Leeds United 0-3 Liverpool: Television Personalities - The Square Ball 13/9/21
LOOK AWAY NOW
Written by Moscowhite • Daniel Chapman
Sometimes things happen on a football pitch that nobody
wants to see, so people form a shield to block views, cameras pull away, adults
cover children’s eyes. That’s how it should be for Leeds United’s confrontation
with Premier League reality this autumn.
The high of promotion is only just giving way to hangover
now, fifteen months after the fact, after a helium interim when United’s
football was the single joy of a deadly monotonous pandemic. Some of the
emotion was held back, so it wasn’t too strange to hear Gaetano Berardi’s name
being sung at only the second sell-out league game since before promotion. And
some of the story was out of shot of the television broadcasts, that we assume
are all-seeing, but are selective both in editing and atmosphere. There wasn’t
any atmosphere in the Premier League’s empty stadiums last season and without
an audience to provide a chorus and without a full pitch view, we only saw the
best football Leeds have played for twenty years, and it seduced us in our
homes. What we saw was never really what it was like, but we liked what we saw.
Back in the sunless chill of the West Stand, watching Leeds
playing Liverpool in the Premier League again after almost twenty years, I was
taken back to the adventurous Champions League era, the title-chasing Super
Sundays, when superb footballers like Mark Viduka and Olivier Dacourt would end
games defeated, barracked by Leeds fans for not being good enough or strong
enough to do what we wanted them to do. One month after topping the Premier
League in 2002, Leeds were beaten 4-0 by Liverpool at Elland Road. We had Nigel
Martyn in goal and Rio Ferdinand in defence, Batty and Bowyer in the middle and
Kewell and Fowler up front. It’s hard to think of a better Leeds line-up this
century. Ferdinand scored an own goal and Emile Heskey got two in two minutes.
But given time, games like that fade from our memory, as the one we replay —
constantly, at the start of the pandemic — is the one when Viduka scored four,
in a team we forget was not so good. Eirik Bakke, Jacob Burns, Danny Hay; not
Robbie Keane on the bench, but Gareth Evans.
The best of the current Leeds United team can, with a bit of
favour, be compared with that one. Bamford on his best days for Viduka or
Smith. Raphinha for Kewell. Harrison, certainly, for Jason Wilcox. Meslier for
Robinson, Firpo for Harte, Ayling for Kelly or Mills. I don’t think we have a
Ferdinand or Woodgate but we have a crop of Matteos in Cooper, Llorente and
Koch, maybe something even better in Struijk, and they’re all better than
Duberry. Dallas lacks Lee Bowyer’s explosion, but the way Kalvin Phillips
played against Liverpool this weekend, he could have taken over from Dacourt or
Batty and improved the side. I’m not sure where Rodrigo would have fit in back
then. Or now. So I guess he’s Seth Johnson.
What the current side have in common with our memory of
David O’Leary’s is the blessing of nostalgia, but unlike O’Leary’s, it’s
steadily becoming a curse upon them. Few people are going to go back through
the football of 1999 to 2002 to decide whether the era was better represented
by the 4-3 over Liverpool or the 0-4 beneath them. The small screen will stick
to rerunning the best of the 4:3 ratio clips, thank you very much. Marcelo
Bielsa’s Leeds, though, are going to be exposed every week to the scrutiny of
fans who remember them from the last year-and-a-half at home as heroes in high
definition. The problem now they’re off the screen is that they’re only human,
and can’t live up to a video ideal of themselves that we don’t normally build
for players until after their retirement.
Bielsa spoke last week about the modern idea that fans only
want to see highlights, and something of that is afflicting Leeds. The games
played behind closed doors, only shown on pay television, took on the feel of
highlights partly through the presentation — the Premier League will always
make the loudest statements about its own quality — and partly through the
relief from monotony Bielsa’s style represents. After the first lockdown,
everybody was glad to have football back, if only on TV. But imagine if we’d
had to watch Burnley every week. Instead, what we got was wonderful, like a
dream. But like a dream it was impossible to maintain after we woke up and went
outside.
I don’t know about second season syndrome but what we’re
getting from Leeds now is what their first Premier League season probably
should have been like. A Championship side grinding out draws against
established Premier League clubs, getting blown away by the top four. Last
season was a fantasy when we couldn’t see Luke Ayling and Kalvin Phillips
arguing off the ball about misplaced passes, or Raphinha sitting sulking on the
grass after Leeds concede. A mistake watched in silence, or amid the
indifferent hum of crowd noise from a tape, hits different when you hear 36,000
groaning at Liam Cooper, but it’s not as if those mistakes didn’t happen. God,
how I adore the memory of that first Premier League game, Leeds doing us proud
at Anfield. They conceded four that day, though. At least this weekend they
only conceded three.
Another oddity in the stats: at Anfield last season, Leeds
had three shots on target — all scored — and three off. This weekend Leeds had
four on target of nine. Last season’s Super League match at Elland Road was the
best of United’s performances against the Reds, and wasn’t so different from
this weekend’s match, conceding midway through the first half, while
withstanding a battering. That day Leeds equalised with three minutes to go.
This time Liverpool got a scruffy second just after half-time, then the game
was brought almost to a halt by a horrible injury to Harvey Elliot and a red
card for Pascal Struijk.
