back, before slipping a knife between your ribs. Leeds United and Leeds fans should be familiar from past experience with all of these unsavoury types, and their crocodile tears and weasel words should not fool us now. Just wait for better times to roll around, and the soft sawder and treacly syrup of ersatz sympathy will disappear like a ghost at cock-crow – it’ll be all open nastiness and overt bitching again. And do you know? I actually prefer it that way, so please bring it on.

We’re Leeds United, we hate to be pitied and we love to be hated. Your hate is what makes us stronger, after all – so please forget all the bovine ordure Gary and Jeff – let’s get back to normal eh? As soon as you like, there’s good chaps.

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It’s a League Cup Tale of Two Uniteds as Minnows Progress – by Rob Atkinson

Posted on 28/08/2014 | 54 comments
Matt Smith - scored for Leeds to momentarily cause despair among the Gobshite Tendency

Matt Smith – scored for Leeds to momentarily cause despair among the Gobshite Tendency

To be more accurate, it was a tale of two alleged Uniteds – plus one City and what might politely be termed a franchise as Milton Keynes Dons and Bradford City saw off the ‘disuniteds’ of Manchester and Leeds respectively. On the face of it, the similarities in the two cases are striking.  The Pride of Devon were condemned by English football’s only even more plastic club to a pre-Christmas period of plain and simple League fare, unrelieved by any spicy Cup-tie delicacies. They must concentrate on recovering, under new management, from a wobbly start to that bread-and-butter marathon, and forget all about knock-out glamour until it’s time to get knocked out of the FA Cup.

Leeds have likewise been dragged down to the level of that other United from ovver t’hills. They, too, will be stuck with repairing a dodgy league position until the new year rolls around. They, too, are in transition, rebuilding under a new regime. But there the similarities end – in terms of the manner in which the two Uniteds departed this season’s League Cup competition, anyway. Leeds, for the umpteenth time this season, were reduced to ten men, due on this occasion to foolhardy rashness on the part of Luke Murphy, who gave the ref every opportunity to brandish a second yellow. Murphy let down his team-mates, his coach and indeed his club, all of whom were relying on a united performance. The remaining ten stalwarts delivered though, and in the end Leeds were somewhat unfortunate to lose, as was pointed out by coach Hockaday afterwards – to depressingly predictable storms of social media abuse – about which more anon.

Man U, for their part, had no dismissals to cope with. They were simply out-played, out-fought, out-thought, thrashed out of sight by a team nominally two leagues inferior. Their much-vaunted manager, the former World Cup coach of the Netherlands, left out some supposed big-hitters, despite the lack of European distractions. Man U contributed in full measure to their own downfall, but the wretched MK Dons, a club whose origins leave the nastiest of nasty tastes in the mouth, nevertheless thoroughly deserved their crushing victory.

So the two Uniteds are no more, in this Cup competition at least. Life and the League Cup will go on without them, though there will be a few regrets on all sides about a third round draw that could have been a Roses clash at the Theatre of Hollow Myths, or which could have seen either minnow land a big fish instead of nibbling away at each other. Such is Cup football.

What remains to be said, other than that, in summary, Leeds were slightly unlucky and Man U got exactly what they deserved? Well, quite a bit, actually.

I’ve been rather quiet this season so far, due to some family health problems and various other slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, all of which – I’m glad to say – are being properly addressed. But I’ve still been keeping an eye on things, shaking my head gloomily at times, brightening up at bits of exciting transfer news at other times – and tut-tutting away as a middle-aged fan who remembers better times is wont to do. It’s been quite a good and exciting season, really – except for those pesky occasions when some fool has blown a whistle and we’ve actually tried to play a game of football. Big mistake, that. But the over-riding impression of this season so far, for me anyway, has been the clatter and clash of bandwagons being jumped on, over and over again, by far too many people who really should know a lot better.

The people I’m talking about, for the most part, manifest themselves in social media – Twitter being a particular offender in this respect. Some alleged Leeds United fans out there need to take a long, hard look at themselves after some of the unprecedented abuse being heaped on the head of a man in Dave Hockaday who is totally unable to defend himself and has managed to weather an ongoing storm with what can only be described as impeccable dignity. Hockaday has copped for the lot, from school playground stuff like the oh-so-clever plays on his name (Whackaday, Hockalot, Shockaday – and all the other dismally unfunny variants), to far more serious abuse from the kind of people who feel free to say what they like from what they gleefully feel to be safely unaccountable positions. I’ve seen fans freely expressing a hope that we would lose at Bradford, so that Hockaday might be sacked. Some of the bile and spleen vented has been utterly disgusting and degrading; some has been frankly laughable. The other day, there was a veritable Twitter-storm because Hockaday mentioned that Leeds would “inevitably” be back in the Champions League some day. He expressed a desire to be involved in that. And the world and his scabby dog seemed to join in an unseemly scramble to pour contempt on those innocent and sincere words.

