106 days since Leeds United’s last game was a long time for Marcelo Bielsa not to change his plans, and after three cruel months of deteriorating certainties I’m grateful for the Peacocks’ constant rosarino.
By this time next week we’ll have been through the familiar cycle. Pre-match press conference (I hope, I miss Marcelo). Team news. Kick-off. A football match. Post-match analysis and, hopefully, happiness.
We can call it normal but it won’t be, especially if we get the happiness part. We’ve wished football back into our lives because we’ve missed having a good time, forgetting that in 100 years of United’s history, watching Leeds play football has been a funny way of enjoying ourselves.
English football has a plan. We have dates for the Premier League and Championship to resume. We have dates for them to end. We have kick-off times and broadcasting schedules. We also have 2,000 new cases of Covid-19 every day, but dwelling on that would only harsh the buzz of a sunny government briefing.
Winning is a drug, and this win unbalanced Bielsa, sending him into Quiroga’s arms.
Leeds and Bielsa are a perfect match; like Fred and Ginger, or Sid and Nancy.
We’re tired of Spygate, but it won’t stop the childish finger pointing. With unlikely allies, we’re ready to go to war with Pontus and head up the Salim Lamrani revolution. First stop, however, is New York, where Jack Harrison will feel right at home.
300 hours of analysis, 26 Luton Town matches, 500 passes precisely; what good did any of it do?
English football’s battle to protect its culture against foreign influence, and Leeds United.
This one has it all: Spygate, Frank Lampard’s Derby County, Neil Warnock, Frankie Box & the fate of the universe. ¡Leeds Carajo!
Anyone who thinks Marcelo Bielsa is unsporting doesn’t understand the joy of football. But Leeds United do.