Leeds did enough against Burnley and have done enough all season and considering the last six promoted teams there's not much more they can reasonably have done. And even the fates' most twistical threads can't undo it all now.
"For about half an hour after the final whistle, I felt completely numb," said Don Revie. "When I met my son, Duncan, outside the ground. He was sobbing — and I felt like sitting down and crying with him."
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35 years on from Valencia's first visit to Yorkshire, people in Spain still blamed Leeds, and English football. Marca splashed a one-word headline — 'Thuggery' — over their reports predicting a new millennium update of the same old Dirty Leeds.
Older, sterner, but never quite grizzly, Batty was still quiet on the pitch — players dreaded the thump thump thump of his boots — and still taking delight from upending reputations.
The dismay of this is that our club can't shrug off the big days and have another go soon. Then again, if Chelsea are what that looks like, perhaps we're better delaying that future as long as we can.
It got more exciting, but the frustrating sort of exciting, the no points kind, an exasperating missed chance to clear the lingering risk of relegation and go, beleaguerless, to enjoy Wembley. Until Sean Longstaff stepped up and volleyed in.
"For about half an hour after the final whistle, I felt completely numb," said Don Revie. "When I met my son, Duncan, outside the ground. He was sobbing — and I felt like sitting down and crying with him."
This could have been an afternoon of angst, and the chatter about Wigan 2019 felt designed to summon just that, like repeating 'Gavin Massey' five times into a mirror. Instead the match was settled by an at-home demonstration of just how effective Leeds had been away on Monday.
As goalkeeper, Nigel Martyn knew what this pre-match bluster meant. "If they think they can score four, Deportivo must have singled me out," he said.
Nobody respects their old myths anymore. In West Yorkshire, nobody ever did. We just needed a team to go there and show how we felt about it on their pitch, while their captain was tantrumming on the grass, nothing wounded but his maloriented pride.
David Beckham went into hiding. Paul Ince locked himself away in the hotel. David Batty, meanwhile, was in the bar, watching a replay on television, cringing at Kevin Keegan confidently predicting he'd score.