GENUINE Leeds Fans Must Keep the Faith Now – by Rob Atkinson

Gloomy Luke Ayling after defeat at Forest in 2020

Sometimes, it pays to look back a few years, if only to remind yourself that – however bad a current Leeds United blip may be – it’s all happened before, and arguably worse. Looking at Luke Ayling’s face as he stepped up bravely for an interview after a dismal defeat at Notts Forest, you’d never guess that a few short months later, we’d be crowned Championship Champions by an impressive margin of ten points. But that’s tier two football, totally unpredictable and endlessly surprising.

Right now, after the euphoria of hammering Ipswich, we’ve just swallowed the second of two bitter pills with another narrow defeat at West Brom to add to an unfortunate reverse at Preston. But, although our infestation of trolls will be minded to indulge in some jubilant gloating, nobody can predict with any degree of confidence just how this nutty league campaign will pan out. That’s the lesson of history, both recent and not so recent.

I’m often guilty of rising to the bait put down by those who pretend to be Leeds fans but who pollute social media with their sniping negativity. Yes, I’ve resorted to “feeding the trolls”, on account of their maddening tendency to irritate – but what I don’t do is to present myself as an armchair coach, setting up my amateur opinions against those of the guys who will have to keep making the season-defining decisions. They’re the pros, our job is to support them – especially when so many out there seem intent on being as destructively negative as possible.

Look at Luke’s face again, bereft alike of confidence and optimism – but he battled on like the rest of the lads, and it ended in glory. And that could well be the way this season ends too. Personally, I don’t give a toss whether we go up as Champions (again), or in second place – or even if we earn promotion by breaking our Wembley hoodoo. And if we ultimately fail, let’s remember that’s the fate of most clubs, year after year. We have no divine right to success, and what the hell – we’ll be back for another crack at it next year, just as Bielsa’s boys were.

What we have to do is refrain from making a hard task even harder, by jumping on the negativity bandwagon. We have to stay positive, get behind the shirts (even those accursed blue and fruit salad ones) and provide actual encouragement – not some ersatz tactical theorising, or resorting to petulant criticism in an arena we’re not remotely qualified to pass comment on.

When I look at Twitter, or X, or whatever you like to call it, I do so frequently despair. Some of those guys and gals are clearly there for attention, or to build themselves up by coming on like some Poundland Pep Guardiola. It’s not an edifying spectacle, and certainly not what you need to see in the painful wake of another defeat. Especially when yet another crap penalty decision has further blighted an already annoying evening.

Let’s stick by the lads, it’s our most compelling duty as supporters (the clue’s in that word, guys). Let’s support – it makes a difference, and that’s what we’re there for, those of us who genuinely care. It’s easy to go on social media to whinge, but it achieves nothing. Amateurs will never change the methods and approach of any pro worth their salt, so the widespread and frequently vitriolic abusive criticism is exposed for what it is: petulant self-indulgence that serves only to make genuine fans feel even more pain and angst after a defeat. Most of us know this, but there is a noisy minority determined to make things worse than they need be.

And, quite frankly, we’re so much better than that. Or at least, we should be.

Marching On Together 💙💛💙

Leeds Utd & The Ghost of Promotion Rival Thrashings Past – by Rob Atkinson

I sit down to write this, my first blog post in literally yonks, in the sure knowledge that virtually nobody will believe a word of it. But, you know, what the hell. So here goes.

I’ve been stressed for a fair while now. As a Leeds fan, that’s hardly novel, but in my case it’s been a question of various circumstances conspiring with each other, against me, to raise my blood pressure and produce frequent attacks of the conniptions. Two years of dodgy health, together with trying to sort out my care home-bound mum’s affairs so that the bills can be paid more or less on time – that would be enough to rattle most men of my age. Add in the mercurial Whites, with their legendary inconsistency, and it’s little wonder that I should suffer the odd bout of angsty anxiety.

