Little Hammer FOUND!! But Where WAS HammersFan aka HF?? – by Rob Atkinson

The Bitch is back...

The Bitch is back…

Some of us in the blogging world have been concerned for the safety of this HF lad, despite the fact that he was always an irritating and yet consistent pain in the arse for fans of the clubs he obsessed over.  Leeds United (of course) was the jewel in his blogging crown; not content with his alleged West Ham blog “The Game’s Gone Crazy”, he operated a supplementary effort called – wait for it – “The Game’s Gone Crazier”, where he made weak jokes at the expense of football clubs that he, as a Hammers fan, felt threatened or diminished by.

But there’d been no word from him since February.  Not a peep.  Had he got a job, or a girlfriend – or was it something more sinister than that? What had happened to him?  Had he simply grown up?

But now he’s back, and as drearily predictable as ever.  Still – I’m glad no misfortune had overtaken him.  You’d have thought that, as with banging your head against a brick wall, it’d be nice when it stops. But that long, echoing silence was perturbing.  There was this sneaking worry that, against all parental advice, he’d gone along with a dodgy geezer from Plaistow to see some puppies, and had had his innocence cruelly snatched from him.

He’s actually a bit vague as to where he’s really been all this time; there’s just a couple of weak and unconvincing excuses relating to his alleged first love West ‘Am and also to his undoubted obsession Leeds United (inevitably the subject of his comeback piece).  So: does anybody have any idea what really happened? Was it something to do with juvenile court, or has he been busy knocking doors for the UKIP Youth?  Had he, perhaps, been abducted by illegal aliens and incarcerated somewhere near the New Den?  Or had he just been cheeky to a teacher or a constable – and had his dongle taken off him for the duration?

I’ll be going back to ignoring his drivel now I know he’s still alive and dicking. But curiosity compels me to try and clear up this mystery of what caused his long silence.  Can any ‘Appy ‘Ammer shed some light?

Cellino Needs to Understand the Meaning of “We Are Leeds” – by Rob Atkinson

We Are Leeds

We Are Leeds

Massimo Cellino continues to divide opinion among fans of Leeds United as he goes about assessing the nature and extent of the undoubted mess behind the scenes at Elland Road.  He appears to be a decisive sort of bloke, to say the least.  Draconian, even – just how severe and ruthless he can be we will probably see in the not too distant future.

Right now, his work has hardly begun.  But, early days though these are, it’s proper and relevant to wonder about Cellino’s long-term aims.  Part of this longer-term view has to involve the question of whether or not the King of Corn knows exactly what he’s bought into.  What would constitute success for Leeds United?  After all, the club has been out of the spotlight for well over a decade.  Surely, expectations are on a whole different level from the days when the club was at the forefront of the game?

One school of thought is that for any owner to buy into a limited view of the potential of Leeds would be a big mistake.  After all, Cellino hasn’t acquired a Leicester City here, nor even a Newcastle United a West Ham or a Sheffield Wednesday. These are all clubs whose fans will happily accept membership of the Premier League, albeit two-thirds of the way or so down the modern pecking-order.  At Elland Road, the club anthem is “Marching On Together” – but a shorter, more tribally-assertive chant is heard with even greater regularity. “We Are Leeds”, it states – quite simply and without qualification.  In those three short words, the fans sum up the identity of a club that knows it’s out on a limb – and of those fans themselves, who expect such a massively loaded chant to be taken as confirmation, were any needed, that this is not just any club.

On the last two occasions that Leeds United has motored into the top flight, it has had a brief look around, settled in – and then taken over at the top.  It actually took longer for Revie’s troops to do this than it did for Wilko’s Warriors – but the Revie dynasty compensated by lasting longer.  In both cases though, there was a distinct lack of respect and trepidation as the Whites moved on up. There was no suggestion of timid apprehension. They came, they saw and, in due course, they conquered.

The top flight is, it almost goes without saying, a very different place these days – and not necessarily in a good way.  But the tradition of supporter expectation goes back a lot further at Leeds than it does at most other clubs. Some ostensibly big clubs have given up on the idea of ever being champions, and one allegedly massive outfit in the north-east has even acknowledged that winning trophies appears nowhere near the top of its agenda.  For that one-time giant, the balance sheet and the income that goes along with Premier League status is first, last and everything.  But what sort of message does that send out to the fans?  And could you see such a state of affairs being accepted at Leeds?

Whatever the contrast between the top-level environment now, as opposed to when Leeds United last breathed that rarefied air, the assumptions of the support upon attaining that level will be that the club will then set about finding the best and most effective way to the top.  It’s in the DNA of Leeds United fans to want to compete at the summit of things – and a dim view would be taken of any lowering of standards, any reduction of objectives. That begs the question of what is possible – and what kind of player will we be looking to attract?

