Chelsea 1-0 Leeds United: Rather us than them
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.
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.
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.
If the Peacocks of 1950 could overcome Arsenal, they'd reach the FA Cup semi-final. And that could mean, it was reported, another trip to London, if the semi-finals were moved to Wembley.
I'm grateful for Leeds United's stoppage time collapse because it turned this match back towards cup football purity and, while it might not have been romantic, it developed an outsized mental dominance that ensures it won't be easily forgotten.
A bright yellow bucket hat, a blue and yellow bar scarf, a Newell's Old Boys top in the England end: everyone else might have thought it was mad, but it was the only thing there that made sense to me. If that was you, remember: a man with new ideas is a madman, until his ideas triumph.
Leeds can hand Dan James a laptop full of shot-data analysis, remind him of his triple play-off pain and the scar running down his brow, give him a brick and ten minutes and let him get it all out of his system.
This is not, I should make clear, me wishing for a synchronised around-the-grounds transistorcentric thrillfest settling our relegation chances on the final day. But at least that wouldn't be boring!