At the risk of preaching to the converted, I’d put it to you that a club capable of visiting the two teams soaring away at the top of the table, and winning handily both times, should not be rolling over ineptly to the likes of Stoke and Sunderland to sink without trace. But sadly, that’s the nature of our beloved Super Leeds, though there’s always the chance that, with Herr Farke at the helm, calmer waters may lie ahead.

Usually, my glass half empty side predominates, hence the stress. But this past week, the build-up to our home match with Ipswich has had me thinking back to similarly crunch home fixtures of yesteryear; specifically the games against Sheffield United in 1990 and the more recent Bielsa era hosting of West Bromwich Albion, who had already seen us off 4-1 at the Hawthorns. On both of those occasions, we rose to the challenge of a must win game, triumphing 4-0. And I admit, I did allow myself in recent days to imagine the same scenario playing itself out again – with the tractor boys ten points ahead at the start of this weekend, a statement performance was needed, ideally with another juicy four goal hammering in our favour. I dared to dream, honestly I did.

And as we all now know, this unlikely dream came true today, though Mrs. Rob was vastly cynical and disbelieving when I told her about my premonition (sadly, after the final whistle). It was the kind of wishful thinking I just didn’t have the minerals to share with others when it was still just a dream. I’d have been thought mad, drunk, or both – and rightly so.

So, I’m risking the derision of a wider public, with hoots of “twenty-twenty hindsight” liable to be levelled scornfully at me. And I can understand that, I have only my own word that such an obviously unlikely thought ever occurred to me.

But, in the warm afterglow of an incredibly satisfying victory, I have but one regret. Just one person I really wish I’d shared my premonition with ahead of today’s match. Oh Mr. Bookie, why did I not confide in you, to the tune of maybe a tenner? I’m being greedy here, but a few hundred quid on top would have made today’s humbling of Ipswich, if it were possible, even sweeter.

Marching On Together

Leeds United’s Century of Yellow and Red Cards Suggests Corruption in High Places – by Rob Atkinson

Leeds United are officially the filthiest team in Premier League history. That’s a matter of record – we’re the first EPL club to record a century of combined yellow and red cards over a season, with still two games to go. However, it’s a statistic that may well surprise some observers of the game – well, at any rate, those who aren’t inclined to parrot “dirty Leeds, dirty Leeds” at every opportunity. After all, for most of this season, Leeds have had Marcelo Bielsa, of blessed memory, in charge – and he’s hardly an advocate of clogging. Something stinks here – and it’s not the away dressing room floor, as Derby County are no longer on our radar.

Leeds Boss Jesse Marsch: Should United Keep, or Replace Him? – by Rob Atkinson

Jesse – retain, or dismiss?

In the wake of an inept, abject home defeat to Chelsea, it’s looking ever more likely that United will be back in the Championship next time around, and whatever your opinion on the late-season replacement of Marcelo Bielsa by Jesse Marsch, in this blog’s opinion it is far more important at this juncture to look forward than back.

This is not about blame or recrimination. It’s not even about whether, in the end, Leeds actually do end up relegated. It’s simply a matter of stick or twist – given the nature of the performances, would we be better off sticking with the likeable but untried in English football Marsch, or should we be looking at a specialist in restoring fortunes, whether that be a proven promotion winner, or a man able to keep an ailing club away from a relegation scrap.

That being the case, I’m just going to seek answers to the binary choice of keeping or sacking Jesse Marsch. Opinions as to who, if anyone, should replace him are also welcome in the comments.

At this point in mind, I must admit I’m a bit numb, and not sure of the answer to my own question. Perhaps I’m still traumatised by the brutal expulsion of Marcelo, or “God”, as I like to refer to him. I know for a fact that many Leeds fans are still grieving.

So, I’ll just leave it at the simple question of whether Marsch should stay or go. I’m not even bothering with a poll. My fellow sufferers – it’s over to you.