Now, just imagine. What if Hockaday had faced the interviewer’s mike and had said “There’s not an earthly of Leeds ever getting into Europe again, not unless there’s a war. As for the Champions League – don’t make me laugh. And if they did, well – I wouldn’t want any part of it. Stuff that for a game of soldiers!” Would he have been applauded for his disarming frankness? Would the various social media have been abuzz with praise for his words of wisdom? No, of course they bloody wouldn’t. The fans would be outraged at such defeatist nonsense, and quite right too. So why go for the guy’s jugular when he expresses the naked ambition and belief in a brighter future that should be burning hot in any true fan’s heart? It makes no sense, and it reflects even less credit on those who, mindlessly sheep-like, follow the masses onto that overloaded bandwagon. For heaven’s sake, it’s nothing less than pathetic. And it grieves me to say this – but after what’s been said and written lately, I’m thoroughly ashamed of many, many Leeds fans right now.

It’s already been the same in the wake of the Bradford defeat. A few saner souls have pointed out that Murphy was an idiot getting himself sent off, that we battled well for an hour when a man down, took the lead and were only undone by a worldie and then a crap header that zipped through our keeper’s legs. AND we should have had a penalty when Poleon was taken out by the keeper – no, don’t listen to Don Goodman, he’s rabidly anti-Leeds and spouts nonsense. So, a few have broken the ranks of the silent majority – and they’ve highlighted the positives of the Bradford match. But many, many more of that knee-jerk faction of jerks have simply resorted to more abuse, more insults, more demands for the sacking of a guy who’s been there five minutes, and has spent that short time coping with the least helpful circumstances imaginable. That’s disgusting, ridiculous and completely unforgivable.

I’m old enough to remember demonstrations in the West Stand car-park when the fans had had enough and wanted Adamson Out, or on another occasion, Eddie Gray Back. I’ve seen little if any of that this time around. It’s mainly those big, brave Twitter types, sniping away from the safe anonymity of their keyboards, pouring their brainless vitriol onto the head of a man who probably will be gone soon, and who should, anyway, probably walk of his own accord – because he’s up against more than the opposition in the other dressing room every day of his working life. I’ll not comment on whether he’s a good enough coach – there hasn’t been the time or the proper circumstances in force to make a reliable judgement on that. But the players seem to like him – and aren’t they the best ones to ask, normally?

Back to the Bradford game. Once Luke “Stupid Boy” Murphy signed his own dismissal warrant, there were three possible objectives for Leeds United. In ascending order of importance, least important first: get to the next round of the Cup. OK, we didn’t make it, so what. We weren’t far off, in the end. Secondly; secure local bragging rights. I’d argue we managed that, making a good fist of a rearguard action against a spirited and motivated Bradford, and taking the lead against those formidable odds. Relative to the Man U debacle, we’ve no need to be ashamed of the effort and commitment of our ten warriors at Bradford. But the most important objective was to use an adverse situation to kick-start the bonding and gelling of this new group, under a new coach. The hour of battle against superior numbers in a hostile atmosphere will have gone a long way towards getting that process under way – and that really IS important, with the vast bulk of this nascent season still ahead of us.

In truth, I’m sick of the current situation, sick of the poisonous atmosphere in that odd virtual world, which is so much less apparent in the more old-fashioned world where fans still go to the match and get behind the shirts – I’m sick to death of so many of Leeds United’s yappier, dafter and more deluded fans – a vociferous but less than cerebral group I can only describe, rather impolitely, as the Gobshite Tendency. It’s a toxic mix, for anyone who loves the club, and I really am less than happy with it right now – so I shall return for the time being to looking after my family and parents as they struggle with real problems, far more intimidating than the daft footballing ones which seem to provoke such nastiness in some people. I’ve had enough, for the moment. So, as on a few occasions before, I shall take refuge in the past. I’ll write some nostalgia pieces, starting with one I promised a while back to my good mate Andy Gregory, of the excellent “We All Love Leeds” blog. We beat Southampton 7-0 in that one – but if Twitter had been around then, I’m sure there’d have been some eejits moaning that it should have been eight or nine and calling for the Don to be sacked. Just now, it really is that daft and annoying.

