As Bielsa crouched in the rain beneath the annihilating silence and the contrasting floods of light and dark, cut off from the spontaneous response of supporters who always supply immediate answers to doubts, was he wondering, who made this game?
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.
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.
Bielsa sits, crouches or prowls, eyes on the action, with one aim in mind that inspires countless thoughts and strategies: get this plan working. Bielsa has one way to play. His flexibility comes from the extraordinary lengths he'll stretch to so that he doesn't have to change a thing.
At times you could feel the strain Leeds' players were under; it would have been easy to revert to last season's type, to concede a stupid goal, have a couple of players sent off, give it loads of bollocks in the second half when it was too late then end up losing amid boos. But that was then.
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.
It was a battle to recapture the carefree spirit of the first half an hour, and it's Bielsa's permanent battle in sport; he intends to take not worrying about the opposition to its logical conclusion, so that whatever they're doing, his team keeps playing the same.
Why, after watching so many hours of Liam Cooper kicking a football, does he not shudder like we do when it happens? When he lies awake in bed, in his office, thinking about Kalvin Phillips, what do his thoughts reveal to him, that our eyes, after watching Phillips for two seasons, have not?