“You know what, I’m going to really take it all in this time.” The famous last words of me, an idiot Leeds fan, as Brenden Aaronson postured triumphantly towards us in the Cheese Wedge. He had just scored to make it Leeds 2-0 Watford after only seven minutes. By my calculations, we were going to win 20-0, maybe more. An hour later, I was just wishing for it to be over.

Marcelo Bielsa’s arrival at Leeds brought a swift end to the nihilism that had pervaded Leeds United for over a decade. First, his football made us fall back in love with the team, the club, the city and, above all, football. The first half of the 2018/19 season felt like being part of a revolutionary movement, swept up by a wave of beautiful, attacking football. Then reality set in the moment that promotion became a possibility instead of a far-fetched dream.

The run-in that year became a fraught affair pretty quickly. The carefree football gave way as players stiffened under the pressure, though I think it’s fair to say that the fallout from Spygate and the subsequent culture war around Bielsa added intensity to everything that unfolded.

The shambles against Derby in the play-offs ensured that the following season was even more tense, with everything framed around the concept of Leeds ‘bottling it’ again. What turned out to be Leeds’ greatest achievement in my lifetime, and pretty much anyone born from 1994 onwards, was really a campaign of extreme highs and devastating lows. It was all about achieving promotion. Although we look back on that season with such fondness, there’s an element of rose tinting going on too. Therefore, I promised myself that I’d spend this season enjoying these matches and trying to avoid getting caught up in thinking about the end goal.

If the referee had offered Watford the chance to head for an early shower and get back down the road as soon as they went two goals down, the Hornets’ players looked like they’d have snapped his hand off. The self-sabotage was almost complete and Leeds were heading for the top of the Championship.

The first half was a breeze. It began with Largie Ramazani and Willy Gnonto dancing in front of the South Stand after Watford ‘keeper Daniel Bachmann threw Largie’s shot into his own net, and it ended with the crowd urging Junior Firpo to shoot from halfway. We were enjoying ourselves in the ground and at home. Tom Ince and his dad were getting a bit of grief, Leeds were winning by two goals and our new hero Ao Tanaka was putting on a show. We even got to see Paul Reaney at half-time, celebrating his 80th birthday and borrowing the ground staff’s pitchfork to do a bit of half-time maintenance. But then the second half happened.

Watford’s Kwadwo Baah picked up the ball outside the Leeds box two minutes after the break. He brushed past Pascal Struijk, who had Firpo alongside him offering no support. Baah’s cross rebounded back to him and he scored. The atmosphere inside Elland Road changed instantly as that nagging Leeds-coded doubt entered our collective mind. We could balls this up, couldn’t we?

Leeds had been in total control and Watford had offered little other than a bit of physicality. This should have ended 3-0, in keeping with tradition. But it didn’t. Watford could have equalised before the hour mark, but their fifteen minute period of pressure ended with them still trailing by a goal. The rest of the match was an exercise in not taking chances by Leeds.

Still, I found myself wishing away that last thirty minutes of an event I’d paid good money to experience. I wonder what the gate receipts at Elland Road might be if they adopted a ‘pay-what-you-feel’ approach to ticketing as you leave the ground. I’d have deducted a tenner on Tuesday evening for that final act purely because of my own inability to enjoy a football match for its entertainment value, thanks to self-imposed partisan sentiment.

Did I not learn my lesson with Bielsa? Should we not just settle down to watch each match, enjoy the goals and throw some shade at any opposing player with tedious links to our past? Joni Mitchell was right. You don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone. I really am going to try and enjoy it now. So, when you see me at Plymouth shouting at the ref to blow for full-time, just know that I’ve relapsed. ⬢

(Photograph by Alfie Cosgrove, via Alamy)