So – see you back in the Seventies, maybe. 

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Ian Holloway: the Acceptable Face of Gutter Club Millwall – by Rob Atkinson

Posted on 10/08/2014 | 28 comments
Holloway: voice of reason

Holloway: voice of reason

We’ve got it over with early this season – our annual trip to the murky bowels of Bermondsey, wherein resides the most singularly awful football club, with the most viciously depraved and uncivilised fans, anywhere outside of Istanbul. Yes, we’ve been there and done that for another year at least – it’s a safe bet that everywhere else we visit, with the possible exception of Huddersfield, will seem like the acme of culture and class by comparison with the degrading experience that is Millwall.

Over the past few seasons, the menu has hardly varied. For starters, a few dribbling morons scattered around their soulless Meccano stadium, Turkish flags waving, idiot leers on ugly faces as they parade their specially-purchased Galatasaray replica shirts. Then the main course of rancid chanting, as the assembled cretins rejoice in the murder of two football fans far from home, over 14 years ago. And for dessert, an insipid performance from our own heroes, who should really be inspired into a defiantly effective performance by such naked hostility, but who seem instead more inclined to surrender meekly.

Then, usually, instead of coffee and After Eight mints, it’s some piteous, whining self-justification and excuses from Millwall staff who wish to avoid criticism of their club for the abject behaviour of its ape-like supporters. By and large, it’s not a good day out for Leeds fans down Bermondsey way.

This season, though, there has been a refreshing change. Most of the pre-ordained programme of events proceeded pretty much as described above – with a slight shift of emphasis from celebrating death to rejoicing over sexual abuse – but the post-match reaction differed from previous years, in one significant and encouraging respect. Ian Holloway, the Millwall manager and a man worthy of admiration both for his achievements and for his freely-expressed and pungent views on the game, actually came out and condemned the rabble that hang like a millstone around the neck of anyone trying to create a better image for the Lions. Reacting to the home fans’ chants about Jimmy Savile (chants that the more self-righteous Millwall fans probably think represent an improvement on the usual ones about Turks and knives), Holloway said:

“I don’t think the chants were right because they’re disrespecting [Savile’s victims]. What he did is an absolute disgrace. Let’s stop and think about what he has actually done, yeah?”

“That’s the most important thing and we don’t see it. ‘Oh it’s a bit of banter’. It isn’t funny, is it? I don’t think so. Nobody likes a laugh more than me but I’m respectful, and that’s what I’m trying to show to Leeds United. They’re a great club, they come here with so many fans and want to be treated the same as anybody else.”

This represents such a departure from what we had come to expect of the Millwall apologists in previous seasons, that you almost have to pinch yourself and read it twice. We’re so used to standard fare of sickeningly tasteless chanting from the Lions’ tiny but viciously-warped home crowd, with obligatory excuses to follow as night follows day, that such a refreshingly honest and candid reaction comes as a massive – albeit pleasant – surprise, even allowing for Holloway’s track record of honesty, common sense and straight talking. The Lions boss went on to say:

“It is a really, really important issue if football supporters think they can go into a ground and sing songs about someone who has had a crash and aren’t here anymore, how disrespectful is that?”

“It goes against what football is about and to me that is obscene. That brings football into disrepute. I’ve been fined for disrepute by the FA God knows how many times. But I try and get people to be respectful and that’s all I want to say.”

“I’ve said it before the game ‘please come to the game, please enjoy yourself, go home safely and here we go let’s have a look at how good our team is’. Surely that’s the way forward.”

Holloway concluded his remarks by referring to Leeds United again as “a great club”, something guaranteed to stick in the craw of any chip-on-the-shoulder home fan. “They’ve got so many fans,” he said. “If I had a chance, I’d have a beer with one or two of them if I could.” That’s a sentiment likely to be reciprocated by many of United’s following, for whom the usual bitterness of defeat at this unwelcoming venue will have been sweetened somewhat by such welcome remarks from the architect of our downfall.

