19 August 2021 (15 storeys)

We could have done without Leeds getting battered on Saturday.

The first game back at Elland Road after all that COVID jazz was always going to be a frenetic occasion. But after being Rampton-romanced for five goals at Old Trafford they are going to be hungrier than Mick Quinn’s stable now and closing Everton’s defence down faster than the Kandahar Spearmint Rhino.

The whole Marcelo Bielsa thing going on at Leeds United is absolutely fascinating. He was always one of those ‘names’ you heard in hushed tones, and you couldn’t help being dead sceptical about all the mythology surrounding him, but fucking hell how he has transformed that club through sheer force of will, or so it seems, is extraordinary. To the extent that the supporters of most other clubs must be envious. I know I have been.

Most managers now are from a few standard schools, and let’s face it we’ve had a lucky dip with most of them. The ‘big name as a player’, the ‘safe pair of hands who knows the league’, the ‘Continental algebra-merchant’ and, of course, ‘the fucking lying money-grabbing two-faced shithouse rat-fuck. And his lad’. 

Bielsa’s stood apart though and lived up to his legend. Truly unique, insanely dedicated, more than a bit weird, and inspiring absolute devotion from players who seem only too desperate to run their legs off for him. What the Argentine does then, and what he inspires in others, especially given the cynicism that we’re constantly told is prevalent at the top level of the modern game, is nothing short of extraordinary.

Obviously they are still a shower of Appalachian mountain-folk, as demonstrated by some of the over-caffeinated Fathers For Justice they featured on that Take Us Home series, but you know, they’ve been through more than their fair share of shite down the years, so you know what? Fair fucks to the lot of them. I’m glad they’re loving every minute of it.

Oh, tell you a player who looked decent recently: that Djenepo for Southampton last week. It’s just a shame his puppet is a lying little cunt.

Actually, on second thoughts that one really should have stayed on the cutting room floor.

Anyway, finally, someone who was actually funny.

Goodbye Sean Lock. You were effortlessly hilarious and just came across as a genuinely decent, ordinary sort of fella despite being outrageously talented. Harry Hill’s obituary for you is a lovely thing.