What I’ve learned covering Leeds for 18 years: Grudges, greatness, toilet selfies — The Athletic 12/6/24
By Phil Hay
I was 25 when I started covering Leeds United. I also had
hair.
I’m not saying the job has put years on me but I remember a
supporter telling me once that to pass the time on the way to a game, the bus
he was on had a go at guessing my age. Somebody went with 60. I turn 44 in four
months. Half the battle in life is knowing when to stop.
From today, I’m moving into a new position at The Athletic,
producing our global football newsletter full-time. It doesn’t mean I won’t
ever write about Leeds again, and the scale of our coverage won’t change
either, but the baton is passing on after 18 years home and away. If you’re not
sick of me by now, then you probably should be. As another journalist joked,
I’ve followed the club for longer than is truly healthy — and been
exceptionally lucky to do so.
As a sign-off, I wanted to jot down the things I’ve learnt
about Leeds United: what they are, how they think, why they’re addictive and
the way in which this job resulted in me getting asked for a selfie in a toilet
at Disneyland Paris. They make you lose your hair and your marbles. But they’re
worth it.
The first thing Leeds teach you: they’re everywhere.
The decorator who painted my bathroom last year, the person
who used to shout, ‘Good morning’ out of his car window on the school run
(hello, whoever you were), the random, ‘Can I get a photo?’ by those theme-park
urinals; there’s a Leeds fan born every minute.
Disneyland Paris was only the second–weirdest selfie request
to come my way. First place goes to the one taken in Leeds General Infirmary, a
week after I’d had brain surgery and about 10 minutes after having a laxative
inserted where no one wants a laxative inserted. “How’s it going?” Better than
the play-offs, I guess.
Because the play-offs are something Leeds don’t do. Leeds to
the play-offs are Napoleon to invasions of Russia. Enter with troops massed
behind you and die in the snow. They don’t do simple, they don’t take the
clearly-marked path when there’s a minefield to explore but they don’t throw
the towel in either. I saw capacity crowds in League One. I saw full away ends
at Hereford United, Yeovil Town and Hartlepool United. Leeds rarely get their
ticket allocation system right because there’s no way of getting it exactly
right; too much demand, too few seats, forever a battle to go to Millwall
(again).
Not that seats are needed. You find Leeds’ following on
their feet, always. Clubs, councils and local authorities can moan about
persistent standing in stadiums as much as they like but they’re wasting their
time. Authority is a funny thing in Leeds, in the sense that it’s not welcome.
They hate the EFL. They hate the Premier League. They hate VAR, they hate Sky
TV, they hate referees and it’s all — categorically, undeniably — indicative of
institutional anti-Leeds bias. What do they like? Yellow away kits, for one
thing (even though their best seller was the charcoal-and-pink effort pictured
below). And trolling Tyrone Mings.
There’s a marvellous talent around here for holding grudges.
Take Michel Kitabdjian, for transgressions in 1975. Or failing that, Ray
Tinkler for transgressions in 1971. Or Alan Smith. Or any of the owners,
coaches or players who contributed to their post-2001 demise. It might sound
petty but the closer you get to Leeds, the more you appreciate the way in which
their supporters have been asked to stomach incompetence, ineptitude and
promises written on cheques which had zero chance of being cashed. Leeds are an
example of only being as good as whoever’s letting you down next.
They’ve also long been an enticing proposition. They are a
great club, a famous club who didn’t so much fall on hard times as get skewered
by them. For potential investors, the thought of what Leeds could be if the
pieces fell into place has been seductive. Naturally, that also ran the risk of
attracting chancers. For players and coaches coming through the door, the
thought of pleasing a starved fanbase fanned their egos but the pressure caused
by a 21st-century timeline of emotional trauma was usually too heavy to bear.
You don’t get a free pass at Elland Road and Leeds people don’t suffer fools,
but the way in which Marcelo Bielsa will be feted forever and a day here tells
anyone that tangible achievements which touch the soul turn you into royalty.
The boys from the Don Revie era are deities too. I’ll tell
you this for nothing: Eddie Gray needs a statue, if not two. The club would
have named their training ground after Bielsa had the Argentinian not blanked
the offer from them to do so. His squad had the passion Leeds die for:
innovative and brave in their style of play, capable of Premier League
promotion after 16 hard years in the EFL, dedicated and ambitious in raising
their individual ceilings. Pablo Hernandez had his best displays in his twilight
years. I’m taking that goal at Swansea City with me. Bielsa made giants out of
men, a confirmed alchemist. There have been better Leeds teams over the years,
no doubt, but I wonder if any generated so much romance.
Most of the Bielsa era broke an established truth about
Leeds: that they are condemned to live on the brink of crisis. The supporters
seem to view their club in two ways. Firstly, to envisage their vast potential
being realised. But secondly, to assume that something, or someone, will
inevitably appear to stop that happening.
If unwanted records are there to be broken — the most
play-off final defeats in history, for instance — Leeds will break them. They
might look from the outside like a fanbase resistant to all criticism of their
club but get on the inside and there cannot be a crowd who are more
self-deprecating or better at gallows humour. Unveil a terrible club crest and
they’ll consign it to the shredder in a matter of hours. Bluff, and they’ll
call it. Tell them Red Bull won’t ever be buying their club and they’ll hold you
to that promise, ruthlessly.
Transfer-wise, no amount of news is too much for them on
Twitter. In addition, Leeds’ army on there will regularly ask you to get
amorous with them (have I mentioned I’m 43 but look 60?). Or to post pictures
of your wife. Or roundly tell you to go forth and multiply. It’s all good fun
and joking aside, the crowd have been very good to me over the years — a
Buckfast-toting, Trainspotting-GIF-posting Scot who had no affiliation with
Leeds whatsoever before I first wrote about them. File this in the category of
life experiences I didn’t foresee.
I’d be tempted to call them my second club if I didn’t know
that Leeds aren’t remotely interested in being anyone’s second club — less
still being popular with neutrals. The image that sticks in my head is of the
city’s long-since deceased International Pool swimming centre, a building which
had ‘Welcome to Leeds’ daubed on one end of it. Years later, someone used spray
paint to add ‘Now F**k Off. Thank You’ (without the asterisks), which is
basically it, in a nutshell.
The club will be different if and when Elland Road gets its
upgrade; that’s not to say better or worse, but definitely different. No
ground, so raw and battle-scarred, has ever suited a team more.
One final thing I’ve learned: I’ve never been much of a
lucky charm for Leeds.
My first competitive game writing about them, in 2006, was a
Championship play-off final defeat. My last competitive game writing about
them, 17 days ago, was a Championship play-off final defeat. When I left the
Yorkshire Evening Post for The Athletic in 2019, I promised that promotion
would inevitably follow, which it did. So me standing aside means the title
next season. Take that to the bank.
On my way out of the YEP, as it’s known, I wrote something
which has followed me around since: “An astonishing number of people despise
Leeds United, or what Leeds United stand for. But this club was never made for
them.”
I think that holds true, even if the reasons are slightly
intangible. Those who follow Leeds would probably sum it up like this: if you
know, you know. And if you don’t get it, you don’t matter.
Stick to that mantra. And keep living the dream.