There are no comfy chairs beneath Leeds United limbs - The Square Ball 13/4/22

SIT DOWN

Written by: David Guile

Listen up, because I don’t say this lightly. As much as it pains me to admit it, I think I actually agree with Jake Humphrey on something.

If you missed the passionate dismantling on a recent edition of the TSB Podcast’s Propaganda, let me bring you up to speed. On a previous edition of his High Performance Podcast, Jake attributed the success of his broadcasting career to a piece of advice given by a former boss, who told him to “never sit in the comfy chair”.

Roughly translated, this means that the only way to maximise your potential is to accept that comfort is not a good thing. I’m not really on board with this, which is why I’m writing this blog rather than putting the finishing touches to my fifteenth bestseller. It feels like corporate guff crafted to make you feel inadequate, so that you’ll turn to Jake’s podcast in pursuit of this idealised version of yourself. I’m writing this from north Leeds rather than Monaco, but I’m happy with life, at least when Leeds United permit me to be.

That said, there’s a glint of truth in Jake’s words, obscured by the swirling clouds of self-satisfaction. Comfort doesn’t always equal happiness. Leeds United is not a comfy chair. Its seat is sprinkled with razor blades and shards of glass. Sometimes it smells funny. But it’s mine, and I’m so glad I chose it.

This season, six out of eight wins have been decided by a single goal margin. A seventh, Burnley at home, needed a stoppage time clincher from Dan James to kill the game. By contrast, the closing minutes of our three-goal win at Watford were blissful: the first time we have had the luxury of cruising through the final stages of a game. Every other win has been a fierce white-knuckle ride, with relief and elation greeting the final whistle. I’m not saying I didn’t enjoy it, but neither did I find myself stumbling around the house at 3am, buzzing with adrenaline, the roar of the stadium still echoing in my head. The result was welcome and necessary, but something was missing.

When Leeds score, bones break, throats tear, blood boils. The fear of the drop keeps us in a state of constant tension, piqued by the memories of past capitulations. Life as a Leeds fan is a constant series of forks in the road where we almost invariably choose the path guarded by dragons. On the rare occasion we get it right, we make the most of it. Tomorrow is not promised.

Not every opposition fan understands this. In the luxurious surroundings of the upper Premier League table, fans of the Super League Six view ‘Leeds limbs’ with incomprehension. These fans have no concept of what it’s like to score a 95th minute winner against a relegation rival because, to them, nothing beyond the Europa League positions has the slightest significance. It’s why snotty comments about ‘celebrating like they’ve won the league’ always come from the same little cabal. Winning the league is the only thing that can make them happy, which effectively guarantees that five out of six fanbases will finish their season in abject misery — comfy, financially secure and free to try again next year, but thoroughly miserable nonetheless. Would you swap places with any of the sad sacks on Arsenal Fan TV? Once again, comfort does not equal happiness, not by a long chalk.

Not even Jake’s beloved Norwich, rooted to the foot of the Premier League, can match Leeds for discomfort. Norwich might not seem like the comfiest of chairs, but compared to Leeds they’re a Belvedere sofa. For them, relegation is just part of their routine; a biennial event like Red Nose Day. They shuttle between divisions with ease, unfettered by expectation, reclining on a plush cushion of parachute payments. If Leeds go down, we kiss goodbye to the spine of the team and put Elland Road’s redevelopment into doubt. Last time we went down from the Premier League the result was sixteen years in the wilderness, because when a club of Leeds’s size falls, they fall hard. The stakes aren’t remotely comparable.

It was Norwich who pushed Leeds to the very brink of the abyss a few short weeks ago, before Joe Gelhardt’s 94th-minute winner yanked us back to safety. Kenny McLean’s late goal was like the jump-scare at the end of a horror movie, when the monster leaps out of the icy lake for one last, desperate grab before sinking away into oblivion. When I said, in a recent blog post, that this season was horror movie material I didn’t mean it in a positive sense, but there’s still something weirdly compulsive about horror films. They’re not for everyone, but there’s got to be a reason people pay money to sit in a swanky reclining chair at Vue or Everyman only to spend ninety minutes jumping out of it. From the moment the lights go down to the moment they come up again you’re on edge, sharing the experience with everyone else in the cinema. It’s not entirely clear why we enjoy horror movies, but one theory is that the cinema provides us with a safe environment to experience the fear of death, which can, paradoxically, make you feel more alive. It’s probably not a million miles away from the emotions we experience at Elland Road, with added leg-room and a reduced risk of someone’s knee hitting you in the ear.

There you have it. Leeds United is not a comfy chair. It’s a cinema seat, trained on the scariest movie imaginable. Not one of those cosy leather ones, either. It’s one of those old-style ones you get at the Cottage Road cinema, with a tendency to fold itself up when you’re not looking and dump you on your arse, creating an additional element of jeopardy that just adds to the whole experience. It’s different, and out of step with a modern world obsessed with comfort and pampering, but maybe that’s not such a bad thing.

Either way, I wouldn’t swap it for anything. Pass the popcorn.