At the top end of the Premier League, there now seems to be an acceptance that the player is King – and that those demanding egos will settle for nothing less than ever-increasing pampering and worship from clubs and fans alike. The ridiculous Yaya Touré “birthday” story is ample confirmation of that. Is that the kind of thing that Leeds United fans really want to see happening in the name of their club?  So the supplementary question to the main one of “What do we expect once promotion is achieved?” might well be: “Hang on – do we really want promotion at all??” Of course we bloody do!! – I hear you say, indignantly. And yet it would seem quite possible that, once promoted, our legacy of extravagant expectations could well be at odds with our characteristic, cynical suspicion of the kind of “flash” behaviour exhibited by Mr Touré – as well as by sundry other pampered, overpaid, out-of-touch egomaniacs in the self-proclaimed “Best League in the World”.

As you might have gathered, this blog finds itself in somewhat of a dilemma. The question of whether Cellino is sufficiently aware of the historical expectation levels associated with this club is one that has troubled me for a while.  It is quite possible that he might be looking at turning us into Premier League survivors-and-little-more, such as Newcastle.  That would be bad enough, at least on the face of it.  But what if he did then want to go the extra mile and get us up there into that top four?  It’s an almost impossible dream anyway; the competition would be hot and ludicrously expensive. But if we did make it – how would we, as fans, relate to the kind of players and egos that would inevitably then populate our first team squad?  Would we feel any connection with them at all?  Or would we long for the days of Jermaine Beckford (for the younger ones) or Gordon Strachan, or Billy Bremner (for the lucky and really lucky ones)?

Football is a competitive sport and, over time, you have to be aspirational; you have to be aiming higher.  In the case of Leeds United – whether Massimo Cellino is aware of this or not – you have to be aiming for the very top.  But now there is that baffling conundrum: in aiming for and reaching that summit -would we be mortgaging the very soul of the club?    Look at Manchester City – how on earth can the City fans, many of whom were visiting third tier outposts of the game not so long back, possibly relate to the fact that their best midfielder appears to have the mental processes of a four-year old?

Where Leeds United are right now – stuck in the league below the top one and about to embark, we must hope, on a rebuilding of the club – is a good place and the right time to be considering what we actually want for our club in the longer term.  It’s the right time and place, because what we demand now, in this comparatively normal and down-to-earth league, might just have an effect on where we end up in the next few years, depending upon the readiness of Cellino to listen.  And what this comes down to is that old saw “Be careful what you wish for – you might get it”.

Does Cellino really know what “We Are Leeds” means, and the pride and ambition behind that raucously-assertive statement?  If he does – is he game for trying to get the club eventually back up to that old, accustomed place near the top of the game?  And if he actually manages that – in these new days of footballers with world-class talent, massive egos and wage packets, but tiny brains – would we end up thanking him for it?  Or might we instead damn him?

Just what do we want?  I feel that the answer might eventually lie in a radical restructuring of the game in this country, possibly on the German model of fan-owned clubs and a more affordable product for all – and almost certainly a FIFA-ratified wage cap that escapes the beady eye of the European pay commissars. That could take years and would certainly meet with stiff opposition from the current interested parties.  But that sounds to me much more like the kind of environment I’d like to see Leeds United promoted into. The current set-up invites along those ambitious enough to want merely to be cannon-fodder for the “big” clubs – the likes of Southampton and Leicester. Try as I might – I can’t see Leeds United, the club or the fans, wanting to settle for that as a way of life.

It’s a conundrum alright – ambition versus dissatisfaction with what we’re shooting for. I’d love to know what Massimo thinks, and what his understanding really is of the Leeds United mentality.  And I’d love to know what you think – so your views are, as ever, most appreciated.

EXCLUSIVE: New Toure Contract as City Say “Sorry, Yaya” – by Rob Atkinson

Touré in an incredible sulk

Touré in an incredible sulk

Desperate to deflect attention from talk of a sensational move for Ivory Coast midfielder Yaya Touré from Manchester City to Leeds United, the English champions have taken the unprecedented step of revealing proposed contract details to Life, Leeds United, the Universe & Everything”.

In a move calculated to appease their traumatised star, Manchester City have drawn up a new contract for Yaya Touré. The midfield powerhouse had been “hurt” by the club’s failure to say “Happy Birthday” as he celebrated that milestone 31st year. Touré, it is said, was grievously offended by the lack of respect, cake and a bouncy castle to mark such an important anniversary.

Anxious to placate their iconic superstar the Champions have moved fast to put together a new package which should keep Touré at the Etihad until he grows up. Despite hints from the player’s agent, Dimitri “Meerkat” Seluk, that his client might pout, cry and storm out of City, slamming the door, the club itself is guardedly optimistic that the new deal will be a tantrum-breaker.

