Dave’s Ramblings – Leeds United

February 11, 2026 Admin

You could almost hear the noise earlier today, when steam trains pulled into Kings Cross with fans of dirty Leeds.

Things “int Yorkshire” aren’t as backward as they once were. In fact they even have a form of electricity now. They call it “Electrickery”. The bit they struggle with, especially in London, is that it is everywhere. Stairs that move on their own, doors that open without being pushed and lights that flash.

I spoke to one of them once, well I had someone translate of course, and he told me of the wonder of water not needing to be “fetched from well”.

Starting my thoughts on the game isn’t easy. Right up until we politely gift-wrapped their second goal, tied it with a ribbon, and handed it over with a smile, I was genuinely enjoying the game. I know many will disagree, but I actually think we played better tonight than we have in ages. Yes, yes, I know, we didn’t win. Shocking. Devastating. But playing well for more than 45 minutes honestly felt illegal. A truly refreshing development, even if the final score tried its best to ruin the vibe.

As a rule, I never moan about officials. I am a beacon of calm, reason, and emotional maturity as everyone who knows me will tell you. 🤔

That said, the first 15 minutes were an absolute refereeing crime scene. Foul after foul waved away like they were shooing flies at a picnic. But apparently that’s just how they play, which is why they are scientifically known as dirty, filthy Leeds.

We, meanwhile, were being booked for crimes such as standing nearby, making eye contact, and existing with intent. At the same time, they were randomly hacking down our players like a squad of deranged lumberjacks, chopping through mighty pines with zero regard for human life, forestry regulations, or basic decency.

I am honestly amazed the ref didn’t start handing us the axe and telling us to apologise for being in the way.

I’m not moaning about the officials out of spite. This isn’t bitterness. This is a public service announcement. Trust me, they weren’t just hopeless, they were operating on an entirely different plane of useless. We weren’t watching a football match so much as a live experiment in what happens when you give a whistle to a clown and tell him to blow it.

Anyway, 24 minutes in and Cold Palmer calmly cooked up a little starter for João Pedro, who tucked it away to make it 1–0. A few weeks ago, if you’d asked me what Pedro brought to the team, I’d have said “a nice attitude and possibly a hot water bottle. Now? Absolute goal-dispensing machine. Unstoppable. A menace.

Let’s be honest, it’s either the single biggest coincidence in football history, or it’s living, breathing proof of what Liam has done since rocking up a few short weeks ago. And frankly, coincidence has been cancelled.

Meanwhile, the referee was going through it. On the verge of tears. You could see him mentally flicking through the A–Z of reasons to disallow Chelsea goals: A for “Are you serious?”, B for “Because I said so”, all the way to Z for “Zzz I hate joy”.

Eventually he had no choice but to give the goal, though not without throwing a tiny internal tantrum. You could practically see him stamping his little feet, muttering, “Fine. But I don’t like it.”

We could, and absolutely should, have been out of sight before half time, but I was perfectly content as I strolled off for a small aperitif. Confident, relaxed, and living my best “this is going well” life. Famous last thoughts.

The second half arrived and, remarkably, the game carried on exactly as before until just shy of the hour mark, when Palmer calmly popped his name on the scoresheet from the spot. This came after a dirty so-and-so in white very helpfully bundled Pedro over in the box like a confused supermarket trolley.

At that moment, Leeds had not registered a single shot on target. Not one. Zero. A crisp, refreshing statistical donut.

And then…

Mr and Mrs Sloppy arrived uninvited. Coats off. Shoes on the sofa. Kettle on. Suddenly acting like they owned the place. They even brought a large reference book with them, helpfully titled “Several hundred ways Chelsea could throw away a two-goal lead against a bang-average team”, and immediately started reading aloud.

Moisés, clearly bored after having one of his easier days in midfield, decided to spice things up by flattening their player. Naturally, the penalty was converted.

If that was a gift, then Leeds’ equaliser came with a bow, wrapping paper, and a handwritten apology.

Josh failed to deal with a ball so simple that even the ball was surprised. This sparked total chaos at the back, with Sanchez and Gusto auditioning for the new TV show ‘Who can panic the most?’ as they desperately tried to clear it.

Luck was firmly wearing a Leeds shirt as the ball fell perfectly to one of their players, who tapped it into an empty net with all the difficulty of returning a library book.

And just like that, 90 minutes of creativity, effort, and dominance were proudly sacrificed to two brief but world-class moments of stupidity.

As if we weren’t already trapped in a pantomime of incompetence, there was still time for João to hit the bar and for Cold Palmer to miss a sitter. An effort so catastrophically awful that it raised serious questions about whether scoring was ever part of the plan.

So there you have it. Three points earned the hard way, then lobbed straight into the gutter courtesy of our own self-inflicted incompetence.

My takeaways…

On the plus side, Andrey Santos continues to get better in midfield. Pretty much every first-half chance involved him in some way. Creating, progressing, or quietly wondering what the rest of the team was up to.

Palmer also completed the full 90 minutes for the first time in what feels like several geological eras. To be fair, he worked tirelessly all night, and had he actually scored that sitter we’d currently be calling him ice-cold, world-class, and the solution to all known problems.

This draw obviously feels like a defeat. But on the bright side, apart from the standard six minutes where we collectively forgot how football works, we controlled the game. So really, if you ignore the chaos, the damage, and the scoreboard, we’re very clearly a decent side with a plan. Progress.

So it’s Hull City up next, where Liam is still held in high regard. I’m sensing a flurry of changes, which traditionally means chaos, confusion, and at least one player wondering what position he’s meant to be playing. Hull are sitting 4th in the Championship and will go for the jugular from the off. Given our recent habits, we’d be wise to remember that the match starts at kick-off, not after we’ve conceded.

Onwards and upwards. UTC 💙

Dave M