Marching On Together

The Cowardly Tyler Roberts Bashers Simply Cannot Claim to be Genuine Leeds Fans – by Rob Atkinson

Tyler Roberts – frequent target of fakes, bullies and cowards

Let’s start by stating the obvious, an undeniable fact that makes everything else I shall say utterly undeniable. Football support is about getting behind your club, your team and the players who wear the shirt. It’s about encouragement, not destructive abuse. It’s about stoking the confidence of those young men who wear our badge with pride and passion – it’s not about demoralising them to the point where their confidence is shattered, and they would rather wear s different badge. Support is backing, not bullying. It’s about love, not hate. It’s important to understand and accept this.

Clearly, in order to maintain their cover, the fakes themselves can’t be seen to accept it. So they carry on tediously launching into their weekly attack on Tyler Roberts, a young man whose talent far exceeds anything the amateur critics could dream of possessing – and who, incidentally, cannot hit back. So he has to just take the moronic abuse, and deal with the inevitable effect on his confidence. But he should be aware – these abusers and bullies are NOT true Leeds fans, no matter how they might rant on about having followed the club for x years. They’re fake fans, they infest social media not to support the club, but to bully and harangue their target. That much is undeniable fact, however much those who love being bullies might try to argue the point. They’re on very shaky ground; they are bang to rights as confirmed fake Leeds United “supporters”.

The very fact that the fakes get so upset about being labelled fakes is instructive in itself. They will cling to their fake support of Leeds come what may, in the face of compelling evidence that they have no feeling for the club. I happened across one the other day who referred to Marcelo Bielsa as “a fat Argie loser”. That’d get him a black eye if repeated in the hearing of sections of the Elland Road crowd, but of course he’s never to be found anywhere near LS11. And another informed me that Tyler Roberts is “the worst player ever to pull on the Leeds shirt”. The ridiculousness of that simply defies description. But that’s how fake fans, being a bit tragic, simple and over-eager, tend to give themselves away.

Some of these freaks defend themselves with “This is my opinion, am I not entitled to my opinion?“. Of course you are, stupid and offensive though it might be. That’s the nature of freedom, but freedom cuts both ways. Having heard a fake spout arrant nonsense in his or her eagerness to attack Leeds United by bullying one or more young men who have no right of reply, I am equally entitled to express my opinion, which is that such conduct identifies the prat concerned as a fake fan and no kind of Leeds supporter.

It all comes down to that. If you identify as a Leeds United supporter, then support Leeds United, the club and those who wear the colours on the pitch. Failure to do that will lead to you being identified as a fake fan, however much that might make you squeal in piteous protest. You can’t be a genuine supporter without supporting, simples. Just accept that – or head off to some other club with which, just maybe, you’ll have more affinity.

Marching On Together

As Leeds Fans Mourn Bielsa, The S*n Brands Revie’s Boys “Team of Brawlers” – by Rob Atkinson

Super Leeds.

The other day, still reeling from the loss of my latest and probably last Leeds United hero, Marcelo Bielsa, I was indulging in some gastronomic therapy in a cafe in Horbury, as I waited for Mrs. Rob to have her hair appropriately marcelled at the local salon. As I tucked into my sausage butties, I noticed a copy of Rupert Murdoch’s withered and flaccid organ on the next table, saw that it had a story about new United manager Jesse Marsch, and thought I’d have a quick and free read – as, obviously, nobody actually buys this degraded gutter rag.

I really should have known better, shouldn’t I. The piece was written (scrawled in crayon) by a hack with the unlikely name of Oscar Paul, clearly a graduate of the scumbag school of “journalism”. Swiftly bored with the task of covering the Marsch story, and aware that United’s army of fans were already hurting over the traumatic loss of Marcelo Bielsa, ‘Orrible Oscar was clearly looking for a chance to smear a Leeds legend, preferably one who had passed away and couldn’t hit back. That’s the way of things at the Super Soaraway S*n after all – find and exploit a hapless victim for the pursuit of its own disgusting agenda. Murdoch’s base bogroll has form for this going way back, as those who remember its disgraceful lies in the wake of Hillsborough will be all too well aware.

