Tag Archives: soccer

Arsenal and Cardiff Serve Up a Football Treat With Added Class – by Rob Atkinson

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The definitive “Good Advert for Football”

Yesterday’s clash between Cardiff City and Arsenal at the imaginatively-named Cardiff City Stadium produced much that we might have expected – as well as quite a lot that we didn’t.

First things first, and a fantastic performance by the league leaders resulted in a win that looked, on the face of it, comfortable. Arsenal produced everything we all know they’re capable of: shimmering moves going forward with chance upon chance being created; bewildering interchanges of position which saw the most unlikely people cropping up at centre-forward – how do you mark your men against a team like Arsenal? It was a feast of flowing, creative football, beautiful to watch, virtually impossible to cope with and ultimately very, very effective.

And yet Cardiff, newcomers to the Premier League let’s not forget, more than played their part in a highly entertaining game which was always closer than the scoreline might suggest. Their promising forward Fraizer Campbell got himself on the end of a few quality deliveries, and on another day might easily have had one or two goals himself. But the goal-scoring honours on the day rested squarely with a former Cardiff player, Aaron Ramsey of Arsenal.

Ramsey’s was a performance to drool over, not just for his two expertly-taken goals, not even for the overall quality of his performance within a highly proficient overall Arsenal display.  What really caught the eye was Ramsey’s poise, self control and a disarming humility in the way he reacted to his goals. Not a flicker of celebration, just quiet satisfaction and the full measure of respect to the club that gave him his start.  You see this sometimes, it’s a bit of a phenomenon over the past few years, and while it’s not universally observed – van Persie’s tasteless degree of triumphalism against Arsenal themselves springs readily to mind – it always gilds the occasion with that extra patina of class; there’s just something fitting about it that reminds you what football should be all about.

Even in this, Cardiff City more than played their part.  It’s a shattering, disappointing feeling to see your favourites concede a goal, at the best of times – to see a former favourite score not one, but two – that’s really unpalatable. And yet the Cardiff fans, all of them from what could be seen, responded magnificently to the prodigal Ramsey’s return and successes.  When the former Bluebird scored his first goal – a header of stunning quality – his muted response brought the stadium to its feet as the home fans stood and applauded, clearly affected by the respect shown by their departed star.  How often do you see that?

As a Leeds fan, I can only remember one comparable occasion at Elland Road, back in the early nineties when Roy Wegerle of QPR scored a wonder goal of such world-class quality that even the notoriously partisan Leeds fans gave it a unanimous ovation.  To see the Cardiff fans applaud Ramsey – for his second goal as well, which put the seal on Arsenal’s win – made you feel good about the game again, as if the underlying decency of sporting competition will always, in the end, prevail over the less attractive features we’re sometimes exposed to.

In between Ramsey’s two strikes, we had the spectacle of Mathieu Flamini – brought off the bench nine minutes earlier as a holding midfielder – materialising at centre-forward to sweep the ball into Cardiff’s net from Mesut Ozil’s perceptive through pass.  it was another outstanding example of the sheer brilliance Arsenal have in their locker this season.  The third goal right at the death came when the outcome of the game was certain, but it was another quality finish, and another immaculate display of respect from the outstanding Aaron Ramsey.  He took the applause from all sides of the ground, from his fans new and old, clearly touched by the emotion of the moment.

Arsenal’s prospects look genuinely good, there are really only a couple of question marks over their possibilities for the rest of this campaign.  The first concerns how they will fare against the better teams in the Premier League – of these, they have only met a less-than-vintage Man U so far, who scraped a win that will have disappointed the Gunners – knowing themselves to be capable of much better.

The second possible issue is around the back-up they have available in the event of injury or suspension for striker Olivier Giroud. Reserve forward Nicklas Bendtner does not appear to have what it takes at this level, and Arsenal may need to look to the transfer market again when the window opens.  Their stunning pre-season swoop for Ozil has cured any notions that the Gunners lack clout and ambition in their recruitment policy – they will probably need to reaffirm this new determination in the new year.

A highly enjoyable game for more than the usual reasons, and great credit to both clubs. On this display, you would have to back Cardiff to survive with something to spare – and as for Arsenal, they should have their sights set firmly on nothing less than the Premier League title itself.  What better way to break that trophy drought, a millstone around Arsene Wenger’s neck for far too long now?  And also, what better for the game in this country than Champions of the quality and class of Arsenal, still our foremost club despite populist claims for clubs lower down the food-chain.  Arsenal for the Title – I’ll drink to that.

Leeds United Fans – Why do Some Appear to Revel in Negativity? – by Rob Atkinson

Leeds, Leeds, Leeds!

Leeds, Leeds, Leeds!

