Throughout Marcelo Bielsa’s time at Leeds, fans of Newells, Chile and Athletic Bilbao were quick to tell us that we would one day be widows of Bielsa. Crushed by love and loss, we would never feel this way again. And it was true. His Leeds team, specifically the promotion heroes, plus the effect of football’s ruling elite and its mercenary attitude, combined to add an extra layer of grief. Never again will we see a group of players like 2019/20, at least not without another bleak period in football’s wilderness, for that’s where those characters were forged.

Am I being overly dramatic? Maybe, but I’ve spent too much time watching Weston McKennie et al wander around Elland Road, seemingly unbothered by their own shortcomings, nor the reality that they have failed people who pay hundreds of pounds to watch them aimlessly punt a ball around, as well as the many more who contribute to the TV and advertising revenues that keep those useless manchildren in silk PJs.

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