In the article I was idly perusing, the calumny was of a lesser order than the Hillsborough lies, but nonetheless gratuitously offensive and untimely for that. Stretching for a legend’s memory to daub with his masters’ own particularly noisome brand of excrement, this moronic S*n hack decided that a random reference to Leeds icon Don Revie was just what he needed, and wielded his crayon accordingly: “such is the influence Ralph Rangnick has had on (Marsch), do not expect a team of brawlers like Don Revie’s”. There. Job done, and Oscar must have been hugging himself with glee, having brown-nosed the current boss at the Pride of Devon, while simultaneously if ungrammatically dancing on Revie’s grave. It doesn’t get any better than that for an ambitious if illiterate Murdoch scribbler, surely promotion into the front ranks would follow.

Let’s consider the team that Oscar was scribbling his rubbish about – the likes of Eddie Gray and Paul Madeley having their illustrious names blackened, despite their singular lack of any inclination to “brawl”. A team of brawlers? This is lazy and glib even by the standards of the dregs of Wapping. The Revie boys could look after themselves and they stood together, as a top team should. Super Leeds operated in a brutal era, but they were not solely or even mainly about brutality. Those lads, all of them, could play, brilliantly. On their day, and there were many of them, they were peerless, incomparable. For them now to be invoked whenever some talentless purveyor of Murdoch malice is at a loss for his next sentence is harsh and unjustified in the extreme.

Let’s not forget some of the other big beasts on the prowl in that era. Arsenal with Peter Storey. Chelsea with “Chopper” Harris. Liverpool, Tommy Smith and Emlyn Hughes. Even Devon, with Stiles and Crerand. All thugs and brawlers on their day, and none of them could hold a candle to Hunter, Bremner or Giles. But none of that found a place in Oscar’s empty head, he was far too eager to perpetuate the myth of Dirty Leeds (now an ironic badge of honour among United fans weary of the 60 year old lie).

Rant over. I’ve had my say, and we all know what the Oscars of this world are all about. And what lesson can we take from this? Well, the obvious one is “Don’t buy the S*n”. But we all already knew that, too.

Marching On Together

28 Years Ago Today: Leeds United Crush Man U on Christmas Eve – by Rob Atkinson

1995-96 was the last full season of Sergeant Wilko’s eventful reign at Elland Road. His influence over Leeds United was crumbling amid rumours of money problems, takeovers and dressing-room discontent, a tale that would doubtless strike a chord with Messrs. Grayson, Warnock and even Evans of more recent vintage. This was a season that had started off with a flurry of Tony Yeboah thunderbolts and some impressive results and performances which appeared to promise much. Sadly though, it petered out in a shocking late-season run following a League Cup Final humiliation at Wembley, courtesy of Aston Villa. Howard Wilkinson was a dead man walking from that time on.

This Christmas Eve match against the Pride of Devon found Leeds some way short of their peak form. Worrying signs of defensive frailty and general ineptitude had been all too obvious just the previous week at Hillsborough. United had succumbed spinelessly to a 6-2 defeat at the hands of an unremarkable Sheffield Wednesday side and – all bravado aside – there wasn’t much optimism in the hearts of the faithful as this fixture against the arch-enemy loomed.

It was certainly a different Christmas Eve for me. I hadn’t exactly led a sheltered life up to that point, but this was the first time – and the last, to date – I’d ever risen the day before Christmas to bacon sandwiches at 6 am, closely followed by numerous Budweisers with the Sunday papers in a fan-friendly pub, as we waited for our “Scum Match Special” mini-bus. The queasy feeling before any match against “Them” was therefore multiplied by unaccustomed early-morning grease and alcohol, and I was feeling several shades of not-too-good as we set off for Elland Road. It was an 11:30 kick-off, live on Sky, and it promised either to make or break the whole of Christmas for us fans, as well as for our hopeful families.