The details of the proposed 4 year agreement are as follows:

  • £350,000 a week basic salary plus bonuses and a sweets allowance
  • Staff and players to line up before training and applaud Yaya every morning as he dons his personal training bib
  • Yaya to be wished a very happy birthday by all club employees by 8am on the morning of next and subsequent birthdays for term of contract – cake to be agreed year on year
  • Jelly and ice cream to be provided by club on Yaya’s birthday.  And balloons
  • Special Christmas “Santa” Clause:  Christmas will be marked by a special, gift-packed Christmas Stocking, to be left on the foot of his bed while he’s asleep by the manager dressed in a blue Father Xmas outfit. Christmas presents to be left under Yaya’s personal Christmas Tree at the Etihad, and staff will gather to watch him open them.  Christmas dinner will be turkey dinosaurs
  • Yaya will train as and when he sees fit, for which consideration he agrees not to have a tantrum or flounce out.  Training can be missed on any given morning upon receipt of a note from his mum

The new contract will remain on the table for the time being, as Yaya is off out to play with his mates in Brazil.  In the period before the contract is signed, all parties accept that Yaya will continue his present sulk, and that he will be pampered and cajoled as required until he is ready to be a good boy and sign on the dotted line.

Yaya Touré is 31 years and one week old.

 

Fear and Loathing in Monaco and Dubai as Cellino Goes Forensic? – by Rob Atkinson

Leeds United finances under intense scrutiny

Leeds United finances under intense scrutiny

The first thing you think when somebody reputed to be a billionaire – with annual income well into seven figures – takes over your beloved football club, is: brilliant; now we shall have the best of everything. No more poverty, no more crushingly-disappointing transfer windows.  We are back.

This being Leeds United, of course, it looks like it might not actually work out that way – at least, not at first.  The first order of business for Massimo Cellino is evidently to sort out the mess off the field.  And, from all accounts, what a hell of a mess it looks like it is.  Apparently, Massimo’s advisers have described the financial situation at Leeds United as ‘the worst mess they’ve ever seen at a football club’.  So, who says we’re not still the leaders in at least one field??

Still, that’s some going for a club that, over the past few years, has enjoyed some of the biggest commercial revenues of any outfit at this level, charged the highest ticket prices and still attracted among the highest attendances, appearing with monotonous regularity on TV. Yet this same club has paid out wages at somewhat under the top rate for the Championship, as well as displaying very little ambition in the transfer market – whilst selling some of its top talent on a depressingly regular basis.

So how has a club run along these lines managed to embroil itself in such utter fiscal chaos?  Where, exactly, is the gaping hole through which so much money every month is haemorrhaging away? You can point to certain peccadilloes of past regimes – the lavish re-upholstery of the East Stand, for instance, improving part of a stadium that the club doesn’t even own. There may be a certain reckless foolhardiness detectable there, especially if, as is rumoured, future season ticket revenues were mortgaged against the cost of what seems to have been a vanity project, to titivate a ground costing megabucks in annual rent.  The ultimate beneficiary of that has never been satisfactorily identified – but may not be entirely unrelated to certain craftily-advantageous financial arrangements centred around the Cayman Islands part of the world.

Even so, it’s difficult to see how the sums add up to such a distressingly appalling bottom line as has been hinted at by Cellino’s horror-struck people.  Small wonder, then, that the King of Corn is taking the step of recruiting “forensic accountants” to conduct a root and branch investigation.  The image thus conjured up of intense and focused, pale and determined men, poring over every scrap of paper and every byte of data remotely connected to Leeds United over the past decade or so, is actually rather a pleasing one.  Let’s face it, we all want answers – and they’ve been conspicuous by their absence at Elland Road this century.  Excuses we’ve had aplenty, together with some hollow boasts about how things are moving forward.  And yet here we are, in this parlous mess.  Something needs to be done, and Cellino is taking the forensic approach to doing it.

‘Forensic’ might loosely and unscientifically be interpreted as “leaving no stone unturned – and no rat untrapped”.  There are a few rats that immediately spring to mind who may very well be quivering in their lairs right now.  One such lair might better be described as a tax lair – the bolt-hole of a venerable old gentleman whose financial affairs mean that he must perforce spend the better part of every year – better for us, that is – in the sunny climes of southern France.  Does Master Bates have skeletons concealed in his closet?  Are they about to be yanked out and made to perform a Danse Macabre?  These ‘forensic’ types tend to wind up knowing exactly where the bodies are buried, and with a fair old clue as to how they got into that sadly moribund state. What revelations might they have to make concerning Uncle Ken and his Monaco closet?

Those “ten percent parasites” GFH might also be wriggling uneasily, wondering just what salient facts, which they would prefer to remain concealed, are about to be brought, glistening nastily, out into the cold and pitiless light of day.  What will be the story concerning the GFH input into Leeds United during their term as majority owners – as opposed to any financial benefit they may have extracted during that period?  As that excellent investigative organ Private Eye is always saying, we think we should be told – and it seems to be on the agenda that we might be.  And there is a lot of fascination, on the part of the fan in the street, regarding the nitty-gritty of just exactly how these preceding two sets of owners have conducted themselves – and at what cost to the football club and the football fans whose interests they supposedly had in safe-keeping.

