  Twenty years ago, I saw my first football match. I can tell you the following facts about that game: Leeds Utd. were at home against Huddersfield Town in Division 2 and Town were wearing pink shirts. That’s it. You read biographies where people can tell you the team, the subs, the time of the goals and the attendance. I haven’t a clue. That day was about spending time with my dad and two uncles (it may have been a Boxing Day match – again, I’m not sure), although there may have been an ulterior motive. I distinctly remember my father trying to explain that the game he was going to be important because it could mean that Leeds would be at the top of a big list of team names when I was very young. As you will know from reading this site, there are times that I absolutely despise football. Why do I pay a small fortune to follow a team that is likely to be turned over nearly every week? This isn’t the first time I’ve done it – the year of the Wilkinson/Graham handover bore some of the worst matches you are ever likely to see (Leeds scored 5 goals less than Alan Shearer that season and named eight recognised defenders against First Division Portsmouth in the cup). The year before, I travelled to London to watch Leeds be destroyed by a striker that the next year the fans would hound out of the club (Funny story – went to school the next day, knackered and depressed from the trip. Becky Smith saw more and asked what was up. When I said “tired from travelling”, she said, with the biggest grin on her face “Oh!
I watched it! You’re team are REALLY shit!” Cunt). This also being the same year that our strike force for one match was 36 year old Lee Chapman and 36 stone Tomas Brolin, our record signing. The year after winning the League, I watched a team that didn’t win away all season, while a player our manager decided wasn’t suitable for our side went across the Pennines and led his new team to their first championship in decades.
I got my first season ticket the year that we nearly were relegated to Div 2. I have seen players brought in on small fortunes only to be reduced to the level of journeymen while seeing our exciting young players move on for a pittance. I’ve seen managerial and boardroom decisions perplexing in their stupidity. And yet, I go. I hate the way that I have missed days out and parties to go to an open-air stadium in the drizzle and watch a match that I have known for weeks will be abject and depressing. I hate the look on TFMrs’s face when I explain I can’t go see her family because I have to go see Middlesbrough in action. I hate the way that I will not talk to people in pubs when a game is on because I need to consider the tactical implications to the game caused by the substitution of Zoumana Camara for Michael Duberry.
I hate how a game against Arsenal can leave me in a horrible, aggravated mood for a week. So, why do I follow Leeds and subject myself to this crap? Because thrashing the worst team in the league, meaning that for two weeks we are not the bottom team, despite having a depleted squad and the likelihood of administration in a few weeks time, is one of the best fucking feelings in the world. Christ, I even love Viduka this morning. 