The situation between the Uniteds of Leeds and Devon is one of a legendary mutual animosity, even at the best of times. Let’s not mince words here, the two sets of fans hate, loathe and detest each other – and open warfare is the norm. Revisionist football pundits would have us believe that this is strictly a one-way affair, but you only have to tune into one of Sky TV’s glitzy live love-ins for a Man U match, and whoever they are playing, our Home-Counties friends are in full voice with their “We all hate Leeds scum”. Even Alex Ferguson, back then the Media Darlings’ not-altogether-likable manager, makes no bones about it; some of his more coherent sound bites feature his opinion that Elland Road “is the most intimidating arena in Europe”. He’s also stated that going to Liverpool is nowhere near as bad as going to Leeds; clearly, he’s never been for a late-night pint in Dodge City.

So, Yuletide or not, the usual poisonous atmosphere was in evidence as the two teams walked out before a 39,801 crowd that overcast morning twenty-six years ago today. Just as Leeds were smarting from their Hillsborough debacle, so Man U were struggling to emerge from a poor run, winless for a month and dispatched by Liverpool the previous week. This seasonal fixture was a chance of redemption for both sides.

By kick-off time, I was starting to feel properly ill, and in dire need of a pick-me-up. This arrived in a most unlikely form after a mere five minutes, when a Leeds corner swung over from the right. Richard Jobson rose on the edge of the area to head towards goal, where David Wetherall, lethal against Man U in the past, was challenging for a decisive touch. But that touch came instead from the upraised, red-sleeved arm of Nicky Butt – and referee Dermot Gallagher’s whistle sounded for a penalty.

Peering from the Kop at the other end of the ground, through an alcoholic fug, I could hardly believe my eyes. Leeds just didn’t get penalties against “Them”. It would happen the other way around alright, way too often, and even from three yards outside the area, but this was unprecedented, since our Title-winning year anyway. Steve Bruce evidently thought it was just too much to bear, and screamed his violent protests into Gallagher’s face, having to be restrained by Gary MacAllister, who appeared to be trying to explain the rules to the furious defender. The guilty look on Butt’s face, though, spoke volumes. MacAllister placed the ball on the spot, and sent it sweetly into the top right corner to make it 1-0, giving Peter Schmeichel not even the ghost of a chance. The celebrations were raucous and deafening as the Elland Road cauldron exploded with joy – and inside my skull, the trip-hammer of a beer-fuelled headache pounded away anew, utterly failing though to banish my smile of delight.

Leeds had the bit between their teeth now, and Brian Deane was suddenly clear for an instant outside the right corner of the Man U penalty area, played in by a cute pass from Carlton Palmer. Schmeichel was out swiftly to smother the chance, but Deane managed to dink the ball over him, only for it to clip the crossbar and bounce away to safety. A two-goal lead at that stage would have felt unlikely yet deserved, as Leeds United had been on the front foot right from the off. Soon, though, a lesson was to be delivered about what happens when you miss chances against this lot.

The unlikely culprit as Leeds were pegged back was Gary Speed. Receiving the ball in the left-back position, he tried to beat Butt instead of clearing long, and was robbed of possession. Butt looked up, and placed a neat pass inside to Andy Cole, whose efficient first-time finish leveled the match. Suddenly, my headache was even worse, and I was starting to wonder about the fate of my fry-up breakfast too, as it threatened to make an untimely and spectacular reappearance. Time for another reviving injection of optimism as Leeds surged forward, and Speed so nearly made up for his defensive error, playing a one-two with Tomas Brolin which gave him space to put in a right-foot shot that went narrowly wide.

