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The following article is an abridged version of a three part one that karly is currently having a look at with a view to posting it on the other part of the Bolton Nuts site over the next few days. It recounts a visit by Leeds to the Reebok a little under ten years ago and how I both saw it at the time and recall it now. As it is quite long even in this edited version I hope you'll bear with it and give me your opinions here but if you don't have the time or inclination to do that then please feel free to wait for the full split version to begin appearing over the next few days. Anyway, down to business.
It was Sunday 2nd May 2004. The day dawned brightly and warm spring weather bathed the Reebok Stadium as I made my way up the slope to watch us take on the “mighty” Leeds United.
It seemed almost impossible to believe that the Elland Road outfit were in serious trouble, that a defeat would see them relegated from the top flight just three years after being Champions League semi-finalists. They had the likes of Mark Viduka, seen by many including myself as a brilliant striker, they'd spent more money than most of us could possibly begin to dream of seeing and they still had the reputation all Leeds teams have of being fighters, men who would play for pride and the shirt and would run until they couldn't run any more. As I made my way to my seat I was expecting to see a full blood and thunder display from the men in black (leeds away kit then) roared on by several thousand fanatical fans who still believed their team was too good to go down, especially when they were up against “little” Bolton Wanderers. Privately I thought we would lose, we were comfortably in the top half of the table and although a European place was still possible I thought Leeds would be fired up, would need and want it more and that their faithful followers would roar them on and inspire them to produce the win they so desperately needed.
Not even the most optimistic of Trotters could have foreseen what would happen over the next hour and a half. I know I certainly didn't, despite us having Youri, Jay Jay and Ivan Campo on the field. I was quietly content with what we had already achieved that season and if we got to Europe that would be wonderful but even if we didn't Sam Allardyce had masterminded another largely successful campaign and we were still going forward. How little I knew, both about how good we really were and how appallingly bad Leeds would prove to be.
It all started out much the way I expected. The Leeds fans sang their hearts out and drowned our voices in a wave of passion and defiance so great you could have been forgiven for thinking we were at Elland Road not at home. Leeds went for us from the first whistle, pushing us back and playing with a fierce determination that suggested the players knew and understood how much they owed it to the fans to not just win but produce a performance worthy of the proud shirts they wore. The first sign that anything was really wrong was when Viduka casually flicked what should have been an easy header wide from the six yard line and then shrugged as if to say “so what” while the likes of young Alan Smith held his head in his hands and groaned. As the first twenty minutes played out it began to become apparent that only half of the Leeds team really seemed to care. Their fans noticed it but they didn't shout abuse or boo, they sang even louder and tried to lift the players who weren't performing by sheer force of will.
Then in the twenty fifth minute Leeds United got the break that being honest they probably deserved just for their fan's unstinting support. Smith was running at our defence, he charged into the box and Thome made a rash challenge that brought the young winger down. Some may say it was soft but again honesty compels me to say I had no real doubt that the penalty was justly awarded. Viduka, the man on sixty grand a week and who I'd always rated buried the spot kick with ruthless efficiency and I feared it would now open the floodgates. Leeds fans clearly thought so too, their chant of “one nil” rang around the ground in clear expectation that it would soon change to “two” or even “three” before the whistle went for half time.
However the next nine minutes changed all of that. From the kick off we looked more composed, we began to pass the ball around much better and Leeds were no longer able to run at us with impunity as they had for the preceding half an hour. They quickly began to get frustrated and it was that man Viduka who lost the plot and in so doing sealed Leeds United's doom.