I’ve read a couple of articles lately, both decently-written and making some good points – but both leaving me despairing over the massively negative attitude current among a certain section of Leeds “support”.  The tendency, in fact is not only massively negative, it’s eagerly, loudly, brassily negative.  It embraces negativity and holds it close like it never wants to let it go.  It’s the very antithesis of what support should be all about. It’s defeatism in its most depressing and demoralising form; if these articles had been written in wartime, they may very well have been taken out and shot.

The common theme of course, hammered home with relish and supportive statistics, is that We Are Not A Big Club Anymore.  The people saying this say it passionately and with conviction.  Not only do they wish to believe that Leeds aren’t a big club, the very idea that some fans may not believe this – may, in fact be holding dear the belief that United are still big – clearly upsets and offends them.  They crop up everywhere, these pallid little people, spreading their message of gloom and churning out invidious comparisons by the bucketload.  They’re becoming an effective voice wherever fans gather together to discuss matters Leeds.  In fact there’s only one real problem with their whole campaign. It’s utter, unmitigated bollocks.

The fact of the matter is, no club is bigger or smaller than its fanbase, its potential for support.  A very reliable gauge of this is freely available in these tech-savvy days we live in. It’s what is nattily called “online presence”.  Give your mouse some exercise and find out for yourself – if you don’t already know.  In cyberworld, second division, under-achieving, out-spent and unregarded Leeds United are absolutely HUGE.  This is the best barometer you could wish for of the measure of passion out there, the incredible hunger and thirst for any morsel of news, any topic of debate about the Mighty Whites of LS11. They’re out there, right now, all over the globe.  They’re clicking away at their computer terminals reading and digesting, or they’re writing in dozens of languages about Leeds past, present and future.  Our great days on the field are an increasingly distant memory, and a large proportion of the match-day support of a decade ago are marginalised and still priced out of actual engagement with the match-going experience, despite a return to relative sanity in the pricing structure.  But around the globe, in the ether, over the airwaves and most importantly inside the heads of millions of fanatics, Leeds United are top four, a phenomenon.

So, why this overweening eagerness to paint us as a small club?  Is it the tiresome need of social writers to dress themselves up as that bit different?  You know – slightly windswept and interesting, with that world-weary air of cynicism etching attractive lines into their fashionably-troubled yet intellectual brows.  It’s odd.  Any real pretensions to “cool” tend to be dissipated by the unseemly scramble to out-do each other in the negativity stakes, and they’re usually followed by eager-beaver starry-eyed acolytes who wish to attach themselves to any view that doesn’t qualify as mainstream.  Perhaps that’s the answer – are we dealing with an online football-flavoured brand of snob obscurantism?

I’m not advocating the other pole of this issue, by the way.  That worryingly Freudian habit of a certain Franchise’s fans to shout from the virtual rooftops about how they’re the biggest, the best and totally huge and wonderful throughout the world and all four dimensions of spacetime. I’ll mention no names here, but the initials are man u.  I’d be even more concerned if our collective attitude was as deluded as that, not least because – in the case of our acquaintances from over the hills – their Devon and Cornwall-based support have made of themselves a laughing-stock with such wishful thinking.  Certainly in Barcelona and Madrid, and in various other centres of realism too, not excluding Beeston.

No, all I want is for certain people to remember the basic meaning of the word “support”. It does not include the peddling of negative thinking, nor does it encompass unhelpful and misleading assertions regarding comparisons with such giants as Norwich and Dull City.  All of this is willful and groundless cant, calculated to spread misery and crush hope.

Support is about identifying yourself with the club you love, and spreading the word to those less fortunate who have not seen the light.  It’s about getting the shoulder behind the momentum of recent promising form – and being prepared to back it all the way, in the face of the withering carpings of naysayers as and when necessary.  Support is an overwhelmingly positive thing, and it needs to espouse and reflect positivity in everything it does.

Criticism is part of this, we are not simply a massive band of yes-men.  But criticism can be couched in positive terms too – this will not do for Leeds United, we said of Bates, and behold, he is gone.  The same applies to ticket prices, or transfer policy, or anything else we’ve been unhappy with from time to time.  We say “this will not do because We Are Leeds, and we demand better”.  So we can be critical – and that can be effective – but it’s still our overriding duty to be biased, and to talk the club up – because we’re supporters. Criticism that amounts to a wholesale belittling of the club relative to other clubs who may be enjoying some temporary success – that’s just ridiculous, and so counter-productive as to be a sin. Spreading alarm and despondency is not needed, not helpful, not to be embraced.  There are idiots enough in the media eager as all hell to do that, without people who are supposedly fans getting in on the act.