The game had settled down by this time, and both sides were showing enough ambition to feel that they were in with a chance of victory. Leeds though had thrown off their Sheffield blues, and attacked with verve and purpose. Now, a defensive position was coolly handled by Gary Kelly, finding the time and space to launch a long clearance forward, where Brolin headed on. The ball was loose, and surely meat and drink for Man U’s international defender Paul Parker – but he inexplicably let it bounce over his foot. Tony Yeboah pounced on it like a hound on a rat, and he was away, surging towards goal with ex-Leeds defender Denis Irwin backing off. Yeboah in this mood was usually irresistible, and sure enough none of Irwin’s careful jockeying could prevent him from finding that vital half-yard of space. The gap appeared, Schmeichel came out to block, and Yeboah clipped the ball sumptuously just out of the Danish ‘keeper’s reach, up and over to nestle in the far corner of the South Stand net.

Again, that explosion of noise and joy, again my fragile system was assailed by the rough-and-tumble of riotous celebration. 2-1 up against the team we loved to hate; the cockneys at the far end were suddenly silent and morose. “You’re not singing anymore!” we blasted at them, and indeed, little would be heard from the away fans for the rest of the game.

The second half was another tale of give and take, both sides able to cause trouble up front, but both seemingly capable of dealing with all that was thrown at them. The onus was on Man U to retrieve a losing situation, but Leeds were rarely in great trouble, and as the game entered its final quarter there was unprecedented optimism that we could close this one out, and enter Christmas on a real high. Leeds weren’t simply sitting back and absorbing pressure – and the maxim of attack being the best form of defence was to serve them well. On 73 minutes, Jobson made a foray down the left, and was fouled by Cole chasing back. The resulting free-kick was played to MacAllister in space in the middle of the park, and he swiftly moved it out to the right wing. Brolin picked up possession and slipped the ball to the overlapping Palmer, who surged into the box and then turned past Irwin to set up Brolin again on the edge of the area. The much-maligned Swede, making the contribution I best remember him for, chipped the ball sweetly first-time, standing it up just around the penalty spot, where Brian Deane’s exemplary movement had won him the space to rise and plant a firm header past a helpless Schmeichel into the net. 3-1 and finis.

After the game, and before the seasonal celebrations could begin in earnest, other traditions had to be observed. Ferguson, naturally, had to moan about the penalty. “It was a very surprising decision, given in circumstances that were beyond me.” whinged the Purple-nosed One, in evident ignorance of the deliberate handball provisions – but perhaps aiming to justify Bruce’s undignified and almost psychotic protest at the time. And the massed ranks of the Kop Choir had to regale the departing Man U fans with victory taunts as they sulked away, silent and crestfallen, headed for all points south. To this day, there has never been another Christmas Eve Premier League fixture, this was the first and only – so as far as those occasions go, Leeds United have a perfect 100% record, with Devon’s Finest lagging some way behind on 0%.

I can’t at this distance remember the journey home, nor even how very ill I was when I got there, although I’m told I was the picture of ecstatic yet grossly hung-over ebullience. I just know it was my happiest Christmas Eve ever, ensuring a deliriously festive spirit for the whole holiday, much to the delight of my long-suffering wife and two-year-old daughter.

Merry Christmas, everybody! And God bless us, every one. (Except, of course, Them, from There.)

Marching On Together

Frank Lampard for Leeds, Replacing Bielsa? April 1st Already?? – by Rob Atkinson

A less than likely story…

The silly season is a year-round event these days, so it seems. That doesn’t come as too much of a surprise, with so much competition for online news hits that writers and editors have taken to publishing any old rubbishy speculation as news, feasibility apparently no longer featuring as a desirable attribute for some of these desperate punts.

Still, there should be a limit. One spectacularly dim Leeds-centric web source has seen a bookmaker’s price for Marcelo Bielsa’s successor in the hot seat at Elland Road, and has got all excited, publishing an extended burble that is as far removed from reality as it’s possible to get. “Lampard favourite to succeed Bielsa” screams their headline, totally forgetting that, with no prospect of the Argentinian being sacked or electing to leave, all candidates to succeed him will be equally and extremely unlikely. In short, it’s like betting on candidates for UK President when the Monarchy falls – the opposite of printing money.