In the thirty first minute he got a yellow card for a challenge on Thome that might well get a red today as he clattered his studs into Emerson's thigh. Unbelievably he protested that decision and then just seconds later he chopped Ivan Campo down. I was surprised he wasn't dismissed right there but the referee contented himself with giving Mark Viduka a stern talking to, probably reminding the Australian that we were playing Association Football not Rugby Football. However it fell on deaf ears, Viduka was out of control and less than two minutes later he was out of the match. For reasons only apparent to himself he jumped for a header and deliberately swung a vicious elbow backwards into Bruno N'Gotty and the referee had seen enough. A second yellow card was raised, followed by the inevitable red and despite the fact that either one of his cautions could have warranted a straight dismissal by themselves Viduka argued for a few seconds but then his true self emerged. He shrugged his shoulders and actually grinned as he left the field, probably thinking he'd get another big money deal with some other suckers for the following season so who cared what happened to Leeds United anyway? I lost all respect for the man in that moment and never got it back. As the last twelve minutes plus stoppage time were played out the ten remaining men in dark shirts hung onto their lead but it was clear the pendulum was swinging rapidly as we came into our own and began to pass and move the ball around comfortably. As the half time whistle went the visiting fans were still singing loudly but there was a sense that it was beginning to sound like a funeral dirge rather than a genuine optimism that they could hang on for the three points they so desperately needed.
Two minutes into the second half Youri Djorkaeff put us back on level terms. Although it had been surprisingly quick and seemed surprisingly easy we still didn't really sense what was about to happen. We still didn't expect the astonishing collapse that followed. Six minutes later Djorkaeff found himself all alone with the ball and nonchalantly slotted in a second goal to give us the lead. Now we began to realise just why Leeds United were in so much trouble, we began to see how a team that had ridden so high such a short time ago had fallen so far and so fast. It was because most of the men wearing the Leeds shirt had absolutely no stomach for the fight, no will to try and get something from a match that should have had them all battling and chasing for every ball the way Leeds United teams had become famous for over decades. They were a disgrace to the shirt the likes of Bremner had worn with pride, they were very bit the mercenaries so much of the press had made them out to be and they simply did not seem to care. Almost any other away team's fans would have fallen silent but not Leeds.
They got louder, they drowned out even our cheers of celebration and some Leeds players like their Captain Lucas Radebe and their young talisman Alan Smith answered that clarion call, but only some. The rest acted like men on their way to the gallows and from that point on the game was only ever going to have one outcome. Despite their being thirty five minutes more to play at least six of the ten dark shirted men stopped running, stopped throwing themselves into the fray and resigned themselves to the inevitable.
The only surprise when we got our third was that it took so long and came from an own goal. The unfortunate Ian Harte, one of the men who never stopped running watched in horror as a cross bounced off his chest and into the Leeds goal. The Elland Road faithful sang louder, they tried with all their might to lift the team they love but sadly for them Harte, Smith and Radebe were now effectively on their own as the other six outfield players lost whatever will and courage they had left. There was clearly no way back, not without some impossible miracle which never ever looked like happening despite the faithful's defiant songs and Smith's attempts to run through the Trotters all by himself.
By now we were passing the ball around, spraying passes that seemed magnetically attracted to BWFC players at will and Leeds had no answer, no fight and seemingly no idea how to stop us. Jay Jay was at his imperious best, Ivan Campo looked as if he had all day to decide what to do with the ball whenever he had it and Kevin Nolan was running the Leeds defence, already disjointed and spiritless ragged. It was one way traffic, in fact it looked like men versus boys despite the way the Leeds fans continued to try and spur their men on. By now it seemed the travelling faithful weren't looking for a win, they were trying to provoke some spark, some passion in the men they'd followed across the Pennines and to instil some pride in the players who wore the same shirt the likes of Billy Bremner and Jack Charlton had honoured so much but it was to no avail, at least for most of them.
When Jay Jay produced the pass of the day and split Leeds wide open for Kevin Nolan to gratefully take it and slide it into the Leeds net there were still almost fifteen minutes left and it seemed we would have time to bag at least one or two more but in the event we had already done more than enough. The game petered out with us playing keep the ball football, passing it around at will and it seemed almost as if we were taking pity on the Yorkshire side when Jay Jay missed a chance that he would normally bury with about five minutes left. When the final whistle went it seemed almost an act of mercy on the visitors and their fans who had deserved so much better could have been forgiven for booing the men who'd failed them so thoroughly but they didn't. In fact they continued to sing and if it was a funeral dirge it was a loud and passionate one. They knew they were down, the fact they had two games left was irrelevant thanks to Manchester City's vastly superior goal difference but still the travelling fans sang and applauded even as they wept with disappointment and despair.
