Sob sob. Where’s me ‘anky? Former Leeds United great Jack Charlton has joined his recently departed teammates Norman “Bites yer Legs” Hunter and Trevor Cherry to play in that great football stadium in the sky.
Tributes are flooding in again, not just for Jack, but for the Leeds team of 50-or-so years ago and their manager Don Revie, who took a very ordinary club and turned it into the most revered (derived from Revied? Or reviled?) team in Europe.
Back in 1961 when Revie was appointed player-manager, Leeds could be compared with a struggling engineering firm, say: poor quality products and service, not the most talented of workforce, lack of discipline, low morale, a falling order-book, nervy investors, and a spiral of decline.
So Revie jettisoned the rule book that others still clung to and dreamt innovatively but pragmatically, following his instinct, drawing on experience, having self-belief. Instead of spending fortunes on the most talented players – something the club couldn’t afford and they all went to Manchester United and Liverpool anyway – he put his faith in youngsters and moulded them after his vision, the sum greater than the parts. Ballet taught. Diets restricted. Doubting Thomases and Lazy Larries jettisoned. Loyalty and Belief was the name of Revie’s game.
He researched Leeds’ opponents – not usual for the time. Moved players around until they performed at their best. An ordinary Billy Bremner at outside-right, for example, became a superstar at central-midfield. Leeds were entertaining, a joy to watch, but aggressiveness and intimidation were also encouraged – they literally punched above their weight.
Metaphorical customers flocked to buy the product. Investors queued round the block, sniffing a healthy return on investment. Additional talent was more easily recruited – but their faces had to fit with the rest of the team or they weren’t hired.
The Don’s masterful leadership, and the team he built, isn’t accurately reflected in the number of trophies they collected. Partly plain bad luck. Partly just not been on top form on the big day. But mainly We Was Robbed. I could write a million blogs about dodgy refs and cheating opponents, but not today.
When Billy Bremner – my favourite, even when I grew taller than him – died a few months after Princess Diana, I shed a little tear, whereas Diana’s death was more of a nuisance. Hubby and I were holidaying in America at the time of Diana’s car crash, and we did our best not to sound British for fear of the sycophantic sympathy we attracted. It worked quite well. Hubby was brought up in Essex and sounds Australian to the uninitiated. I lapsed into the broadest West Cumbrian I could muster (probably tarnished with a bit of West Yorkshire I have to admit), which puzzled the Yankees no end. One chap actually thought I was Jewish (probably the hair wot done it).
Yes, I was a huge fan of Leeds United during the Glory Days, infatuated as much by the players’ superstitions and looks as their skills on the field. When Don Revie left and Clough took over, the magic went poof! and I found a new passion – Heavy Metal: Led Zeppelin, Deep Purple and Uriah Heep were my new pin-up boys.
Jimmy Page still is. So is Billy Bremner.
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