The intoxicated over-excitement of leeds-live.co.uk (for that is their name) does not end there. In another article, they feature the musings of ex-Villa mediocrity turned pisspoor pundit Gobby Agbonlahor, who has been getting his jockstrap in a knot over the vociferous support given to United during the terminal phase of Saturday’s home defeat to Arsenal. Poor Gobby is indignantly upset by this defiant, phenomenal support, he admits he just doesn’t understand it, bless him and seems to resent the Leeds fans for their passion and commitment. I suppose a career spent struggling at a usually apathetic Villa Park would make manifestations of fabulous support seem a bit strange, but Agbonlahor should perhaps chill a bit and reflect on the fact that the atmosphere in football hotbeds can differ radically from that of more insipid midlands locations. Still, if hard-of-thinking outlets like leeds-live are going to give Gobby’s thoughts publicity they don’t merit, then maybe you can’t blame him for basking in some undeserved reflected glory. But it’s an unedifying spectacle to see such dross passed off as news, or even as anything approaching an informed opinion.

I blame the outlets, personally. Bookies are always compiling speculative odds lists, for better or worse, it’s just what they do and sometimes good for a laugh. And Gobby is always spouting bovine ordure – that’s what he does. The sensible thing to do would be to move on, having indulged in a wry smile and maybe a slight roll of the eyeballs. There’s no need to go spreading this crap about, as if it might ever mean anything in the real world.

When you hit these depths of profound stupidity, though, there’s often a perverse determination among the clueless perpetrators to keep on digging and see just how deeply daft they can get. So what can we expect next week? How, after all, do you top “Lampard for Leeds”? Old purple nose S’ralex himself would be a likelier shout than Fwank, who would be driven screaming clear round Leeds ring road pursued by a baying mob, and tracked by Orta’s famous binoculars, should he ever dare to pitch up in LS11. It’s honestly hard to imagine a less likely candidate – hang on, though. Could the next story be “Gobby for Next Leeds Boss”? If you’ve ever struggled through a leeds-live.co.uk “scoop”, you probably shouldn’t put it past them…

Marching On Together

Good Times for Leeds United’s Many Fake Fans and Social Media Trolls – by Rob Atkinson

Leeds United – Team and Genuine fans indivisible

Rarely if ever has the distinction between Leeds United’s genuine, fanatical supporters and their increasing number of bogus, social media trolling fake followers been more starkly apparent than in the past season and a half, since the club’s elevation to the Premier League. The Arsenal game was a case in point. At 4-1 down, with a team still shell-shocked by the Etihad mauling and ravaged by injuries, suspensions and everybody’s pet virus, the genuine lads and lasses in the stands sang their hearts out in support of the shirts, proving once again that they are, beyond doubt, the best fans around.

Meanwhile, in cyberspace, the slings and arrows of outrageous negativity were flying around wholesale, thrown from their positions of safe anonymity by a legion of so-called Leeds supporters with an agenda that is strictly anti-United, anti-Bielsa and as destructive as possible to the morale and confidence of a group of young men who cannot hit back, and who are, in some cases, moved to delete their social media presences in order to avoid the persistent riptide of effluent, rancid hatred and abuse. It really is that obvious and that disgusting – surely any real LUFC fan will join in a growing clamour for these cowards-in-hiding to grow up, belt up, leave the club to the genuine fans, and slither off back to the gutter from which they should never have emerged.