So please, those who peddle pessimism or deal in negativity, think again.  Think not only of whatever you’re getting out of venting these frustrations of yours, but also of your obligations towards the club you’re supposed to be supporting.  Let’s not give our enemies, among rival clubs’ support and within the media, such a cheap advantage.  If you’re a fan, then act and speak as one.  Support your club as a supporter should.  After all – We Are Leeds United, and we are the best.

Lethal Lampard Back Again to Hammer Upton Park Boo Boys – by Rob Atkinson

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Chelsea Pensioner Lampard: Hammers torturer-in-chief

After this stroll in Upton Park from an effortlessly superior Chelsea side, West Ham boss Sam Allardyce must be preoccupied by one burning question: are there three worse teams in the Premier League than his punchless, impotent Hammers?  Because, make no mistake, West Ham’s short term future revolves entirely around that one issue.  If three teams even less creative, even less error-prone and ineffective, can be found to occupy the dreaded drop zone – then the Hammers may survive another season.  If not, it’s back on the downward path for one of the classic yo-yo clubs.

Even at 3-0, this scoreline hardly flattered Chelsea.  Rather, it was an indictment of some profligate finishing on their part – they could and should have had at least a couple more, and Frank Lampard will consider himself rather let down, not having completed his hat-trick.  As for the Hammers – they’re as lightweight up front as the famously under-endowed Olive Oyl.  To their eternal credit, they did finally muster a shot on target – in the 94th minute.  If only that could have gone in, it would have made …. absolutely no difference at all. Meanwhile, at the other end, the poor old ‘Ammers goal was ready to collapse after a ninety minute shelling during which it had sustained enough enemy fire to scuttle a fleet.  Again, one wonders how it ended up at only three.  West Ham, for their part, were a bit lucky to get nil.

It’s the fashion in these tender-hearted and sentimental times for returning old-boys to show a bit of class and decorum, should they happen to have the bad taste and ill manners to score against the alma mater.  This is an admirable convention in many ways, and it’s probably saved a few hot-headed pitch invasions.  But really, it would be too much to expect of the Hammers fans’ least-favourite Lampard, the junior Frank of that ilk.  When he was a Hammer, he got hammered as a daddy’s boy.  When he left for Chelsea, he was castigated for greed and disloyalty.  On the numerous occasions since then, when he’s rippled the Barrow Boys’ net, he’s taken vile abuse and snarling hatred – simply for doing his job.  These ‘Appy ‘Ammers boys have a chirpy cockney reputation, but anyone who’s walked from the Boleyn back to the tube after a tidy little away win for their team might beg leave to doubt the sincerity of all this alleged good-natured bonhomie.  The truth is that are about as charming as a bucket of cold jellied eels, as friendly as Dirty Den in a taxi.  So when Frank Lampard pops another one in against the Iron, you can forgive the lad a bit of a celebration.  He looked nearly as happy as those who had backed him as an any time goalscorer at betting site bwin.com!

Lamps’ two displays of triumphant joy today, either side of a slide-rule finish from Brazilian Oscar, will not have gone down well with the Upton Park clientele.  But they had better brace themselves for more of the same, because although they won’t meet the class of Chelsea every week, there aren’t too many teams which will be troubled by an attack so lacking in penetration that a belting prescription of Viagra looks the least that will be needed to inject a bit more oomph.  This brings us back to the question of whether enough teams can reasonably be expected to finish below Sam’s droopy troops, to give them a fighting chance of securing another campaign.  On today’s evidence, that looks rather doubtful.

Birthday Celebrations For Leeds Stars Worthington and Haaland – by Rob Atkinson

It’s a BOGOFF deal on ‘Life, Leeds United, the Universe & Everything‘ today.  Two birthdays for the price of one – and as the price is nowt, you’re doing pretty nicely, aren’t you?

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Frankly Leeds

First up, we have Frank Worthington, one of the maverick superstars of the Seventies and briefly a cult figure in LS11. Frank picks up his pension book today, attaining the age of 65 years.  He already had a terrific career behind him by the time he rolled up for a short but spectacular stay at Elland Road, initially with a rescue mission in mind.  Spells with Huddersfield, Leicester, Bolton and Birmingham may not have put any undue strain on the Worthington medal cabinet, but he had a reputation as a fine footballer, for whom the term “flamboyant” could easily have been coined – and as a deadly striker.  Missing out on a move to then-mighty Liverpool was an undoubted low-point in his footballing life – his medical had revealed high blood pressure – but it was still a long and varied career, with eight England caps and two goals for his country along the way – not bad for a flair player in an era of pragmatism.