Whatever the controversy of some of the measures currently being implemented by Cellino – and whatever the likelihood in the short term of more hard times ahead – it does appear that he is set on cleansing and re-inventing a club that, from all appearances, has been rotten from the top downwards for far too long now.  The Italian seems to have availed himself of pretty much the best legal team Euros can buy in his ultimately successful fight with the Football League to gain control of Leeds United.

Now, it appears that no expense will be spared in securing the services of the most effective accountants to wade through the murk of the financial situation at Elland Road.  Perhaps one day, this “only the best will do” approach might yet be applied to the recruitment of playing staff.  That’s the dream, after all, when you get a billionaire owner.

First things first, though.  From the revelations accumulating day on day, it would appear that the Leeds United edifice is not so much crumbling as dissolving away before our very eyes.  Cellino looks to be dealing with a structure that is on the edge of total collapse – and it’s understandable that this situation has to be addressed before any on-field luxuries can be contemplated – so it may well be a ticking-over season next time around.

That, of course, would be down to the competence and application of whatever players we end up with in the squad, as well as the motivational and coaching abilities of whatever manager is in charge next time around. Comparisons are usually invidious – but look what Sean Dyche and an unheralded Burnley squad did last season.  They had been tipped for relegation.

Things at Elland Road are looking so very unhealthy though, that the on-field issues might well take second place in the minds of United fans, to the even more burning issue of who has done this to us.  Who, when and how – not to mention why.  There are some glaringly-obvious suspects.  Maybe – just maybe – Massimo’s Meticulous Money Men will have them bang to rights before too long?

Whinging Bruce Can’t Take Shine off Arsenal Cup Triumph – by Rob Atkinson

Nice-guy Loser Bruce

Nice-guy Loser Bruce

Steve Bruce has this deceptive public image – he’s cultivated an on-screen interview demeanour which has convinced many that here is a nice, self-effacing guy. There’s a modest smile in there, or a resigned shrug, depending on how the match has gone for his team. There’s certainly none of the congested face with furious snarl surmounting a taut neck in which veins bulge with petulant fury – not these days. Perhaps the old boy’s blood pressure makes such displays inadvisable – he’s not as young as he used to be and, maybe, not in the best nick.

That Steve Bruce of old is well-remembered by Leeds fans who hold dear in their hearts the Whites’ Boxing Day 1995 beating of Man U at Elland Road. The breakthrough goal that day came from a rare penalty awarded against the Pride of Devon, duly converted with his usual classy panache by Gary MacAllister. But in the aftermath of the penalty award – a routine decision which would have been free of any controversy if it had been given against any other team – it was Steve the Bruce’s choleric reaction which grabbed the attention of onlookers from all sides. His face turned puce and seemed to swell until you feared the skin might split and pour blood and bile in equal measure onto the Elland Road pitch. He had to be restrained bodily from getting at the ref; the notion that he wanted to seize and throttle the official was hard to avoid. It took MacAllister himself to reduce Bruce’s temperature to below the critical meltdown mark – Scotland’s captain seemed to be reminding the England reject of the rules of the game where handling the ball in the area is concerned.

The guilty party, meanwhile, had slunk away without much protest at all. Nicky Butt had raised an arm and handled the ball – aside from his initial “hang on, you can’t give a pen against US” reaction, he seemed resigned that it was a fair cop. Only Bruce – and, after the match, Ferguson – had seriously seemed prepared to claim that what had in fact happened – hadn’t. But this was Steve Bruce the arrogant, bad loser – in the best traditions of the Theatre of Hollow Myths. Such behaviour was almost expected as part of the usual process of intimidation and aggression towards match officials.

Almost twenty years on, only the demeanour has mellowed – the determination and ruthlessness inculcated by Ferguson is a part of the Bruce DNA, as is a pathological unwillingness to accept that defeat, even from two goals ahead, was merited. The delivery is smoother, the visage less suffused with hate and resentment, but the message remains the same – we wuz robbed. He was singing that song at Elland Road that long-ago Christmas Eve, and he was singing it again at Wembley in the wake of Cup Final defeat. He can’t help it, it’s bred into him.

Bruce’s remarks in his post-match interview were described by cabbage-patch doll lookalike Adrian Chiles as “churlish”. That’s one word for the litany of grievances and excuses that preceded his laughable punchline “This isn’t the time to whinge”. Bruce had whinged long and hard, following the script that’s always been in his head, and his skewed reasoning and blinkered selectiveness were features hanging over from his Man U years. Arsenal’s first two goals were called into question – the first came from a free kick that Bruce felt shouldn’t have been given (wrong, Steve); the second resulted from a corner wrongly awarded (right – but you could see how ref Probert had been deceived). Bruce made no mention of the fact that Hull’s second goal came from a free kick taken 9 yards forward of the foul which led to it. Neither did he refer to the two clear penalties Arsenal could and should have been awarded. It was the one-eyed, wrong-headed Bruce of old; only the Man U shirt and the throbbing temple veins were missing.