Harsh words, some will say – those self-righteous paragons in the various ostensibly pro-Leeds groups on Facebook and the like, who – when taken up on their carping, targeted abuse aimed at scapegoated players – will piteously whimper that they have a right to their opinions, a right to second-guess a coach of world standing like Bielsa, an inalienable right to demand that Radrizzani dig deeper into his pockets – despite Financial Fair Play, and regardless of the fact that the club is now better-run than at any time this side of the Millennium. This parody of “support” makes me feel literally sick, especially when you hear that genuine support, from the best fans anywhere, rolling down onto the Elland Road pitch, or from the away grounds we dominate on our annual tour of England’s footballing strongholds. I’m sure I’m not alone in this, but the online resistance tends to get shouted down, because these fakes are determined, blinkered and utterly inimical to the success of the club they’ve targeted.

The sad fact is, these opportunistic cowards and inadequates will continue to make hay for as long as the sun shines, in the hope that they might influence the dimmer fringes of United’s genuine support. And, right now, the sun shines brightly for these creatures, as injuries and other unavoidable circumstances combine to harm the Whites’ chances of maintaining the progress of the last three years. Abetted by an eagerly Leeds-hating media, the fakes haven’t had it this good for many a moon, and they will be fervently hoping that the lean times continues in LS11. For them, Leeds United’s hard times are one grand, sweet song, with their biggest fear being an upswing for our heroes, with prospects of relegation fading. This would be the stuff of nightmares for your average Leeds-hating troll who does his damage under a false flag of yellow, white and blue.

Things will get better, of that I’m sure. The club is in good hands, the squad is in the best possible hands. The fakes and the trolls know this, and it burns their guts. So transparently gleeful are they in bad times for Leeds, that they betray themselves at every turn. Many reading this will recognise themselves, and will react defensively with abuse and expostulations of innocence, all of which will serve only to mark them out as guilty for the benefit those whose love of Leeds United runs deep within their veins.

The trolls and the fakes are out there, busily hating away and having a fine old time of it. But we know them, and we know what they’re all about. When the good times return – and make no mistake, this club remains on a steep upward trajectory – their weasel words can be rammed back down their malicious throats. It’s a pleasure I for one have promised myself, and I’m looking forward to it immensely.

Marching On Together

Child Beater Jamie O’Hara Says Leeds United Are “Embarrassing” – by Rob Atkinson

Jamie “Irony Alert” O’Hara in Desperate Tweet Shock

Football has-been Jamie O’Hara, best known for being sacked by non-league Billericay Town, is now employed by a down-market radio station that survives by trying to provoke fans to call in by making “controversial” statements. O’Hara now appears to have outdone himself in the irony alert stakes, with his latest desperate attempt to entice Leeds fans to call in to his lame show and have a go at Marcelo Bielsa, a world class coach he coveted for Tottenham Hotspur only last season.

35 year old O’Hara’s amateurish attempts at being controversial are cringeworthy enough, given a failed non-league appointment being the main item on his CV, but it’s even more ridiculous that he applies the word embarrassing to a Premier League club widely praised by genuine football experts, when he himself was found guilty of punching a 14 year old boy in 2017. The then 31 year old football failure lashed out after what the boy later described as a “handshake prank” – presumably O’Hara was nettled by his team’s defeat, although losing is hardly a novelty for him over the course of a less than sparkling career.

You have to admit that O’Hara has a pretty thick skin, and virtually zero self-awareness – that’s the only conclusion you can reasonably draw when a failed footballer and confirmed child-beater presumes to criticise a major football club and an international legend like Bielsa. Now that is embarrassing. Or maybe he’s simply stupid? You decide.

In this so far troubled season, it was always likely that Leeds would become a target for pundits, who are usually ex-pros who have never made any secret of their dislike for Yorkshire’s finest. So O’Hara’s brainless drivel is hardly a surprise – but the least that Leeds, and Bielsa, deserve is a better class of troll.

Nobody should find themselves under attack by a nonentity like Jamie O’Hara, least of all a club of global fame like Leeds United. That’s like a rat attacking a lion, and a past-it and toothless rat at that.

Marching On Together