Harmony vs the seaside
Imagine Marcelo Bielsa and Tony Yeboah of an evening, sitting together in Frankfurt over a beer, talking about how the Leeds fans still love them.
Imagine Marcelo Bielsa and Tony Yeboah of an evening, sitting together in Frankfurt over a beer, talking about how the Leeds fans still love them.
This is a man I assumed to have the highest aesthetic standards in football, and now I'm forced to picture him roaring his approval as Danny Ward runs the clock down in a corner of Wembley.
Leeds United were brave, in 2018, hiring Marcelo Bielsa to change the club's culture. But Premier League paranoia was too powerful in the end.
Marcelo Bielsa's obsessive practice of his life's work gives football the true seriousness it needs for us to remember that it's only a game.
Marcelo Bielsa should be a football club owner's dream. Can you help him? No. He is here to help you.
A gap opens up, then someone appears, a player or member of staff, I'm not sure; they open their arms wide and hug Marcelo, and Bielsa's arms are like a flytrap closing around him, hugging him back.
At the airport back in Argentina, a group of Newell's fans handed Bielsa a letter of praise.
Fernando Gamboa is an interesting case study in what Newell's Old Boys means to Bielsa, and what Bielsa and his team mean to Newell's Old Boys' fans. Imagine Vinnie Jones but taller, with shoulder length black hair.
Marcelo Bielsa's Newell's looked closer to Howard Wilkinson's Leeds than to Pep Guardiola's Manchester City: a team hard working individuals who, by dedicating themselves to each other and to a tactical plan, achieved much more than they ever could apart.
This is where Bielsa started, contemplating life, death and 3-3-1-3, while the helicopters whirled doom or glory around him.