Whatever the sulky reaction of Hull’s manager, Arsenal thoroughly deserved their victory, which owed much to resilience and bottle that many had thought the Gunners lacked. Many’s the time that the Arse have found it easy going against inferior opposition they have blown away with sumptuous football; this time, they faced a mountain no Cup Final side had ever before had to contemplate – two down in eight minutes and their game plan in tatters.

That they successfully climbed that mountain reflects immense credit on the Arsenal players and staff, together with their relatively long-suffering fans. Less credit is due to referee Probert – it was a great final despite, not because of, his slipshod efforts.

And – it has to be said, despite the gallant efforts of the underdogs and the fact that they fought to a particularly bitter end – least credit of all to the Hull City camp. That, though, is down to the ungracious reaction of their manager, a man who – despite that Ferguson upbringing – really should have known better.

Come On, Arsenal; Win it for This Leeds Fan – by Rob Atkinson

Gooners' last Cup win, 2005

Gooners’ last Cup win, 2005

Cup Final day and I’m relaxing by the balmy waters of the North Sea in beautiful, tropical Filey. Home cares and family worries are far away. The fridge is stocked with the chilled best of grain and grape and every other comfort and convenience (ensuite) is close by. Life is good.

So it should be too. The latest Leeds United season from hell is thankfully behind us and, internal strife notwithstanding, we can relax in the knowledge that our heroes’ turgid and tedious brand of football is in mothballs for a few weeks. Meanwhile we have the World Cup to look forward to, with the cream of English talent – as well as Wayne Rooney – poncing about ineffectually in Brazil and hoping to make it as far as another penalty shoot-out defeat to bleedin’ Germany.

But today is Cup Final day, and the eyes of the civilised world – and Humberside – are on Wembley, to see whether the Arse can beat Dull City and end their epoch-long trophy drought. I find myself not a neutral, for several reasons. Firstly, I’ve never been all that keen on Hull. They’re an upstart club with one of those horrible new breed of owners in Assem Allam – a man who wants to rebrand City as the Tigers. It’s a silly idea, the fans are against it – and yet Allam remains stubbornly convinced he knows best – like Vincent Tan at Cardiff, who suffered relegation for his presumption. The least I wish Hull is a Cup Final defeat – there’d be the bonus of the look on Steve Bruce’s face, too. Don’t get me started on him.

There are more positive, less vindictive reasons. I like Arsenal. They exude class as a club, from top to bottom. They play beautiful football, and they help me dislike Spurs. Manager Arsène Wenger is a class act too – the game would be the poorer for his loss, much as it is the richer for the passing of Alex “Taggart”Ferguson. It would be good to see the Gooners on the trophy trail again. My late father in law supported them, as does my daughter’s Significant Other.

Last but not least – I have a tenner riding on the outcome. I’m not a betting man, but when the semi finals came down to Arsenal and three nothing clubs, I thought even I couldn’t jinx them. I so nearly caught a cold against Wigan – so surely the Arse will now see me home happy and ten quid richer??

Come on you Gooners. Do it for yourselves and for lovers of the beautiful game. But most of all – with some brass at stake – do it for this admiring Leeds fan.

Witch-hunt: but Brian McDermott and his Sick Mother Deserve Far Better – by Rob Atkinson

McDermott - under unfair pressure

McDermott – under unfair pressure

The football season is over; Leeds United will not kick another ball in anger until sometime in August, with the obvious priority of pre-season training and friendly warm-up matches coming in July, before the start of the Championship business.  Naturally, the club’s manager/coach/whatever you might call him, will have urgent business over the summer; a raft of important issues to resolve.  But, equally natural is the fact that, when the heat of weekly sporting conflict is off, even a man in McDermott’s stressful position, with the heavy responsibilities he bears – even he should surely be allowed to prioritise family matters – especially when the foremost of those matters is the illness of his mother and his consequent understandable desire to be at his family home in southern England after news of her admission to hospital.

It’s the kind of situation that will make anyone re-think their priorities – but the state of affairs at Leeds appears to be such that it’s thought fair play in certain quarters to throw mud at McDermott, even in these sensitive circumstances. That’s bad enough when it’s just club officials doing it, or when the new owner is angling to get the manager out – but it’s even worse when ill-informed Leeds United fans are thus inveigled into joining in what seems likely to end up as a witch-hunt.

Sources close to McDermott claim that he has an eye on Leeds United business and that he has been contactable since heading home.  Leeds United spokespersons appear to differ on those matters.  But it’s a tawdry and disgusting state of affairs when a campaign against a man with his mother’s health on his mind should be carried out by those at the club who clearly have their own agenda, and who seem unwilling to let a small matter like a sick mum dissuade them from launching their insidious and – there’s no other word for it – snide attacks.

