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 
From Milk Crate to Press Box, 42 Years at Leeds United’s Elland Road – by Rob Atkinson
Sitting where Frannie Lee wouldn’t dare – within right-hook range of Big Norm
My Elland Road history is one of a gradual progression that has seen me following the varied fortunes of Leeds United from many different vantage points within that famous old stadium. I started out in the much-lamented Lowfields Road stand, its venerable roof famously braced by cross wires to stop it being blown away by anything above a stiff breeze. My spectating debut was in the funny little “shelf” area that ran the length of the stand between the terraces below and the seats above. I attended a good few games there, with our Gray and, solemnly in charge, my Dad – who saw that our match-day equipment included milk crates for us kids to stand upon, thus enjoying some sort of view.
When I first started going to Elland Road independently, I stood on the Lowfields terraces, but found the passion and buffeting of that experience a little too much – softie that I was. So the next move was to the Boys’ Pen, in the North-East corner of the ground. I stayed there until a ticket mix-up meant that I faced a choice between missing a League Cup tie against Everton, and braving the rigours of the Kop. I screwed up my courage to make my debut on that mighty and cacophonous hill – and never looked back. From that time on, I was a dedicated Gelderd-Ender and the Kop years represent my golden era of United support.
When the Kop went all-seater in the wake of Hillsborough and the Taylor Report, it never felt quite the same to me, and I sympathise with those who never experienced the thrill and surge of a packed Gelderd. One moment I’ll always remember is when Dave Batty scored against Man City early in our League Title season of 1991/92. As Batty himself later admitted, he was never much of a goal-scorer “but, against City, I were prolific”. Over a hundred games after his previous goal, at City in the late 80s, Batts hit the back of the net against the same opponents in ’91 – and at the Gelderd End, too. The whole stadium erupted in joy unconfined; I believe injuries were sustained on the Kop that day but, trust me, nobody felt any pain. It was a magical moment, the stuff from which legends are woven.
When my time on the Kop came to an end, my attendance at Elland Road growing less frequent, I became something of a nomad, taking in the view from the South, West and East of the stadium. I was getting older and more curmudgeonly, less able and willing to tolerate the stresses of a packed crowd, or of bored kids making me get up and sit down all the time as they passed to and fro. I was becoming my grumpy Dad and, frankly, it had ceased to be fun. I was even considering a flirtation with Ponte Collieries, though my heart and soul belong to Leeds and always will. I just couldn’t hack it any more; I’d never got over the loss of the terraces, not that I’d last five minutes there, these days.
But now I’m back, a habitué of the press area courtesy of semi-regular Leeds United newspaper columns and, though I say it myself as shouldn’t, what has become a pan-global blog. Finally, I’m finding myself somewhat cossetted in experiencing an environment a bit kinder to middle-aged sensibilities. Last Saturday, I watched the Ipswich Town match beside one of my heroes, Norman Hunter, a legend of the Don Revie era at Leeds. I was utterly star-struck, but Big Norm was chatty and amiable – until the game started. Then he was kicking every ball, totally absorbed in the action, grievously upset at every United mistake (and there seemed to be a lot). It was an education for me in terms of what an old pro expects of the current crop, with the desk in front of us taking some punishment as Norm fulminated away. On my other side was erstwhile press-box doyen Don Warters, former Leeds United correspondent for the Yorkshire Evening Post. As Norman stumped off just before full-time, on his way to do his corporate bit in one of the lounges, I remarked that he didn’t seem too happy. Don grinned and replied, “He never is”.
I guess such hyper-involvement and the severely critical outlook goes with the territory for those guys who’ve been there and done it, especially at the level Norman, Billy and the rest played. But still, looking on the bright side – we did win on the day to stay top and, despite a couple of awayday blips recently, we’re still doing quite well overall. The football has been genuinely exciting so far this campaign, a real pleasure to watch and even to write about. What’s more, it’s a great view among all the scribes, the club kindly provides sandwiches, coffee and other such civilised comforts – and the company is amazing. All in all, just when I thought I was coming to the end of my Leeds United journey, it’s really wonderful to be back at Elland Road.
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Lowfields Road stand, towards the end of its life – but with the “Shelf” easily identifiable
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Posted in Football, Leeds United
Tagged commentary, Don Revie, Ipswich Town, Leeds United, Norman Hunter, Super Leeds, weblog, Wordpress