Hiding The Horizon
It turns out that where the rest of us see problems at Leeds United, Marcelo Bielsa sees solutions. And the solutions he sees are among the reasons why people call him El Loco; to anyone else they'd be mad.
It turns out that where the rest of us see problems at Leeds United, Marcelo Bielsa sees solutions. And the solutions he sees are among the reasons why people call him El Loco; to anyone else they'd be mad.
Victor Orta was trying a Big Brother experiment last season, throwing loads of twenty-somethings in a building and seeing who doesn't break down, but those who graduated to Bielsa's dorm-rooms, video-rooms and round-the-clock attention are not the headlit rabbits we watched freezing last season.
Imagine turning up to the first home match of the biggest promotion attempt in years, and seeing Vinnie Jones is sitting on the bench, and Mickey Thomas is starting. Maybe that's the real reason fans were smashing windows.
Few players do less to hide their emotions: when Pontus Jansson is happy, he runs to the fans and punches the air, and when he's sad, he turns his entire face upside down and glooms away down the tunnel. If there's any doubt how he's feeling, there will be an Instagram post explaining it.
Tthere's something simple and appealing about Bielsa's stoic-ball. 'Don't worry about them, let them worry about you' is a trope that has always been interpreted by Warnockian centre-halves to mean 'kick the other bastards first', but what Bielsa offers is something more profound.
If I could I'd take along a huge old fashioned broom to the last match, and use it to beat the dust from the backside of every single one of the players for letting us down so badly this season.
This design was supposed to be unique, breaking from the past yet rooted in the fan culture that makes Leeds United special. But by removing every trace of previous crests, they removed any connection between this crest and Leeds United Football Club as we have known it.
Neglecting our past for so long means there is a lot of catching up to do, and that conversations about the merits of one player or another quickly veer into disbelief that Bobby Collins or Jack Charlton or numerous others aren't publicly acknowledged somewhere at Elland Road already.
Everything is coming together nicely for Lasogga to be derided as the German Billy Paynter before he and his mum even have the chance to be chased out of the Millennium Square Christkindlmarkt for lewd behaviour.
And Brian Montenegro prospers. A sharp intake of breath at the memory, like when you rummage for an old pair of shoes and find a postcard from a grandparent long dead. Oh, him!