The deal that brought Worthington to Elland Road was a straight swap, with the late Byron Stevenson heading the other way to Birmingham City. At Leeds, Frank came into a team suffering a prolonged goal-scoring drought which had dragged them deep into the relegation mire. Worthington immediately set about putting that right, scoring the winner at Sunderland and going on to notch a total of 15 goals in 35 appearances for Leeds.  Especially memorable was his contribution to a stunning 4-1 win at Aston Villa, who were only a matter of weeks from becoming European Champions.  Sadly, the team just wasn’t able to string enough results together to save United, who were relegated to Division Two despite the best efforts and goal-scoring feats of Mr Worthington.

Frank started the following season still in the white shirt, and scored a memorable double as Leeds won 3-2 at Sheffield Wednesday.  Soon, however, he was on his way for £50,000 to Sunderland and he went on to appear for pretty much every other club in the league after that, retiring eventually in his early forties – pretty good for a man with a “blood pressure problem”.  Many Happy Returns, Frank – and thanks for the memories.

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Get up Keane, you big girl

Another Elland Road cult star was Alf-Inge Haaland, a man whose terrific relationship with the fans survived his unfortunate lapse in returning with Man City and scoring a purler of a goal against us.  Alfie was one of those rare players who really “got” what playing for Leeds United was all about.  A passionate performer, he related to the crowd as few others before or since, picking up on their likes and hates and going with the flow of commitment and fight for the shirt.  This was epitomised in his attitude towards Man U – he made no bones of the fact that he disliked the club and their players.  This was particularly the case as regards Roy Keane – a man regularly and inexplicably bigged-up to this day by a fawning media, in the shape of cushion-faced anchorman Adrian Chiles, as a “hard man”. Haaland seemed to view Keane as a coward, claiming that the Irishman didn’t dare look him in the eye.  The nature of Keane’s eventual retribution would seem to bear this out.

In an incident during the United v Man U game at Elland Road in 1997, Keane injured himself attempting to foul Haaland from behind, rupturing his anterior cruciate ligament, an injury which put Keane out of the game for almost a year.  Famously, Haaland had stood over the prone Royston, accusing him of feigning injury so as to avoid being punished for the foul.  Harsh, but funny.  Keane was booked as he left the field on a stretcher, Man U lost 1-0, and a grudge was sparked that would last over three years for payback.  In April 2001, Haaland – by now a Man City player – was fouled by Keane in the local derby, the Irishman going over the ball to stamp on Haaland’s right knee.  Keane was initially punished lightly, but later admitted in his typically over-the-top autobiography that the foul had been a pre-meditated act of revenge.  It was in character for Keane to plan his long-delayed retaliation so as not to risk being hit back; one of his other famous fouls was an elbow to the head of notoriously non-tough little Jason McAteer, when Keane snuck up from behind to launch his assault unseen before running away.

Alfie Haaland, 41 today, is remembered by fans of Nottingham Forest, Leeds United and Man City as the type of player every team needs, one who will give his all and never give up, a professional footballer who comes as close as any to thinking and caring like a fan. For Leeds fans, Alfie’s oft-expressed antipathy towards Man U is enough to guarantee that he remains loved at Elland Road, though he can be magnanimous too.  He bears no grudge regarding Keane’s act of thuggish cowardice, expressing the hope that by now the Irish assistant manager will have grown up enough to set a better example to the players in his charge.  Many happy returns, Alfie.

Both Frank Worthington and Alf-Inge Haaland contributed in their different ways to widely-differing eras at Leeds United, and both are fondly remembered to this day.  Let’s raise a glass to both of them, two great servants who are both a year older today.  Cheers, lads!

A Day to Forget for Leeds United – by Rob Atkinson

All quiet on the Leeds United front

All quiet on the Leeds United front

One of the most fertile sources of inspiration for this Leeds United blog has let me down badly today. The quite wonderful in every way Vital Leeds has this endearing habit of publishing on a daily basis the notable United events for that date down the years. It’s thrown up a crop of birthdays recently – Norman Bites Yer Legs, Paul Madeley, Sergeant Wilko, Johnny Giles – which has allowed this blog to pay its own tribute to the celebrating stars concerned. To my shame, I missed out on Paul “Speedy” Reaney, who must have had this year’s big day when my back was turned. But I’ll catch you next time Paul, you legend, with your back pocket famously occupied throughout the sixties by a well-shackled George Best. I only wish such a worthy anniversary had coincided with today.

For today, my normally reliable fount of historical LUFC events is a dry hole. There’s some stuff in there alright, but really it’s not the sort you want to dig up. Frequently, the Vital Leeds retrospective will lay before me a nice, juicy away win, or a fondly-remembered tonking of some bitter rival to relive with lip-smacking relish. Or maybe a European adventure; a trip I was on myself, perchance, to one of the continental Superpowers like Milan or Barça or Real Madrid. Or perhaps simply some point of controversy that absolutely begs to be regurgitated and chewed on all over again, just as succulent and tangy the second time around and semi-digested to boot.