This does not show Leeds United in a good light.  It reflects poorly upon the men in charge, who appear to be neglecting sensitivity and compassion for a full measure of malice and vindictiveness.  McDermott evidently has enough on his plate, without penny-pinching executives attempting to lever him out of his job – and at the same time avoid the inconvenient necessity of paying him off.  It might even be counter-productive as a tactic – constructive dismissal cases have been founded upon far flimsier bases.  As a Leeds United fan, somebody whose regard and love for the club will always transcend and out-last the presence of any individual employee, I nevertheless find myself rooting for Brian – and hoping that his seemingly inevitable departure from the club can be managed with dignity, without any further rancour or ill taste – and with McDermott receiving everything that he is due to under his contract.  That’s only fair.

The current situation at Leeds United stinks.  That’s not Cellino’s fault – blame has to be laid at the door of the incompetent and self-serving people who have apparently been running a great club into the ground over the last couple of years – and of course there’s Bates before that.  But Cellino, if he is to appear as the saviour of the Whites, must avoid sinking to the level of those whose mess he’s now trying to clear up.  If McDermott is doing his best to fulfil his duties as best he can, whilst also fulfilling his obligations to his family and specifically his ailing mother – then he should either be left to get on with it, or – if that’s the way the wind is blowing – replaced properly.  Not by a campaign of smear and innuendo, when the truth of the matter appears fully to support Brian’s current actions.

This blog would ask any Leeds United fan inclined to jump on a Cellino-sponsored anti-McDermott bandwagon to think very seriously about what they would do in Brian’s position.  Let’s face it – you’d hasten to your Mum’s bedside, wouldn’t you – having made what provision you could for any obligations under your professional contract.  Anyone would.  You’d worry far more about the man who wouldn’t – the man who’d coldly proceed with business, without a thought for his mother.  Would you want a man like that in charge at Leeds United??

Brian McDermott deserves the sympathy and support of the Leeds United fans in his current thankless situation, even though he has not asked for it. Instead, he’s copping for loads of abuse on social media from supporters of the club who seem inclined unquestioningly to believe everything they’re being told by Leeds United.  Well, if you’ve read this blog, or the YP article linked above – now you’re informed. We may well be notorious football nutters – but we’re human beings first – aren’t we?? Of course we are.

So, for God’s sake, let’s start to act like it.

End of Season Far East Tour Under Way – by Rob Atkinson

After a season of few ups and too many downs, of pressure and nerves, of joy and disappointment – actually, as you were with the joy – the traditional end-of-term junket starts this evening, and it’s Ho! for the Far East.

Yes, fellow sufferers, it’s off to Filey for a few escapist days at the glorious East Coast for Life, Leeds United, the Universe & Everything, together with that tired and dispirited blog’s long-suffering wife or “significant other” depending on how traditionalist or otherwise you might be. It’s not before time – blog posts have been flowing thick and fast of late (mostly the former) – so it’s time for a rest before the keyboard melts. A little fresh air and fun should give the hardware a much-needed rest as well as recharging the cerebral batteries of one R Atkinson Esq. (Sole Prop.) That’s the plan anyway.

In practice, and whatever Mrs Rob might be fondly imagining, football will most likely still play a fair old part of the so-called “complete break”. I’ll be watching the Cup Final as I have a tenner riding on it. I’ll try to keep up with the various play-offs as well – and I do intend to submit the blogular equivalent of a saucy postcard or two, in the hope that this might stop my esteemed readership forgetting all about me and #LLUUE.

Any posts I manage to put up while I’m away will be somewhat limited by the fact I’m having to submit them via an iPhone instead of my trusty desktop dinosaur. But I promise to try and stay topical and relevant, with maybe a whiff of the briny and the odd 99 cornet – just to provide that holiday atmosphere.

In the meantime I’ll wish you all a pleasant weekend, just in case my mobile technology lets me down. In that case, I’ll be back online next Wednesday by which time, of course, everything will have changed for the unrecognisably different down Elland Road, and we’ll have to set the scene all over again – after which I shall need another holiday…

Arrivederci and MOT

Normality is the Holy Grail for Embattled Leeds United – by Rob Atkinson

Can Leeds find their Holy Grail?

Can Leeds find their Holy Grail?

The Holy Grail – as you will all know from your studies of classical Arthurian Legend, including Wagner’s Parsifal, Tennyson’s Idylls of the King and the immortal Cleese/Palin Meisterwerk, beloved of us all, Monty Python & the Holy Grail – is a semi-mythical, part-legendary symbol of something sacred and other-worldly, a spiritual treasure urgently sought by adventurers and heroes down the ages, something enticingly desirable but forever unattainable, always just beyond our reach.

So it is with Leeds United.  We have this unquenchable need, this elusive treasure always denied to us.  We want to be a normal football club, one that seeks to compete as a football club should, one that goes forward in harmony instead of turning in upon itself with suicidal zeal and self-destructive mania. We want to march on together towards a common goal, but instead we are possessed by demon after demon, and there seems to be no light at the end of the tunnel.  When we occasionally do appear to glimpse one, it invariably turns out to be an onrushing locomotive, poised to dash us, together with all of our vain hopes, headlong into the void.