I can still remember Alan Smith and Lucas Radebe going over to their fans with tears in their own eyes as they applauded the travelling faithful and thanked them for their efforts to lift the team. Harte wasn't far behind but the rest of them seemed to shuffle over and when they left the field it was clear that many of them were already thinking about the call they would make to their agents when they got home. Eddie Gray had done his very best but sadly the men he commanded had been unworthy to wear the shirt for the most part and when Big Sam put a hand on his shoulder to offer some comfort to his brother manager it was clear that like every Trotter over thirty he was remembering days when it had been us feeling that pain and dejection. As I left the stadium I felt sorry for Gray, Smith and Radebe especially, I felt sorry for the fans who had so bravely and passionately tried to lift their team all day but I'd be lying if I said I knew just how costly that defeat would be for Leeds United. I was still unaware that what I had seen marked the beginning of one of the most shocking downward spirals football had ever seen at that time or that the aftershocks of that defeat would still rumble a decade later. I was genuinely delighted with the result, we were up to seventh in the top flight and Europe wasn't just a hope any more, it was a very real possibility. By the time I got back to my house I was anticipating the possible places the Trotters would go to next season, the possible European destinations the little team everyone had discounted for so long would find themselves.
We all know what happened in the aftermath of course, both to Leeds and to us. We all know that our own financial position is perilously bad right now and that it may be years before either team sees the top division again as the gulf between the premiership and the rest widens further with every season. I hope we can avoid the fate that awaited Leeds United as they went into administration, were docked fifteen points before a season had even started and are still far from being anything like the massive entity they were at the start of this century.
That said I am looking forward to the match; I hope we play the way we did against Blackburn and win the game with a display reminiscent of that May afternoon BUT I believe that May 2nd 2004 should also serve as a caution; it should be a date to remind people that even the mightiest can fall if they throw money they don't have away in a bid for later success that fails to happen.
It was Sunday 2nd May 2004. The day dawned brightly and warm spring weather bathed the Reebok Stadium as I made my way up the slope to watch us take on the “mighty” Leeds United.
It seemed almost impossible to believe that the Elland Road outfit were in serious trouble, that a defeat would see them relegated from the top flight just three years after being Champions League semi-finalists. They had the likes of Mark Viduka, seen by many including myself as a brilliant striker, they'd spent more money than most of us could possibly begin to dream of seeing and they still had the reputation all Leeds teams have of being fighters, men who would play for pride and the shirt and would run until they couldn't run any more. As I made my way to my seat I was expecting to see a full blood and thunder display from the men in black (leeds away kit then) roared on by several thousand fanatical fans who still believed their team was too good to go down, especially when they were up against “little” Bolton Wanderers. Privately I thought we would lose, we were comfortably in the top half of the table and although a European place was still possible I thought Leeds would be fired up, would need and want it more and that their faithful followers would roar them on and inspire them to produce the win they so desperately needed.
Not even the most optimistic of Trotters could have foreseen what would happen over the next hour and a half. I know I certainly didn't, despite us having Youri, Jay Jay and Ivan Campo on the field. I was quietly content with what we had already achieved that season and if we got to Europe that would be wonderful but even if we didn't Sam Allardyce had masterminded another largely successful campaign and we were still going forward. How little I knew, both about how good we really were and how appallingly bad Leeds would prove to be.