But not today. Today, the normally sparkling cornucopia of all things Leeds has become a barren gulch, offering nothing, nada, bupkis, zilch, zip. Some dusty draws and a few unpalatable defeats, and that’s it. No birthdays, or other points of interest. Well, ta very much. Ver non semper viret, and all that, as I know from my own experience – but I do hope the spring is flourishing tomorrow. I’ve come to rely on it.  At this rate, I’ll be forced to fall back on some gratuitous Man U bashing, or maybe have a pop at those malodorous troglodytes from Bermondsey with their guttural tribal chants and dubious ancestry.

The situation is exacerbated by the fact that it’s another pesky international break, coming just when we don’t need it too as our beloved Leeds lads have at last managed to find some form.  They supplied the bullets for Rossco to drill four lethal holes in Charlton Athletic’s rearguard last weekend, the first time a United player had scored four league goals away from home since Tom Jennings did it in the late twenties.  That outstanding performance was worth waiting for – but now a two week hiatus threatens to break our train of thought, so to speak.  We can but hope that the Whites are still bang at it when the Smoggies roll into town a week on Saturday.  That’s rather too far away to think about just now – first we have to worry about our bevy of international stars (alright then, mainly Ross and Rudy) and their chances of avoiding injury on the world stage. Fingers crossed there.

So there’s not really a hell of a lot to write about today, neither of a historically-significant nature nor any currently burning issues as we’re match-less for another eight days.  It might as well be the cricket season for all there is to chew the fat about – on which note I’m reminded that the Ashes Series down under is just around the corner. But still, it’s by far preferable to have something Leeds-oriented to write about – and if I hadn’t already managed to fill a blog of respectable length, I might very well try a bit harder to do just that.  Maybe tomorrow will bring me more in the way of inspiration, as I turn once more to Vital Leeds and check what’s been happening to our great club on November 16th down the years.

Failing that – the 16th is my Mum’s birthday, so I could write to her instead.  Something always turns up.

McCormack Exposes Strachan’s Lack of Four-sight as Leeds Romp to Victory – by Rob Atkinson

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Ross McCormack – surplus Scot

Gordon Strachan has always been good value, whether plying his trade as Leeds United’s traditional diminutive ginger midfield maestro, or later as a manager with a penchant for the apposite quote, frequently a venom-tipped barb delivered with his own brand of waspish humour.  He’s not been somebody noted for getting things wrong all that often. There was a dressing-room tantrum in the early days at Elland Road, when it took Jim Beglin to calm him down – politely but firmly.  And there was the famous own-goal near the end of the Charity Shield match against Liverpool at Wembley in 1992 – but that didn’t matter as Leeds won in the end.  Other than those two minor blips, he’s normally got most things right.  But Leeds fans will have been queuing up to tell him that he dropped a right clanger this week.

Somehow, by some convolution of his venerable grey matter, Scotland manager Strach has managed to select for his next international squad NINE players from the Championship – and yet omit Ross McCormack.  I’d be very hard-pressed to name one Scottish player in the Championship better than Rossco, and yet wee Gordie somehow managed to find these nine.  It’s to be hoped they do well – they’ll have to if they’re going to prove their worth ahead of a man who has been excellent for Leeds United this season, a man who wears his heart and his commitment to the cause on his sleeve, a man, moreover, who has scored 6 goals in his last two outings whilst threatening to stage a one-man goal of the month competition.  Strachan did concede that McCormack had been “unlucky”, thereby adding to his considerable reputation for dry understatement.

At the time of this unlucky omission, Ross McCormack could point to just the two goals in his most recent game; now he’s trebled that output in one further game as if to emphasise just how bloody unlucky he really has been.  This approach of letting his boots do the talking instead of whinging in the press – and Ross can be quite vocal at times as his Twitter followers will confirm – is highly laudable of course, and something that Leeds fans will appreciate.  Those fans might rather, anyway, that Ross should be putting his feet up for a couple of weeks and doing the odd bit of training at Thorp Arch, instead of gadding about Europe with the Sweaties.  That way, the Leeds faithful will figure, he’ll be rested and ready to poke a few more goals in, a fortnight hence, against his persistent summer suitors Middlesbrough.  So even if we feel a bit bruised and crestfallen on McCormack’s behalf – there are compensations for Leeds supporters in what seems an inexplicable decision to deny the lad some more international experience.  Ross will be wondering what, exactly, he has to do in order to merit selection.

