The East Stand Echoing FFS, as Anthemic as MOT - The Square Ball 25/8/21

POST-TUESDAYS STRESS DISORDER

Written by Steven York

There are certain things about Leeds United that you cannot unlearn. Every fan has lived through a number of defining moments that become entangled with their knowledge of the football club.

We might share a common language but we often mean slightly different things. To ‘Do a Leeds’ has long been parlance relating to financial mismanagement, overspending and ultimate insolvency. But I don’t think that’s the most Leeds thing about us. I’d argue that ‘Doing a Ridsdale’ is a better term for that. To me, ‘Doing a Leeds’ is snatching defeat from the jaws of victory. One particular game is burned into my memory and it is likely to remain there until my dying day.

It's Darren Ferguson and Jon Parkin, and it's best we don't discuss it

It was the 28th of September in 2010. An unremarkable Tuesday night when a little over 20,000 people gathered at Elland Road to watch 20th placed Preston take on 9th placed Leeds. Younger fans may not realise how easy it used to be to get tickets in the Championship. Even in our first season back from League One it wasn’t uncommon for the stadium to be half full for a midweek game.

Jon Parkin scored in the first five minutes, giving Preston the lead and bringing the night’s first traditional stifled groans from a crowd barely into their seats. Cries of ‘for fuck’s sake’ echoed around the East Stand. That’s almost as anthemic to me as Marching on Together.

Leeds responded well, and ten minutes later Becchio levelled. Soon Alex Bruce headed us into the lead and everything seemed fine again. South African superhuman Davide Somma bagged a brace before half-time to settle nerves and put the game beyond doubt. At 4-1 up you’d put your mortgage on Leeds to win the game.

What followed has become a core memory, part of my personality.

While Simon Grayson said later that he’d been quite stern with the lads at half-time, due to the number of chances given to Preston, even he must have thought the score was fairly comfortable.

True, Jon Parkin had made it 4-2 just before half-time. And after the break Keith Treacy made it 4-3 as Leeds conceded from a corner (some things never change). One match report says we looked ‘rattled’, and rewatching the coverage it’s remarkable how familiar the chaos looks.

Leeds gave away a penalty — Preston captain Callum Davidson equalised from the spot. A long throw was inexplicably allowed to bounce uncontested between defenders, setting up a lovely volleyed fifth, and a hat-trick for Parkin. The sixth goal showed we’d given up: a long floated ball completely bypassed the back four, who were barely jogging at this point, allowing Iain Hume to head beyond helpless Shane Higgs.

My point, aside from forcing you to relive the game with me, is that I cannot escape this memory. Whatever game we’re playing, whatever the score, irrespective of how many minutes remain on the clock, I cannot overcome the belief that Leeds can lose. 4-1 up against a side in 20th place and we still managed to lose 6-4. I’ve never asked, but I doubt Ladbrokes got many punters making that bet after 39 minutes.

It’s why I was able to handle our collapse against Derby in the play-off semi-final. I expected it. For all the amazing and wonderful things Marcelo Bielsa has brought to the footballing side of our lives, I’m still cursed with confidence that at 4-1 up, we’re capable of losing. Leeds beat Crewe in the Carabao Cup, in the end, but you can imagine where my optimism was, going into the last fifteen minutes.

When Massimo Cellino brought Monsignor Philip Moger to bless the Elland Road pitch in 2015, maybe he should have stayed on the payroll. There’s some bad juju hanging over this club somewhere and it’d be great if we could exorcise it. Maybe it’s in the minds of fans like me, ever fearful, expecting the worst.

Maybe the club should send a priest around to bless every single fan as part of the season ticket and membership scheme? Instead of a bottle opener that sings Marching on Together, you get your bad memories of Leeds exorcised. I’d take that deal.