I sit down to write this, my first blog post in literally yonks, in the sure knowledge that virtually nobody will believe a word of it. But, you know, what the hell. So here goes.
I’ve been stressed for a fair while now. As a Leeds fan, that’s hardly novel, but in my case it’s been a question of various circumstances conspiring with each other, against me, to raise my blood pressure and produce frequent attacks of the conniptions. Two years of dodgy health, together with trying to sort out my care home-bound mum’s affairs so that the bills can be paid more or less on time – that would be enough to rattle most men of my age. Add in the mercurial Whites, with their legendary inconsistency, and it’s little wonder that I should suffer the odd bout of angsty anxiety.
At the risk of preaching to the converted, I’d put it to you that a club capable of visiting the two teams soaring away at the top of the table, and winning handily both times, should not be rolling over ineptly to the likes of Stoke and Sunderland to sink without trace. But sadly, that’s the nature of our beloved Super Leeds, though there’s always the chance that, with Herr Farke at the helm, calmer waters may lie ahead.
Usually, my glass half empty side predominates, hence the stress. But this past week, the build-up to our home match with Ipswich has had me thinking back to similarly crunch home fixtures of yesteryear; specifically the games against Sheffield United in 1990 and the more recent Bielsa era hosting of West Bromwich Albion, who had already seen us off 4-1 at the Hawthorns. On both of those occasions, we rose to the challenge of a must win game, triumphing 4-0. And I admit, I did allow myself in recent days to imagine the same scenario playing itself out again – with the tractor boys ten points ahead at the start of this weekend, a statement performance was needed, ideally with another juicy four goal hammering in our favour. I dared to dream, honestly I did.
And as we all now know, this unlikely dream came true today, though Mrs. Rob was vastly cynical and disbelieving when I told her about my premonition (sadly, after the final whistle). It was the kind of wishful thinking I just didn’t have the minerals to share with others when it was still just a dream. I’d have been thought mad, drunk, or both – and rightly so.
So, I’m risking the derision of a wider public, with hoots of “twenty-twenty hindsight” liable to be levelled scornfully at me. And I can understand that, I have only my own word that such an obviously unlikely thought ever occurred to me.
But, in the warm afterglow of an incredibly satisfying victory, I have but one regret. Just one person I really wish I’d shared my premonition with ahead of today’s match. Oh Mr. Bookie, why did I not confide in you, to the tune of maybe a tenner? I’m being greedy here, but a few hundred quid on top would have made today’s humbling of Ipswich, if it were possible, even sweeter.
Marching On Together
Life, Leeds United, the Universe & Everything 