Some more of what he served up today certainly wouldn’t go amiss.  McCormack was hailed by both managers after Charlton versus Leeds as “the difference”.  On a disgraceful bog of a pitch reminiscent of some of the marshlands at Derby and elsewhere in the 70’s, Leeds managed to overcome a determined Charlton side, one that hadn’t conceded a solitary goal in over seven hours of football.  The home side had made the brighter start, but Leeds scored with their first real chance, as McCormack fastened onto Blackstock’s neat flick to dink the ball over Charlton’s onrushing keeper.  United then survived a penalty appeal and a shot against their woodwork before conceding the equaliser just before half-time to one of those “worldies” we see fly into our net all too often.  This time it was Cameron Stewart blasting a twenty-yard volley past a helpless Paddy Kenny, and Leeds were on the back foot for the remaining couple of minutes before the break, grateful in the end to go in level.

After the interval, the match swiftly swung back Leeds’ way.  A penalty was claimed and awarded when Danny Pugh – back after a long time in the doldrums and playing well – was tripped by Charlton’s Harriott, and McCormack leathered the spot-kick fiercely into the roof of the net.  Charlton were still full of fight and saw Kenny make one great save to deny the penalty villain Harriott, whilst squandering at least one other decent opening, before they finally levelled the match at 2-2 in the 70th minute.  Simon Church carved out the chance with a low cross, converted by Johnnie Jackson.  This is the sort of scenario that makes the Leeds faithful groan in collective pain and pessimism; normally, having been pegged back, we expect further disaster to ensue.  The three thousand plus United followers in the Jimmy Seed stand must therefore have been anticipating the worst, but glory be – the best was yet to come.

It came quickly, too.  Barely three minutes had elapsed since Charlton’s second equaliser when McCormack, again benefiting from an assist from loanee Blackstock, smashed home a close-range volley from a tight angle.  There hadn’t even been time to sink fully into the default Leeds state of pessimism and now all was joy and rapture again as the travelling faithful bellowed their appreciation. Surely, Leeds would hang on now.  And hang on they did, defending resolutely enough for the remaining seventeen minutes, at the end of which Rudy Austin was fouled just outside the area by Rhoys Wiggins. McCormack sized it up, took aim, and curled a beautiful free kick past Hamer to end the home side’s hopes.

It was the first time a United player had scored four in a game since Brian Deane made QPR suffer at Elland Road in the noughties. Heaven only knows when a Leeds player last grabbed four away from home.  That might be something for Strachan to contemplate, with his Elland Road connections, as he watches the highlights of this performance. Chances are, though, he’ll have a lot more to think about than that.

Vote For Your Top Leeds United Manager

Life, Leeds United, the Universe & Everything wants to know readers’ views on just who are the greatest Leeds United managers of all time.  To be helpful, there is a short list of candidates, with the obvious contenders and maybe the odd wild card.  You can also nominate and vote for your own choice if you don’t see him among the managers suggested.  Make your views known!  Have your say on the greatest Leeds United manager of all time by selecting up to three choices.

Thanks for reading and participating!

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Can Man U Finish Above Everton & Spurs and Make the Top Six? – by Rob Atkinson

City beat scum

Man U – also rans?

The longer this Premier League season goes on, the clearer it is that there is a mini-league, right at the top, of teams who are frankly in a different class to the rest.  The question is – how big is this league within a league?  The thoroughbreds appear obvious – Arsenal, Chelsea, Manchester City and Liverpool.  But coming up on the rails, we seem to have decent stayers in Everton and Spurs.  These latter two appear destined to create a buffer-zone – a sort of No-Man’s Land – between the Champions League qualifiers above them and the rest below.

It’s been the kind of weekend to reinforce such impressions.  Arsenal were below their fluent best and reduced to ten men, but won competently at Palace 2-0.  Chelsea and Manchester City served up a gourmet’s delight of a match that looked likely to be a top-drawer draw until Joe Hart’s late cock-up presented Torres with a winner.  Liverpool with Suarez irresistible and Sturridge’s sublime finish look as if they are intent on returning to the top table.  Spurs and Everton won as well, without the shimmering class of the top four, but hanging in there.

But what of Man U?  What indeed.  The media are still liable to get into a heck of a froth about them, given the least encouragement.  One TV commentator yesterday was screaming “Never write them off!” as they came from behind to beat ….. Stoke.  At home. Ring-a-ding ding.  The gulf between the formerly dominant Pride of Devon and the cream at the top of the pail, though, is currently a yawning chasm.  On today’s form, Man City and Chelsea, engaged in a titanic struggle at Stamford Bridge, would have had no trouble sweeping aside the fragmented resistance and feeble assaults that were in evidence at the Theatre of Hollow Myths.

