When Sunday comes

We’re off to Leeds. It could be worse.

Proper football’s back and what better time to celebrate than with our traditional kick-off of 2pm on Sunday? And what better place to venture out to on a rain-lashed afternoon (it’s bound to be) than Elland Road?

Leeds are perhaps the best example between north London and Newcastle of how a club can project themselves with the aid of a compliant media. They’re seen as a sleeping giant and every time they get promoted they’re back where they belong even if they have spent more time away than they have there. They’ve won a few trophies, all of which with few exceptions were with the aid of bribery, thuggery and cheating. Their supporters are called wonderful when they’ve caused more problems than a few, such as an entire stand giving Nazi salutes when we won there on one occasion. As a result Leeds are blessed with a sense of self-importance it’s difficult to find anywhere else. Except north London and Newcastle.

That’s their good points, so let’s talk about them now. They’re owned by am American football team, their president is 65th in line to the throne (Leeds, not their owners) and they’ve got a manager who looks like the chief suspect in a Scandinavian psychological crime noir series. He’s been there for 2 1/2 years, which is good going considering it isn’t that long ago when they had eight managers in that time, They also had that lunatic who sat on a bucket and gave us a goal,which won him worldwide acclaim and neatly forgot that he’d been booked earlier in the match and was looking at an FA charge.

As for the Leeds players, they’ll probably have eleven on the pitch at the start, although how many will be there at the end is open to debate; old habits die hard. We’ve got our internationals returned more or less unscathed for a change and our injuries seem to be clearing up although Leeds supporters will have to find another target because Tyrone Mings is out. Just what it is about Ty that incurs their wrath I couldn’t begin to guess.

Three more points in a Unai Emery masterclass that moves both of us closer to where we really do belong.