Our religion is laughing at Dean Smith - The Square Ball 14/3/22

SHAKE A HAND MAKE A FRIEND

Written by: Rob Conlon

Dean Smith, with his face like a processed fart, once kept Aston Villa in the Premier League thanks to a one in nine thousand error with goal line technology. But if you were to believe anything he’ll tell you, he just can’t catch a break. I’ve seen enough of Smith having his teams’ mediocrity — and cheating — rewarded at Elland Road, and watching him celebrating Kenny McLean’s equaliser for Norwich on Sunday added to my conviction that good things aren’t allowed to happen to Leeds United, and if they do, we have to pay for them with interest.

But Norwich didn’t win on Sunday. They lost, and Leeds won. And just when I thought it couldn’t be any funnier, Smith went into his post-match press conference and told the media: “First of all, I have to go and pick myself up and put a brave face on. It is my daughter’s birthday, so I will go and see her and have a bite to eat. Then I will get round to lifting the players.”

You might not have seen Dean Smith’s quotes on how Leeds United ruined his daughter’s birthday, because he talks that much shite it must be difficult for journalists to decide on their main hook. As well as discussing his bleak trip to Nando’s (I refuse to believe he has the imagination to eat anywhere else), Smith also criticised “Mike Riley and his gang” for not giving his players penalties for diving, and his disappointment at being unable to pick Grant Hanley after the defender tested positive for Covid. “He can walk around in society and go to Starbucks and have a coffee, but he can’t play Premier League football,” Smith was saying, when it would be a much more responsible use of his time telling Hanley to stop going to Starbucks if he’s got Covid.

If Smith was that upset with the officiating, he should have had a word with Tim Krul, who spent the afternoon thinking he was in charge of the game. Krul doesn’t like Leeds, and the feeling is mutual. Rapha already warned him once after Leeds won at Carrow Road earlier in the season, then made sure Krul had the best view of the winner by putting the goalkeeper on his arse, from where he tried helplessly running back to his goal as Joffy put the ball in the net.

In the home dugout, Jesse Marsch has been given a crash course in the reality of managing at Elland Road. Ahead of the fixtures against Aston Villa and Norwich, Marsch spoke of his excitement at finally getting to experience the atmosphere of his new home. I’d love to be able to say that flicking between the howls of self-loathing of Thursday night and the euphoric psychodrama of Sunday is an outlier. But sorry, Jesse, it really is always like this. The photo of him celebrating like someone being thrown out of a nightclub suggests he’s dealing with it about as well as can be expected. And as for Marsch leaving Smith waiting for a handshake because he was too busy celebrating, then going back to apologise afterwards — well, Jesse might just be starting to grow on me.

Midway through last season’s lockdowns, I wrote about becoming dissatisfied with the tedium of supporting Leeds exclusively through the TV. I wasn’t missing the good times, but the communal misery of nights when everything feels terrible. The defeat to Aston Villa was a return to those times, wishing I was anywhere else but unable to look away. But what I was really missing were nights like the comeback over Millwall in the promotion season, when the hopelessness of half-time was replaced by defiance at the final whistle. Those emotions were squeezed into one period of stoppage time on Sunday. Leaving the ground, people kept talking about Joffy’s header, but I couldn’t recollect the goal. What header? All I could remember was Raphinha taking it around Krul, and the feeling that another chance was lost. Next thing I was standing on a seat and hanging onto the netting at the back of the North-West corner, feeling as unsure about what I was doing there as the fans by my side looking at me in confusion.

I’ve not written about Leeds’ first team since the change of management, waiting to see what the grand new idea is, other than envious dreaming about being 12th-placed Leicester or, 4-2-2-2 morphing us into Red Bull Leeds without the wings. That’s going to have to wait while we all deal with the emotional exhaustion of a relegation battle, but in the meantime I’ll settle for moments like Luke Ayling failing to pull off a nutmeg but refusing to lose the ball, or Rodrigo closing down defenders with urgency I’d given up on seeing after his performance on Thursday, or Illan Meslier denying Krul an assist by making sure he got something — even if it had to be his face — in front of Teemu Pukki’s last second chance.

When Leeds was still considered a rugby league city in the early part of the twentieth century, its many rugby clubs were tied to churches. Those who rejected the establishment to follow a new faith at Elland Road were decried as the ungodly of Leeds. We felt that way when Norwich scored at 3.48pm on the Lord’s day. But by 3.51pm I was wearing that tag with pride. Let’s face it, condemnation is well more fun than purgatory.