If I were a Man U fan, I’d be worried.  Actually, if I were a Man U fan, I’d be utterly disgusted with myself and would probably curl up and die of self-loathing, but you take my meaning.  Man U fans should be worried.  Their edifice is built on perpetual Champions League qualification, and that must be in severe doubt as things stand.  If they don’t qualify for Europe’s premier competition, and all the oodles of millions that go with it, how will the Glazers’ balance sheet look then?  “More than a bit sick” is a very educated guess.

Indeed, far from trying to figure out which of that likely top four they might hope to displace, the money men at Man U should be scratching their heads and wondering whether they can realistically hope to out-perform Spurs and Everton – because if they can’t, then a finish outside the top six beckons, with no European competition at all. Then that Glazer-inspired leveraged buyout, with all the debt it has accrued, starts to look seriously scary.  But, as you’d currently expect either Everton or Spurs to beat Man U, this is a real prospect – the ailing champs have no divine right to a European berth (although I’d bet good money they’d get a wild card through winning the Fair-Play League, or the Refs’ Best Mates League, or something).  The bottom line is, though – the immediate prospects for Man U look as bleak as they have for a while.

You don’t have to look far for the reason behind this.  The tyrant is no longer on his dictatorial throne – Fergie is gone.  Instead, you have a middling sort of chap in Moyes, about whom the current joke runs that he’s wanted to get Everton above Man U for ten years, and has only now managed to achieve it.  With Fergie went Man U’s edge – the fear of the wattled Glaswegian’s wrath which was the best motivation tool of all.  Try though the media might – driven by their concerns over markets and reading/viewing figures – you cannot, as they say, polish a turd.  Trying to talk up Man U’s chances of league success this season is a futile attempt to do precisely that.

So, the Kings are dead – long live the Kings.  But which Kings?  Who will be ascending the throne?  It’s difficult to say, because the clutch of class at the top of the Premier League is closely-matched indeed, and all the more thrilling and entertaining for that. My heart says Arsenal, because I love their football – but sadly the virtuoso moments like Wilshere’s finish, on the end of a quicksilver three-man dance through Norwich’s defence, sometimes lack for the requisite steel to back them up, as Dortmund demonstrated last week.  But Arsenal will be up there.

Liverpool will be there too.  But I fancy Arsenal and Liverpool to be third and fourth at the end of the campaign.  Chelsea and City should fight it out, and out of those two, it’s just a case of “may the best team win”.  With my arm twisted up my back, I might just go for City – if they can cut out those suicidal mistakes.

And it might just be worth a punt on Man U to finish behind Everton and Spurs at seventh or below.  You’ll probably get good odds – try BetFred, if he’s not already paying out on bets for the Pride of Devon to win the league.  For some, the New Order will take a bit of getting used to…

Disappointment at Huddersfield – Can Marius Zaliukas Steady the Ship for Leeds? – by Rob Atkinson

New Boy Marius Zaliukas

New Boy Marius Zaliukas

Another derby day defeat, another three goals conceded, this time against a team shorn of their top scorer due to suspension.  There were some crumbs of comfort: Matt Smith scored again, and could prove to be a handful for Championship defences as the season goes on.  Dexter Blackstock came on from the bench for his United debut, and he scored too, which is a great way to start with a new club.  We probably should have had a penalty, we scored one of their goals for them – and last but not least, we’ve signed an international central defender who captained Hearts to a Scottish Cup win.

Marius Zaliukas has been without a club since the summer, but played for his country only last week.  He was wanted by ‘Arry at QPR and nobody has had anything worse to say about the lad than that he’s got a bit of a temper on him.  At 29, he’s in his prime as a defender, and we’ve got him initially till the end of the season.  Yay.

It’s looking likely that Marius will have an active role to play at Elland Road sooner rather than later.  Our defence didn’t look exactly comfortable at times in the second half against Birmingham, even though we recorded a clean sheet in a 4-0 win.  Three at the back, if that’s how we’re to continue, will demand a decent pool of centre backs to allow for inconveniences such as suspensions and injuries.  It seems that Messrs Pearce and Lees were culpable in at least two of the three we let in from our chip-on-the-shoulder bearing neighbours down the road, so maybe an injection of international know-how and experience is just what the doctor ordered.

From all accounts, the boy might be a tiny bit aggressive, but again that’s more virtue than vice down Elland Road way.  Since the days of Norman the Great – in fact tracing our illustrious club’s history back as far as Wilf Copping – we’ve always appreciated a lad who understands the tactical subtleties of “getting stuck in” and “getting rid”. Marius Zaliukas sounds like he might be just our cup of Yorkshire Tea and it goes without saying that we wish him well.

If we can get the defence sorted out, and if we can convert a few more of the chances that we again created in reasonably great number today, maybe things can still look up in time for this season to mean something.  Well, anyway, that’s the positive spin on another disappointing day for Leeds United Football Club and its devoted army of fans.

