Phil Hay - Goodbye Article

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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.


(Alex Dodd – CameraSport via Getty Images)
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.


Bielsa took Leeds back to the Premier League at last in 2020 as EFL champions (Michael Regan/Getty Images)
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.

GO DEEPER

Hay, Ornstein, Pearce on having large Twitter followings

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.

[Titman]

“Leeds are an example of only being as good as whoever’s letting you down next”

Beautifully put.