Merry go round, together
Would Joe Rodon come out in a 1992 Umbro tracksuit? Would Pascal Struijk do a Jon Newsome and nearly drop the cup? Would Illan Meslier say he doesn't know why he loves us, but he loves us?
Would Joe Rodon come out in a 1992 Umbro tracksuit? Would Pascal Struijk do a Jon Newsome and nearly drop the cup? Would Illan Meslier say he doesn't know why he loves us, but he loves us?
The game is better this way, trust me. And trust yourself, and how you felt when Solomon scored the winner. And trust the incomprehensible history of Leeds United Football Club.
Leeds fans are, as Farke says, emotional. It doesn't matter how it makes the manager feel, as Howard Wilkinson once said, but it mattered that the team saw their manager using fans' emotions as fuel for his own calm. Since Chris Wilder called his club's fans a 'disgrace', Leeds have won every game.
Going up and staying up are two different things; proposing and building are two different things; 1st and 2nd are two different things; football and everything else are two different things. From everything over the last week, I'll take the football.
The Premier League? What might be next are a lot of things we won't like. Gradually, then suddenly, Leeds United could change. But for two weeks we have a club with no stress and a team that, when there is no stress, wins 6-0 and makes us happy. It only becomes a moment when it's over.
We could have kept all the clean sheets we liked, won all the games we wanted, but never without feeling that hot breath on our necks, stale grease and rancid butter. Until this weekend.
There's still plenty of time for Leeds to throw this season away, but this is also the time for them to gather their resources, review what and who works under pressure, and just bang it long to Bamford when required.
Few footballers combine the skills of Wilf Gnonto with the body of John Pearson. You pays your money and takes your shortarses, and wager that you'll meet few enough shithouse teams and get enough points off them.
At some point we have to factor in that these two seasons, dissatisfying as they might feel now or ultimately become, have been once-every-twenty-season experiences, twice.
Football is ninety minutes of striving for joy and, given the odds, winning is so rare that to demand it of the participants would be foolish of me and unfair on them.