Why is this normality denied us?  What is it about Leeds United that condemns the club and its hapless legions upon legions of followers to such unending purgatory?  Does Alan Hardaker live on as some malign Poltergeist, fated to walk the corridors of Elland Road for all eternity, casting ghostly spanners into the works?  Perhaps Don Revie’s only real fault was a failure completely to exorcise the alleged gypsy’s curse which he had detected hanging around LS11 in the sixties, like some stormy, sulky cloud. It has to be something supernatural, for goodness’ sake.  Something that Sergeant Wilko was able to frighten away temporarily for the brief return of the glory days in 1989-92, before it returned with a vengeance, realising that the Sergeant’s bark was worse than his bite. What other explanation could there be?

Even when things have appeared to be going right, fate has slapped us about the chops before there was even a chance to celebrate properly.  The boom of 1997 to 2002 collapsed in on itself as we faced a black hole of debt and probable ruin.  Then, we had to flog off a talented squad on the cheap – amid tales of tropical fish and journeyman midfielders seeking and getting kings’ ransoms to lay our coffers bare.  Before that, the Last Champions almost turned into the first Premier League fall-guys as we replaced David Batty with Carlton Palmer whilst surrendering our domestic top spot to Taggart’s stormtroopers – we even sparked off their French Revolution for them – and on the cheap, too. Even before that, Revie’s peerless artists were denied more than they won – they should have won the lot, because they were simply The Best.

Typically, our most recent golden dawn also turned out to be a damp squib, as Grayson’s scum-busting warriors emerged from League One in 2010 fighting fit and ready to take the Championship by the scruff of the neck – only for Evil Uncle Ken to ruin it all and send us on a downward path which ended up in acrimony, despair and Warnock.  Surely, by now, Leeds United have sampled all of the many and various ways a football club can screw itself up.  Or is there worse yet to come?

The latest events at Elland Road are as bizarre and farcical as any I can recall in the whole topsy-turvy history of my support for this crazy club. Class A drugs, caught on espionage equipment installed in bog and Boardroom by our own prospective Tory Boy, Colgate Dave himself.  The club’s former dictator still hanging around Elland Road like a bad smell, nesting occasionally in his foul lair over the road above Subway, for whom a snap inspection by the Environmental Health chaps must be a constant worry.  The new owner is habitually referred to by our friends in the mainstream press, not by his given name of Massimo Cellino, but by use of the lazy soubriquet “Convicted Fraudster” as a matter of routine preference.  Massimo himself is giving a progressively more convincing impression of an impoverished billionaire, howling about financial excesses, closing down the training ground and preparing to sack club staff ranging from the tea ladies right down to Peter Lorimer.  The manager Brian McDermott has apparently cleared off on holiday, without leaving so much as a forwarding address to facilitate the matter of sending on his P45. Meanwhile, back at the ranch, the club’s retained list is being mulled over by il Duce and a man called Benito.  To say that it’s a mess would be a hopelessly inadequate understatement.

So, in amongst this lot – how can the Leeds fan in the street possibly hope to attain that Holy Grail of normality?  He or she might as well cry for the Moon and the stars – there is just as much chance of success.  And yet other clubs appear to be able to go about their business in a relatively calm and efficient, unremarkable manner.  There might have been a time when this would have appeared to Whites fans as charmlessly boring, an exercise in tedium.  But wouldn’t we just grasp at the chance of it now?  Just imagine – a football club entering the close-season with bright prospects for the campaign ahead, quietly going about the business of improving its squad, resolute and determined to be battling it out with the best of the rest, for one of those prized tickets to the Promised Land. It sounds lovely, doesn’t it?  But it’s just not Leeds – rather it’s the privilege of lesser clubs, supported by less remarkable fans.  Why on earth does it have to be that way for us – and for so bloody long – when others have it so much better?

I’m afraid that this is one of those pieces with a few questions and no answers. It’s just a why-oh-why cry of distress, because that’s how I happen to feel as evidence piles up that we’re not out of the woods yet – indeed that we haven’t even hauled ourselves clear of the quicksand in the depths of those hostile woods.  I hope, but feel no optimism, that matters will clarify themselves as the next few weeks go by.  But realistically, I fear, we’re going to go into next season in a state of turmoil extraordinary even by LUFC standards.  There’s every reason to believe that it’s going to get a lot worse before it gets better.

Usually with these blogs, I’m not short of people ready, willing and seemingly able to tell me that I’m wrong; eager to demonstrate the folly of my reasoning and to put me straight.  I normally welcome this much as I do a dose of cod liver oil – it might do me good but I find it extremely unpalatable.  But – if you’ve indulged me by reading this gloomy tirade up to this point – the least I can do is take on board any more constructive views you might have to offer.  For once, I would actually welcome it.  I would even go so far as to say that I need it.  So, bring it on – please.