It’s undeniably good to get the Millwall experience over with so early in the piece, and to move swiftly on to the rest of what promises to be a long, hard season for Leeds United. But wherever we might travel during the remainder of the marathon Championship campaign, we’re unlikely to encounter such frankness and candour as Ian Holloway treated us to after this New Den encounter. It’s to be hoped that enough of his club’s fans will listen to and understand what he has said, to maybe make a difference as and when this fixture rolls around again. That has to be doubtful; but the fact that the Lions now have a man in charge who will not subscribe to the usual mealy-mouthed platitudes expressed by his predecessors on other such inauspicious occasions – that has to bode well for the prospects of introducing some primitive level of civilisation to what is a deeply flawed football club with a body of support to match.

Well, anyway – we can always hope. Thanks, Ian – you’re a gentleman. 

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Goalden Boy Billy Sharp: Bound for Leeds United at Last? – by Rob Atkinson

Posted on 08/08/2014 | 34 comments
...and you'd do for Leeds, mate

…and you’d do for Leeds, mate

The article that follows first saw light of day last September, when it seemed possible that Billy Sharp might be a loan-window option for Leeds. Sadly, it didn’t happen – but as the text shows, I was all for it at the time. Now, the Sharp to Leeds rumours are back, and stronger than ever. Could Leeds United finally get their man – the right man to provide the goals we’ll surely need in the season ahead?

Never one to get carried away by mere Twitter rumours, I am nevertheless fairly happy not to say excited at the loan window prospect – however remote – of Leeds United signing Southampton’s Billy Sharp, who spent most of last season on loan at Forest, but who certainly deserves a bigger move than that.

This is one that’s been mentioned in the past, and it’s always seemed like a good fit for all parties concerned, yet it’s never quite happened.  At first glance, Billy does seem an unlikely striker signing for United – he’s only 27 for a start, and we have historically looked to the superannuated end of the market – though things have improved in this respect under Brian McDermott.  And he scores goals.  My, does he score goals.  At Championship level, he’s a pretty reliable provider of that most valuable and sought-after commodity.  Billy Sharp just loves to hit the back of the net.

Any player – and most especially any striker – joining Leeds United needs to have one quality over and above the obviously desirable playing skills, fitness and application.  He needs to be strong-minded, a good character who’s resilient enough to step up to the demands of playing for a very demanding and sometimes unforgiving crowd.  This is a test that’s been failed by some pretty decent-looking performers over the years.  Elland Road has been something of a graveyard for strikers who have arrived with big reputations, but have failed to deliver and have ended up slinking off, beaten and broken men, into anonymous obscurity – or even worse, in the tragic case of Billy Paynter, into the first team at Doncaster Rovers.

Billy Sharp though seems to be a man of different mettle.  It’s impossible to comprehend a more tragic and shattering blow for a parent than the death of a baby.  Sharp, and his girlfriend Jade, suffered this awful calamity in November 2011 and the striker could readily have been excused if he’d felt unable to play professional football in the immediate aftermath of such a shattering bereavement.  Yet a mere two days after the death of his baby son Luey, Sharp played against Middlesborough and scored a brilliant volley, raising his Doncaster shirt to reveal the message “That’s For You, Son” (Pictured above). Thankfully, a more than usually understanding referee decided not to book the emotional Sharp, when normally a yellow card would have been applicable. Such a very courageous and professional response to tragedy speaks of a very strong character indeed, and this would seem to be the type of man that many a club would seek to have among their playing staff, not only for footballing reasons, but for the example of courage in adversity that will be set by such amazing resilience and fortitude.

I don’t know if Sharp will end up in a Leeds United shirt, but I’d love it if he did. He’s demonstrably what people used to call “The Right Stuff”, and his goal-scoring credentials are fully in order too.  I could see him being a massive part of any play-off push this season, and really it’s good to be linked with any player of this character and calibre. Twitter rumours towards the end of last season said he’s “in talks and a deal looks likely”. Well, we know that these stories float about and are often without foundation, but they seem to be surfacing again – and it’s definitely a case of fingers crossed for this one.  It might just be a match made in heaven, and the kind of signing which could see us challenging for a long-overdue return to the top table of English football.

The sticking-point could be wages – Sharp is rumoured to be on £15000 a week at Southampton, and it’s likely that the Saints would be reluctant to subsidise any of this. Often though, doing a deal is all about reaching an agreeable compromise even when one party is initially unwilling to play ball.

So, almost a year on, the Billy Sharp story still refuses to go away. The equation seems simple enough; Leeds need a hit-man, Sharp wants to return to Yorkshire, he’s the right age, the price looks right – could it finally all come together??

Fingers crossed here.

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