It all started out much the way I expected. The Leeds fans sang their hearts out and drowned our voices in a wave of passion and defiance so great you could have been forgiven for thinking we were at Elland Road not at home. Leeds went for us from the first whistle, pushing us back and playing with a fierce determination that suggested the players knew and understood how much they owed it to the fans to not just win but produce a performance worthy of the proud shirts they wore. The first sign that anything was really wrong was when Viduka casually flicked what should have been an easy header wide from the six yard line and then shrugged as if to say “so what” while the likes of young Alan Smith held his head in his hands and groaned. As the first twenty minutes played out it began to become apparent that only half of the Leeds team really seemed to care. Their fans noticed it but they didn't shout abuse or boo, they sang even louder and tried to lift the players who weren't performing by sheer force of will.
Then in the twenty fifth minute Leeds United got the break that being honest they probably deserved just for their fan's unstinting support. Smith was running at our defence, he charged into the box and Thome made a rash challenge that brought the young winger down. Some may say it was soft but again honesty compels me to say I had no real doubt that the penalty was justly awarded. Viduka, the man on sixty grand a week and who I'd always rated buried the spot kick with ruthless efficiency and I feared it would now open the floodgates. Leeds fans clearly thought so too, their chant of “one nil” rang around the ground in clear expectation that it would soon change to “two” or even “three” before the whistle went for half time.
However the next nine minutes changed all of that. From the kick off we looked more composed, we began to pass the ball around much better and Leeds were no longer able to run at us with impunity as they had for the preceding half an hour. They quickly began to get frustrated and it was that man Viduka who lost the plot and in so doing sealed Leeds United's doom.
In the thirty first minute he got a yellow card for a challenge on Thome that might well get a red today as he clattered his studs into Emerson's thigh. Unbelievably he protested that decision and then just seconds later he chopped Ivan Campo down. I was surprised he wasn't dismissed right there but the referee contented himself with giving Mark Viduka a stern talking to, probably reminding the Australian that we were playing Association Football not Rugby Football. However it fell on deaf ears, Viduka was out of control and less than two minutes later he was out of the match. For reasons only apparent to himself he jumped for a header and deliberately swung a vicious elbow backwards into Bruno N'Gotty and the referee had seen enough. A second yellow card was raised, followed by the inevitable red and despite the fact that either one of his cautions could have warranted a straight dismissal by themselves Viduka argued for a few seconds but then his true self emerged. He shrugged his shoulders and actually grinned as he left the field, probably thinking he'd get another big money deal with some other suckers for the following season so who cared what happened to Leeds United anyway? I lost all respect for the man in that moment and never got it back. As the last twelve minutes plus stoppage time were played out the ten remaining men in dark shirts hung onto their lead but it was clear the pendulum was swinging rapidly as we came into our own and began to pass and move the ball around comfortably. As the half time whistle went the visiting fans were still singing loudly but there was a sense that it was beginning to sound like a funeral dirge rather than a genuine optimism that they could hang on for the three points they so desperately needed.
Two minutes into the second half Youri Djorkaeff put us back on level terms. Although it had been surprisingly quick and seemed surprisingly easy we still didn't really sense what was about to happen. We still didn't expect the astonishing collapse that followed. Six minutes later Djorkaeff found himself all alone with the ball and nonchalantly slotted in a second goal to give us the lead. Now we began to realise just why Leeds United were in so much trouble, we began to see how a team that had ridden so high such a short time ago had fallen so far and so fast. It was because most of the men wearing the Leeds shirt had absolutely no stomach for the fight, no will to try and get something from a match that should have had them all battling and chasing for every ball the way Leeds United teams had become famous for over decades. They were a disgrace to the shirt the likes of Bremner had worn with pride, they were very bit the mercenaries so much of the press had made them out to be and they simply did not seem to care. Almost any other away team's fans would have fallen silent but not Leeds.
They got louder, they drowned out even our cheers of celebration and some Leeds players like their Captain Lucas Radebe and their young talisman Alan Smith answered that clarion call, but only some. The rest acted like men on their way to the gallows and from that point on the game was only ever going to have one outcome. Despite their being thirty five minutes more to play at least six of the ten dark shirted men stopped running, stopped throwing themselves into the fray and resigned themselves to the inevitable.
