I was nervous as a sixteen year old going to games, when I didn't know the unwritten rules, and I was nervous now, walking down under the station and over the river, not sure if the rules were still the same after eighteen months.
Dealing with last weekend first, Bielsa went to great detailed lengths to say it was all his fault, then said he was going to great detailed lengths to say it was all his fault to make sure everybody is clear that it was all his fault.
If we want those running stats for bragging rights, and those outlying scatter graphs redrawn to include our style of play, we have to hold on tight while our belief systems are subverted.
What was simple was promotion and staying up and annoying people. Those ambitions generated their own momentum and gave Leeds ample opportunity to piss people off. But what are we even doing now?
Bielsa has been working at Thorp Arch all the summer long, and when he wasn't working he was domiciled a matter of steps away, and the one time he ventured beyond Yorkshire, to Scotland, he was quickly located and photographed by fans.
Speaking from one fans' point of view, after using the Socios app, I can not see how involving fans will be helped, or made easier, or made more fun, or more engaging, or produce a better decision, by first requiring me to put money into an app to buy cryptocurrency to buy a fan token to vote.
Four Bruno Ribeiro free-kicks and four Ian Harte headers. And four goals!
Only for Kalvin Phillips' sake, I reckoned, should we be trying to remember anything about the otherwise numb blank of the Cardiff game, not letting a happy moment be buried by the bitterness all surrounding it. But it has only worked out that way now thanks to the Yorkshire Pirlo himself.
Leeds fans believed they had the best team, but in most areas of the pitch they'd concede individual supremacy was up for debate. Bobby Moore was a worthy rival to Norman Hunter. Pele might, they'd grudgingly admit, improve the side. But who was close to being a better left-back than Cooper?
Haaland's serenity is frightening in certain lights, like the bloke sitting placid in his pub corner for years, who one day starts smashing pint glasses over his own head.