That moment changed the atmosphere and the play. To call an
injury sickening is a soccer cliche but it describes the stomach-shiver I felt
after glimpsing the angle of Elliot’s ankle, watching him being stretchered
off, imagining the damage to muscle and bone, and the pain. People also always
say the reaction of the players can tell you a lot, and that cliche was
definitely instructive here. Mo Salah was the nearest one, and he immediately
called for urgent medical help. Other Liverpool players rushed to their
stricken comrade, while Leeds players grimaced and turned away, knowing it was
bad. But in a situation where I’ve seen fights break out as players seek
retribution for the tackle, I didn’t see one Liverpool player accusing or
blaming Pascal Struijk, or even claiming for a foul, not even Salah, who didn’t
seem to see anything wrong with Struijk’s tackle when it happened, only with
his friend’s ankle when he heard his cry and looked back. There was unity among
players from both teams of sympathy for Elliot and understanding for Struijk,
whose remorse was obvious. Virgil van Dijk made a point of comforting him. And
his manager, Jurgen Klopp, alone in his thirst for revenge, seethed in the
background, calmer than he was when shouting at individual fans behind the
dugout in the first few moments after the tackle — when everyone else was
concentrating on Elliot’s health — and calmer than he was before referee Craig
Pawson mollified him by showing Struijk a red card, but not yet calm enough to
end his harangue of the fourth official, or to accept his captain extending a
hand of compassion to Klopp’s latest nemesis. You can tell a lot from the
reactions of footballers. And from managers, too.
I don’t know how informative this is, but Liverpool only had
eight of their thirty shots in the thirty-ish minutes Struijk was on the pitch.
He was playing very well after replacing Diego Llorente, who got injured again
and got very angry about it. There were ten more shots in Llorente’s half-hour,
but he was also playing very well, frantic sometimes but emphatic and
confident. I wish some of our other players had Llorente’s faith in just, like,
kicking the ball, and doing stuff.
Take Rodrigo, who could have changed the match completely in
the first five minutes. This was in the middle of an exhilarating passage of
play when Liverpool counter-attacked through Salah, who was dropped on the edge
of the area by Phillips; the crowd loved that, and within seconds Raphinha had
the ball from Kalvin’s long pass, was setting up Rodrigo for a clear shot, and
the noise was peaking, and if Leeds had scored at that moment the crescendo
would have reached Becchio-Millwall levels, breaking decibel readers, shifting
the South Stand from its foundations. But Rodrigo kicked the ball straight at
Allison’s head. Within seconds of that easy save Liverpool were playing a
through ball that Meslier had to intercept, so instead of a great moment for
Leeds, I had to isolate those ninety seconds as a great moment given by Leeds
to football, because end-to-end excitement like that doesn’t happen when I
watch other teams playing.
Leeds had other chances. They were not, despite the
post-match feeling, completely inept. Tyler Roberts had a similar chance to
Rodrigo, early in the second half, but placed it just as firmly wide. That came
after Jackie Harrison took on Trent Alexander-Arnold, and good things happened
for Leeds whenever Harrison tried doing that, making his reluctance to keep
going at the full-back frustrating. Leeds were concentrating on finding Bamford
through the middle, a tactic that was worrying Klopp, but hitting the striker’s
chest with passes twenty-five yards from goal was asking a lot of his ability
for making a goal from there.
Leeds had their worries about Liverpool’s attackers,
specifically all of them, and their defenders too. The opening goal happened
because centre-back Joel Matip drove at the left side of Leeds’ penalty area,
scrambling the marking: if someone stepped up to Matip, who marked Salah? And
then if someone marked Salah, who marked Alexander-Arnold? While this was
sorted out, both players got free and made the goal. Perhaps the proper
question was who should have followed Matip from midfield. But what midfield?
The second goal was just a typical corner scruff-bag barely
worth thinking about. The third was a stoppage time favour to Sadio Mane, who
deserved one. There are two ways of looking at Mane’s role in the game. Either
Leeds put on a superb defensive effort to stop him scoring until the end, last
ditch blocks following gormless misses, or maybe they were lucky he didn’t
score ten. The same dual view applies to the first two crucial goals. One
moment of poor defending, and a characteristic flaw at a corner? Not the end of
the world. But, well, what about the 28 other chances? Some of those might well
have been.
It hurts to see Leeds struggling like this, but the
nostalgic grace we were allowed to feel about last season couldn’t last
forever. The Premier League represents, ultimately, a simple economic war, and
clubs on Leeds’ side of the divide can only win battles. Even Leicester, our
model club for defying the elite, lost at home to Manchester City this weekend
while giving up 25 shots and getting only one of their own six on target. We’ve
been lulled into a sense of security by starting so well at Anfield last season
(and losing), by the reflected glory of international call-ups, and by spending
£30m on a forward from Valencia or £15m on a full-back from Barcelona, big
deals for us, but a weekly shop for some of the clubs we’re up against. The
song from the away fans at the end was, “The Reds have got no money, but we’ll
still win the league!”, and if Liverpool see themselves at the impoverished end
of the Premier League, I have no idea where that leaves Leeds United. Trying to
compete, I guess, in a league that’s not as easy as it looks on TV.