Leave it, Bruno, it’s not worth it

When Wolves fans say Leeds’ 3-2 win at Molineux hinged on Raul Jimenez’s red card — and oh how they love to say it! — they’re right. But it wasn’t Jimenez leaving Wolves a player short that changed the game. After all, they were two goals up, with a reputation for sapping the fun out of any game at will, playing against a team plastered together by Under-23s. The moment that changed the game was taking place on the touchline, where Bruno Lage was arguing with Leeds’ assistant Franz Scheimer. Wolves’ goalkeeping coach Tony Roberts decided to get involved — he used to play for Millwall, so knows all about posturing — telling Leeds’ technical staff to sit down, putting a finger to his lips.

Scheimer was already walking back towards the bench. Aside from Liam Cooper poking his head out of the dugout to shout “Fuck off” at Roberts, Leeds were staying calm on the sideline, Jesse Marsch telling his staff and players to sit back down and stay cool. Marsch only asked of Wolves’ bench what he was asking from his own. Until ten minutes later, when one of Leeds’ coaches gave Jonny Otto the ball so he could take a throw-in, and Otto threw it back at his feet. The coach gave the ball back to Otto, who then dropped it. Jack Harrison had scored Leeds’ first by this point, and Otto was determined to waste as many seconds as possible. Jesse finally snapped.

Bollocking Wolves’ bench, Marsch finally seemed to understand the frustration of our last four years. From Marcelo Bielsa’s appointment onwards, Championship clubs were wasting time from kick off to the final whistle whenever they faced Leeds, even while they were losing. Getting promoted hasn’t helped. Playing actual football matches seems to get in the way of what the Premier League is all about. While Leeds were playing Liam McCarron against Arsenal before Christmas, other clubs were urging their players to lick every door handle in sight so they had an excuse to postpone. The managers of the richest clubs in the world complain there are too many games for their billion pound squads. Jurgen Klopp couldn’t even be arsed managing Liverpool in an FA Cup tie against Shrewsbury two years ago, going on holiday and leaving James Milner to encourage their young players from the stands. Judging by Leeds’ two fixtures against Wolves this season, Connor Coady and Joao Moutinho would rather be modelling their club’s clothing line in China. Perhaps they should join Wolves’ esports team if playing football is such a drag.

Once Kristoffer Klaesson replaced Meslier, the rest of Leeds’ substitutes knew they were going to remain unused for the rest of the night. Celebrating at full-time, Marsch stopped to speak to Crysencio Summerville, who would have been thinking that was one of his best chances to get some minutes with the first team as Raphinha watched from home with Covid. But just because they weren’t going to get a game didn’t mean they couldn’t get involved, whether that be joining the celebrations in front of the away end, taking a booking for their troubles, or telling Wolves’ bench where to go.

By stoppage time, Marsch was holding his staff and players back, knowing they weren’t going to back down if Wolves suddenly wanted the game sped up now they were losing. Wolves’ coaches had embarrassed themselves in the second half when twice begging for the game to be stopped while Leeds players were injured on the floor. The rest of the Leeds team couldn’t care less, and carried on attacking until they scored on both occasions, even if Stuart Dallas’ leg had fallen off. When it kicked off for a final time on the touchline, Kalvin Phillips reprised Cooper’s role, telling Roberts to fuck off. I like to think Klich noticed Roberts’ actions earlier in the game too, calmly walking over and putting his finger to his lips in return. Yet again, the crazier the game, the cooler the Klich.

The game was so bewildering I no longer knew whether I could really trust what was left and what was right afterwards. It was difficult to enjoy watching live due to the stress of a match that threatened to never end. As stewards dragged away a protestor who was trying to chain themselves to a goalpost in the second half, something I had completely forgotten about amid the rest of the carnage, Tony Dorigo was asking in LUTV commentary, “Is there a curfew?”

I was eventually able to process and properly enjoy what had happened by seeing Leeds United through the eyes of others. After Rodrigo had equalised, Jamie Carragher spent the rest of the second half on Sky’s commentary adamant that if either team was going to score a third, it would be Wolves. “Imagine being a Leeds fan,” he said after Luke Ayling’s winner. It was comforting to hear he was as confused as us, but he was as mistaken then as he was predicting a Wolves winner. He should have been gasping, asking, imagine supporting any other club.

But mainly I kept going back to that confrontation between the two benches, and Mateusz Klich, his cheekbone swelling to grotesque proportions, putting his finger to his lips, ready to square up to anyone who has a problem with Leeds United. Seriously, what the fuck were the Wolves coaches thinking, looking at Klich right then? An hour earlier, Klich had walked down the tunnel holding his face together, laughing his head off with Cooper and Phillips about the state he was in. If someone is offering you out, already looking like they’ve had their eye socket caved in by Marvin Hagler, you know you’ve got more to lose. Throughout the second half, Wolves’ fitness coach Carlos Cachada was regularly speaking to someone on his mobile. Who was he calling for help? His big brother? Steve Bull?

The sense of loss after the sacking of Bielsa created a layer of distance between me and the club. If they thought that was the right decision, then I was going to take a step back and wait for them to prove it. Those games against Leicester and Aston Villa felt like watching Leeds through a window. Even if it’s still too early to know whether it was the right decision, the chaos of the wins over Norwich and Wolves were like smashing a baseball bat through some double glazing. As Newell’s Old Boys proved in the Clasico Rosarino, El Loco can leave, but that doesn’t mean we have to stop being crazy. ⬢