But for those inclined to agree with me, I’d say – let’s take it as read.  I’m depressed enough already…

Cardiff’s Demise Even More Satisfying Than That of Norwich City – by Rob Atkinson

Vincent Tan, contemplating his less-than-prolific Keeper

Vincent Tan, contemplating his less-than-prolific ‘keeper

The football season is over for Leeds United – in truth, it has been for some weeks, certainly well before the league programme ended with that draw against Derby.  So, the choice is between speculating about developments behind the scenes at Elland Road, or having a nice pleasurable little dance on a couple of old rivals’ graves.  I’ve done my share of Leeds United speculation for the day – it looks like it’s time to get nasty then, and celebrate the downfall of two sets of fine, feathered friends in the Canaries and the Bluebirds.

If I could have had the privilege of selecting two out of three clubs to drop out of the Premier League this season, and join us down here among the dead men, then those two would have been Cardiff and Norwich.  So, I got my own way – and I’ll be looking forward to a renewal of hostilities next season.  In the Norwich case, my desire to see them fall is something I’ve gone into already, and all of my negative feelings around that scenario were directed really at the Canaries’ annoyingly chirpy fans who took such pleasure in their favourites recruiting three-quarters of our League One midfield.  I’ve made myself suitably unpopular on their effeminately-named message board The Pink ‘Un, and that’ll do for me.  I’ve no real problem with the club itself – I’m an admirer of Stephen Fry, and even old Delia Smith is good for a laugh, especially for that famously “tired and emotional” rallying call to the Ciddy fans – something that always brings me at least a smile, no matter how grumpy I might feel.

So much for Norwich.  Cardiff is a rather more complex case – there are Leeds United reasons for my gladness to see them come tumbling back down after one solitary season out of their comfort zone, and they date back to a horrible afternoon of FA Cup combat followed by vile crowd scenes, whipped up by their idiotic then-owner Sam Hammam – an episode we need not revisit here. But there are wider justifications for my intense distaste for Cardiff City that have arisen only this season.  They relate to the club’s current owner and dictator Vincent Tan – a man whose knowledge of football would fit comfortably inside a peanut – and yet one who arrogantly thinks he knows best about everything and is prepared to ride roughshod over tradition and supporter upset alike to have his own way.

The fact is that, despite historic grievances, my sympathy has been with the Cardiff fans ever since Tan marched in and started changing their club in an arrogant and unilateral fashion.  He decided that success was more likely if the team wore a predominantly red strip – no matter that they’d always been associated with blue – the nickname “Bluebirds” is a relevant clue here.  Tan also displayed his phenomenal knowledge of the sport by openly questioning the goalkeeper’s scoring record – presumably the club’s football professionals were too polite or intimidated to laugh in his face.

But then Tan surpassed himself.  With Cardiff relatively comfortably placed in the Premier League, and wins over the likes of eventual champions Manchester City behind them, Tan decided that the manager who had realised the top-flight dream – Malky Mackay – was not, after all, good enough. The owner therefore proceeded to undermine, belittle and unsettle his manager at every opportunity over a period of weeks.  Mackay was so clearly a dead man walking – so evidently doomed to lose his job – that obviously results began to suffer, and that early season work of consolidation began to unravel.

Eventually, the inevitable happened and Malky Mackay was out of a job. Some wise Championship club is going to get themselves a very good manager for zero compensation there (I wonder who it might be? Bleedin’ Norwich, probably). Tan, further exploiting his vast oceans of football knowledge, recruited Ole Gunnar Solskjær, who had known success in the Norwegian League, but who looked from the off like a rabbit caught in the headlights in the pitiless environment of the Premier League.  Before too long under Solskjær’s inexperienced guidance, Cardiff were obviously doomed to go down.  Defeat followed defeat, and Solskjær looked more clueless with every setback.  The end, when it came, was no surprise to anyone who knew anything about football, and therefore probably an earth-shattering shock to the deluded and massively ignorant Vincent Tan.

What can most certainly be said about Cardiff’s relegation is that it is definitely A Good Thing. Not because it will discourage the incompetent likes of Tan from presuming that they know best, all the time, about everything – but because, if results had picked up after Mackay’s sacking, and Cardiff had somehow survived, this might have seemed to stand as a vindication of Tan’s ridiculous and bizarre methods – and that, whatever wounded Cardiff City supporters might currently be feeling, would not be good for the game.

The whole episode cries out for some protection of professional football men against the crazy whims of crass amateurs – although it’s highly doubtful that anything will happen, due to the inertia and complacency that characterises both the Football Association and the Football League.  So Tan will presumably carry on in his own sweet way – and the rest of the game can only hope that real football people will avoid his club as they might a bad smell.

We welcome Cardiff City back to the Championship, and we look forward to our games against them.  Leeds United’s recent record in those games is not particularly good – but perhaps there is less need to worry these days. It’s quite probable that, even now, Tan is looking for the most prolific goalscorer he can afford – and that we will see that bewildered young man in goal for the Bluebirds when we host them at Elland Road.

Let’s just hope it’s not Ross McCormack.