Maybe deep down chance is what we're into football for. Sure, we can talk about it being a sport where elite athletes compete to prove whose best. But we could also be honest and confess how much we love it when a ball smacks into his own goal off Harry Maguire's face.
It was 3-1 before Gracia could get any substitutes on, and his instructions never seemed to evolve beyond, lads, whatever you’re doing, please stop.
Perhaps his style is just fated to go under the radar with fans who want excitement, goals, dancing celebrations. Jackie Harrison, under most circumstances when Leeds score, tends to just look relieved.
This game, as Leeds asserted themselves as they should, was like a steady sesh on serotonin, a football match like a pub garden one spring lunchtime when it feels like things are going right for a while.
No collaboration I’ve ever heard of began with one of the collaborators going away and staying away, yet here Chelsea are, convincing Graham to agree to collaborate with them on ending their collaboration.
A few hours of distraction for the fans, some exercise for the players, Saturday afternoon ended and Saturday evening began.
It's a weird game like this, football, because it's not about chasing high after high. Instead it's like being addicted to something that hardly ever satisfies you.
Harry Kane took a scoring record off of Wayne Rooney this week, which was like watching a semolina pudding smother a potato.
Gracia wouldn't give anything away about how Leeds will play at Wolves this weekend, other than he'll be trying to get Leeds doing something that will work. Can't ask for much more than that, right now.
Whatever shiny plans Radrizzani and his cohort had for the West Stand will be rolled up and filed, now, and without that to look forward to, what fun is refurbishing a few kiosks in some part of the stadium where you never set foot?