It’s Yeovil next, and they beat Forest today.  Bring it on.

Loyalty Is a One-Way Street in Alex Ferguson’s World – by Rob Atkinson

Taggart:  Why I Was Always Right, by the waaaaaaaayy.

Taggart: Why I Was Always Right, by the waaaaaaaayy

After nearly half a season of relative silence from their much-missed guru, hero, source of inspiration and occasional bête-noire, the media breathed a collective sigh of relief last week. The Ego Had Landed. Fergie was back, at least in print, and those fangs were still bared and ready. The latest autobiography of Alex Ferguson has shown the old curmudgeon has lost none of his ability to dispense vitriol, none of his elephantine memory for anyone who has ever annoyed him – and certainly none of his oddly unilateral approach to the issue of loyalty.

Apparently, during Fergie’s tenure, loyalty was a word much bandied-about behind the scenes at the Theatre of Hollow Myths. That it was evidently used to specify the absolute need for a slavish adherence to the Govan Guv’nor’s every wish goes almost without saying. This requirement extended beyond the confines of Man U. Should a rival manager ever have the brass neck and utter nerve to question or criticise the great man, a familiar growl would issue from his lair along the lines of “After all I’ve done fae him…”

Fergie was not a man to be crossed, not by subordinates, not by rivals, not even by his nominal superiors. Criticism was not to be tolerated. Resistance was futile. His was as near to an absolute rule as existed at any football club anywhere, certainly in the 21st century. Fergie’s Man U was the last autocracy in the professional game – a factor upon which, extending as it did to terrified administrators and wary match officials, was founded their unprecedented success.

The latest in a series of literary self-portraits has, in the august opinion of respected sportswriter Patrick Barclay, little new to offer in terms of revelation – the longed-for “blowing the lid off” the game, or portions thereof. What we do get is a series of little packages of poison as Alexander the Great reviews the vast canvas of his career and delivers his venom to those he believes were found wanting. The loyalty so prized by SAF in his managerial career is evidently a currency he does not feel it necessary to repay. This will come as no surprise to the likes of Brian Kidd, now the Manchester City assistant boss, or Gordon Strachan, now manager of Scotland. Each of them have had both barrels between the shoulder blades in the past, and to their credit they’ve largely maintained a dignified silence. But Fergie was in his Man U job then, and there were certain perceived perils associated with biting back at a figure who had managed to create for himself a tyrannical position whereby he held sway over most of football. Will he benefit from such forbearance after this latest raft of assassinations?

In this latest addition to the former manager’s stable of autobiographies (the whole possibly to be known as “Why I Was Always Right, Vols. 1-5”), the less-than-likeable Alex has turned his baleful gaze on, among others: David Beckham (the football boot in the eye incident, marrying a pop star and wanting to move to a bigger club); Arsene Wenger (Pizzagate and being offensively intelligent); Roberto Mancini (failing to sell Tevez when Fergie thought he should and then going on to win the Title with malice aforethought and a 6-1 tonking of Man U on their own manor); Rafa Benitez (for having the sheer bad taste to tell it like it was and also, with no evident irony, for being a “control freak”); then, last but not least here, the Rio Ferdinand drug-testers whose fault it apparently was that the former defender “forgot” to provide a sample when required. It’s an impressive list, but not exhaustive.

At least one other target, casually denigrated in the course of this epic litany of nasties, wants to have a word in Fergie’s ear. Ex-goalkeeper Marc Bosnich, described as a “terrible professional” by the man who nevertheless signed him twice, is putting a fairly stoical face on it, but appears not to be best-pleased and has hinted that he’d appreciate a frank discussion face to face.

The over-riding impression, delivered with all the subtlety of a Royston Keane tackle, is that anyone in his club who fancied himself bigger than the boss would have to either learn the error of his ways and that right swiftly – or get out. Keane himself is one who was moved on, in some haste, after “disagreements” with Ferguson. Keane it is now who remarks that his ex-manager, for all his preaching about loyalty, doesn’t know the meaning of the word, a sentiment which will be echoed by many of the men who served Ferguson well and have now been left bullet-riddled by the former chief’s paranoid rhetoric. The latest proof of this anomaly runs to many thousands of words, is available from this week, imaginatively titled “My Autobiography” and will cost you a decidedly prettier penny if you want your copy signed by lifelong socialist and latter day profiteer Sir Fergie himself.

It seems likely that the Ferguson Factor is what is missing from this season’s pallid Man U; the fear that gave them that edge seemingly gone with the wind. But on this most recent evidence of the choleric and treacherous nature of the man, who – other than the many millions of Man U fans from Torquay to Jakarta and back again, plus a few sensation-staved tabloid hacks – just who will really miss him now he’s gone?