The only surprise when we got our third was that it took so long and came from an own goal. The unfortunate Ian Harte, one of the men who never stopped running watched in horror as a cross bounced off his chest and into the Leeds goal. The Elland Road faithful sang louder, they tried with all their might to lift the team they love but sadly for them Harte, Smith and Radebe were now effectively on their own as the other six outfield players lost whatever will and courage they had left. There was clearly no way back, not without some impossible miracle which never ever looked like happening despite the faithful's defiant songs and Smith's attempts to run through the Trotters all by himself.
By now we were passing the ball around, spraying passes that seemed magnetically attracted to BWFC players at will and Leeds had no answer, no fight and seemingly no idea how to stop us. Jay Jay was at his imperious best, Ivan Campo looked as if he had all day to decide what to do with the ball whenever he had it and Kevin Nolan was running the Leeds defence, already disjointed and spiritless ragged. It was one way traffic, in fact it looked like men versus boys despite the way the Leeds fans continued to try and spur their men on. By now it seemed the travelling faithful weren't looking for a win, they were trying to provoke some spark, some passion in the men they'd followed across the Pennines and to instil some pride in the players who wore the same shirt the likes of Billy Bremner and Jack Charlton had honoured so much but it was to no avail, at least for most of them.
When Jay Jay produced the pass of the day and split Leeds wide open for Kevin Nolan to gratefully take it and slide it into the Leeds net there were still almost fifteen minutes left and it seemed we would have time to bag at least one or two more but in the event we had already done more than enough. The game petered out with us playing keep the ball football, passing it around at will and it seemed almost as if we were taking pity on the Yorkshire side when Jay Jay missed a chance that he would normally bury with about five minutes left. When the final whistle went it seemed almost an act of mercy on the visitors and their fans who had deserved so much better could have been forgiven for booing the men who'd failed them so thoroughly but they didn't. In fact they continued to sing and if it was a funeral dirge it was a loud and passionate one. They knew they were down, the fact they had two games left was irrelevant thanks to Manchester City's vastly superior goal difference but still the travelling fans sang and applauded even as they wept with disappointment and despair.
I can still remember Alan Smith and Lucas Radebe going over to their fans with tears in their own eyes as they applauded the travelling faithful and thanked them for their efforts to lift the team. Harte wasn't far behind but the rest of them seemed to shuffle over and when they left the field it was clear that many of them were already thinking about the call they would make to their agents when they got home. Eddie Gray had done his very best but sadly the men he commanded had been unworthy to wear the shirt for the most part and when Big Sam put a hand on his shoulder to offer some comfort to his brother manager it was clear that like every Trotter over thirty he was remembering days when it had been us feeling that pain and dejection. As I left the stadium I felt sorry for Gray, Smith and Radebe especially, I felt sorry for the fans who had so bravely and passionately tried to lift their team all day but I'd be lying if I said I knew just how costly that defeat would be for Leeds United. I was still unaware that what I had seen marked the beginning of one of the most shocking downward spirals football had ever seen at that time or that the aftershocks of that defeat would still rumble a decade later. I was genuinely delighted with the result, we were up to seventh in the top flight and Europe wasn't just a hope any more, it was a very real possibility. By the time I got back to my house I was anticipating the possible places the Trotters would go to next season, the possible European destinations the little team everyone had discounted for so long would find themselves.
We all know what happened in the aftermath of course, both to Leeds and to us. We all know that our own financial position is perilously bad right now and that it may be years before either team sees the top division again as the gulf between the premiership and the rest widens further with every season. I hope we can avoid the fate that awaited Leeds United as they went into administration, were docked fifteen points before a season had even started and are still far from being anything like the massive entity they were at the start of this century.
That said I am looking forward to the match; I hope we play the way we did against Blackburn and win the game with a display reminiscent of that May afternoon BUT I believe that May 2nd 2004 should also serve as a caution; it should be a date to remind people that even the mightiest can fall if they throw money they don't have away in a bid for later success that fails to happen.
