Game three of the week, and only nine changes this time – let’s not unsettle the team too much. No place of Arca, who’d been struggling with a calf all week (sorry, just put your own joke in, I can’t be bothered), and returns for Whitley, Robinson, Whitehead, and Carter in what is proving to be a very flexible and effective group of midfielders. Elliot was back up front, and Chris Brown’s reward for Tuesday’s efforts was his first league start for the lads.

Elland Road is a big old ground – look to your right and see what Leeds were aspiring to only a coupe of years ago, then look to your left and see where they’ve ended up. The pre-match atmosphere was wound right up, mainly because the majority of the drinking took place in the ground rather than town or any handy stopping-off place on the way down, thanks to a Friday evening kick-off, and the demeanour of a proportion of the locals. The league’s most irritating stadium announcer (yes, even worse than Birchenall at Leicester) told us that their fans were having a stadium tour at Sid James on the way to the game at the SoL on Boxing Day, and then made a point of calling the Leeds crowd human beings on at least six occasions as he tried to ensure the minutes silence (more respect than Leeds had shown him in his lifetime) was observed.

While the first half wasn’t that pretty, we were into them from the off, and quickly forced three corners. By the end of the half, we’d worked out that Brian Deane has probably had false legs for the last six months, as we managed to handle him quite well (an achievement in itself) apart from leaving him unmarked to head in. Fortunately, the ref had seen Poooom being wrestled out of the game, and it was 0-0. We also noticed that Gregan Butler, and Deane are responsible for the biggest challenge ever presented to the manufacturers of football shorts. Butler actually looked the slimmest of the three, and when Ricketts appeared, it was decided that his shorts must have been put in place before his arse was inflated – no man can have such a disproportionately huge set of buttocks. It probably explained why he was shite.

In the second half, we took the game to Leeds a bit more, and looked generally in control apart from a few minutes in the middle. When Robinson’s quick free-kick was returned to him by the alert Elliott, the finish was perfect, accurate, and right in front of the travelling fans. No need to jump, we’d been on our feet all night anyway, but it was the cue for wild celebrations. It could have got wilder had Elliott managed to knock in a poor back-pass, but Sullivan (himself not skinny chap) saved, then began a running argument with the little Irish pest. This part of it ended with Sullivan kicking Elliott after shoving him, but the ref saw neither. Later in the game the keeper won a free kick for climbing onto Elliott and putting both arms around his neck, but the ref was in less of a generous mood at the other end when Caldwell produced his now customary wrestling match in the box, and it was a penalty – the shout from the Gelderd end told as much. Thankfully we didn’t sign Ormerod, Leeds did, he’s crap at taking penalties, and Poomy went the right way to save the day, almost exactly a year after his famous header at Derby. Cue more wild celebrations.

By the time the hard working Brown was replaced, we’d been singing “super Mickey Bridges” for some time, and on he duly came. He looked really chuffed to be out there for us, and, while didn’t get a chance on goal, he showed some of the old magic footwork, and did exactly what we wanted – keep hold of the ball of the last ten. He’ll get his chance for goals at Shef Utd on Tuesday – the scene of one of his best ever performances (you remember, the one after which Steve Bruce retired).

Leeds is a lovely pace to win, and, after so many barren years, we’ve now won two on the trot. We could look at Ormerod and Bridges, and think “right choice”. Leeds fans can look at Ormerod, Bridges, and Ricketts, and think “bugger”, and it couldn’t happen to a nicer bunch of people. Oh, what a perfect day. McCarthy’s summer signings look to be a good bunch, and his latest may be a masterstroke - an inspired acquisition. The fans like him, we’ve seen what he can do first-hand, and he really wants to do the business for us. If he’s 75% of the player we had first time around, he’ll do nicely in this division, and hopefully we’ll reap just what we’ve sown.

Back to the car/coach park, and it was back to the seventies, as bottles rained down and police horses charged around seeking the culprits. Even the driver joined in the homeward celebrations by breaking all company guidelines and overtaking SEVEN (yes, 7) coaches and two minibuses, while we discussed how Carl Robinson would celebrate in his temporary home in South Hetton. We also wondered many times Robinson’s lawn would be mown, how many times his drive would be swept, and what time Mr Winks, his caring sharing neighbour, would knock him up with a cup of tea this morning.

Man of the Match: Llittle Stevie and his disciples of goal. Elliot made sure that Pies had to be the Leeds top man on the night to keep him out, and showed imagination and determination all evening. Keegan must be kicking himself, and if he isn’t. I’ll do it for him.

Keep the Faith,

Sob.