When stories started appearing on Twitter that a veteran, revolutionary Argentine coach was being linked to us, I scoffed. Not because of his reputation, his price tag or the fact we finished 13th again last season, but because the name was quite familiar to me and any link seemed bizarre and unlikely. Alas, I’m not Marcelo Bielsa’s lovechild, I grew up in Menston. But, through my girlfriend and her family, I’ve spent a fair amount of time over the past six years in the country of our new saviour, and specifically in the city where he and his beloved Newell’s Old Boys hail from.

Rosario has similarities to Leeds — the third biggest city in the country, at least a few hours’ drive north of the capital, strong nightlife, some decent architecture and a number of recent large scale developments. There are also a number of differences; the scale of economic and social problems is bigger, as is the river Parana, which has a lot more piranhas in the summer than the Aire. The other big difference is the fact that it has two professional football teams.

I’ll admit to not knowing much about Bielsa before he became our boss, but I did know his name, as Newell’s named their stadium after him nine years ago. The success (or not) that Bielsa has had as a manager earlier in his career has been written about elsewhere, but needless to say, he is seen as a god amongst fans of La Lepra. They got that name (‘The Lepers’) after agreeing to play in a benefit match for a leper colony, that their fierce rivals Rosario Central allegedly refused to take part in — and as a result Rosario are nicknamed ‘The Scoundrels’.

That was about 100 years ago, and the rivalry is still as relentless as ever, aided by the fact that they have been fairly evenly matched during that time. Overall, Newell’s have won more championships — six titles, including two from Bielsa in the early 1990s (when he narrowly missed out on winning the Copa Libertadores) and one as recently as 2013. They have also produced a litany of superstars, including Batistuta and Pochettino, who were part of Bielsa’s teams. Unavoidably, there’s also Messi, who fans of Central have little love for. The city’s other team have had perhaps a more Leedsish history than Newell’s — four titles (the last one 30 years ago), but also a fair amount of time outside the top tier. They also play in yellow and blue, with their home kit very similar to probably one of our best efforts ever, the away kit from 94-95.

Bielsa means so much because he helped challenge the status quo

Given the choice, maybe I would have gone for a team who play in decent colours and that didn’t have a badge with NOB written on it, but due to the dogged support of the team in the Red and Black from my girlfriend’s family, there wasn’t one. On my first visit to Rosario, I remember noticing just how much graffiti adorned the walls and lampposts, with fans in a constant battle to tag the city in their club’s colours. It’s not the Bloods and the Crips — a bunch of ordinary mates will get together for a barbeque on the weekend wearing both Newell’s and Central shirts — but there is a more sinister side to the rivalry. This is South America, and the Barras Bravas don’t mess about.

On my first trip to Estadio Marcelo Bielsa during a season when away fans were banned from all top flight games due to repeated problems with hooliganism (that still applies in some respects now), I witnessed some poor bloke in a Central shirt getting a kicking in the street (they weren’t even playing), as well as a poor chicken that had been burnt to death by Central fans as some kind of weird voodoo curse to stop Newell’s winning.

They won that game anyway, with a team that included aging homegrown heroes Maxi Rodriguez and Gabriel Heinze (as well as David Trezeguet) that went on to win the title, and again lost in the final of the Copa Libertadores to a team that included Ronaldinho. The matchday experience was an intense and slightly alien one, but overwhelmingly impressive. Drinking Campari out of half a bottle of Sprite and chucking sunflower seed shells all over the terraces are a bit different to a pint and a pie, but it’s hard to describe being on an Argentinian terrace that is bouncing around and singing (including songs about Bielsa) for 90 minutes. Newell’s, like we do, pride themselves on their atmosphere (I’ve since taken my girlfriend’s brothers to Elland Road and they “liked it”, which I’ll take as a compliment) and use it to get one over their rivals at any opportunity. In fact, they call Central ‘the breathless’ because they once pumped chants through speakers to aid the sound in the stadium, which sounds incredibly tinpot indeed.

Both teams in Rosario have been flapping around in the middle of a Primera Division that confusingly seems to change its format every year, hindered by their best players going off to play in Europe for big bucks and the draw of the teams in Buenos Aires. But the passion and life and death nature of support in Rosario continues. Bielsa means so much to Newell’s fans because he helped them to challenge the status quo of Boca Juniors and River Plate’s success (Newell’s often refer to themselves as the biggest team outside of the capital), but also because it meant adding one title more than their rivals.

Bielsa will certainly have a fair job doing the same for Leeds. Newell’s fans I’ve spoken to have talked with surprise at the appointment but also with overwhelming pride and support for El Loco — just search for ‘Bielsa Canciones’ on YouTube and you’ll get an idea of how much he means to them. If he can combine his tactical nous with some of that Rosarino passion for the only team in our fine city, maybe we’ll rename our stadium after him too. ◉

(This article was published in TSB 2018/19 issue 01 and is free to read as part of TSB Goes Latin.)

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