Revised reflections in rhyme on the epic TOMA process…
January 21st – the penance was paid,
After the bubble had burst,
In walked the bearded one,
All bluster and boast,
A new contract for Blackwell,
Our future was toast.
Bates through unscathed,
His new bosses a creation?
7 long years and 10 months,
A era of pain,
GFH painted as White Knights,
Heroically ending his reign.
May had run into June, July and beyond,
TOMA rumbled until Autumn was near gone,
There were doubts, the were questions, but were for another day,
“Let’s celebrate Ken’s passing until the window, what do you say?”
So came January,
The past was the past,
Incomings not departures,
Ambition at last!
Thirty days later and we’re left feeling numb,
Luciano’s departed and we’ve Steve Morison,
Once more a surplus on the transfer balance sheet,
And a duck hating forward as our deadline day treat.
“We’re here for the long term”,“We’re not here to flip”,
Yet Spring’s not yet here and they’re selling off bits!
“Strategic investment”, the propaganda would claim,
The odd million thrown in by an anonymous name.
Back on the pitch things have gone down the shi**er,
Stagnation in performances and meltdown on twitter,
A manager defeated and longing for his farm,
A fan base fed up…this should sound an alarm?
But each game merely passed and another one came,
Tom Lees got implicated for on the pitch shame,
Then finally, action! As relegation did loom,
So entered McDermott with his progressive new broom.
Two games, two wins,
Our survival secured,
And promises of better things,
From both manager and board.
A summer of hope lay ahead of us all,
Excitement, not dread…this felt like football!
Then something magical,
He arrived here from Crewe,
A MILLION POUND SIGNING!
We didn’t know what to do…
‘New Season, New Start!’
We were defiantly told,
Come see you new heroes,
Decked out in gold!
And so on August 3rd,
They returned in their droves,
Million pound Murphy,
Thrilled Elland Road,
The new era WAS here,
It felt like then,
As we basked in the sunshine,
Two fingers to Ken!
But that Macron ‘gold’ turned out to be cream,
The prospect of challenging, more a wet dream,
As winter approached,
Promise started to fade,
Until hope, inspiration!
From our own Beeston Dave.
Radebe’s lot dismissed,
Who wanted football men?
When Dave could stage an inside job,
To buy us once again?
A consortium with every advantage,
Dave could play hardball with himself,
A transaction of simple beauty,
A strategy in the rudest of health.
“Completed in good time for January”, he would confidently claim,
“So we can invest in the window” – no more transfer pain,
Then Christmas passed as quickly as it came
And the dread once more surfaced of more of the same.
Rejection, rejection – it all fell apart,
A fuming Andrew Flowers poured out his heart,
How could due diligence expose debts of which we didn’t know,
When the CEO of the company had been running the show?
…oh, and then was a matter of a certain Cellino.
In he stormed like a tyrant,
McDermott was sacked,
Then retreated to mistruths to cover his back
But no damage was done,
His faux pas held no sway,
As the takeover battle was all going his way.
Back came Farnan and he’s wanting to talk,
But with Dave in with Massimo he was instructed to walk,
The long term future was always David’s concern,
Just not Leeds’, but his, will some fans ever learn?
Their Social media fawning,
To Massimo’s daughter and sons,
Swallowing Instagram bulls**t,
Each adoring one…
But there was always that obstacle,
A stick in the mud,
A coy Football League,
And Massimo hadn’t been good…
But he still sunk in his money,
To keep us afloat,
If his bid got rejected he’d be off in his boat,
More debt passed on to the owners,
Liabilities they couldn’t afford,
And the only other bidder estranged from their board.
But we all could rest easy,
It would all be okay,
After weeks of complete silence,
Up popped our Dave.
On what grounds?
Merely that monthly,
We lose a million pounds?
So we’re currently a loss-making business,
But that’s how we’ll survive,
It’s only those who sp*nk money,
Who will succeed and will thrive.
Besides our saviour waited, we were confidently told,
In his Yorkshire Post chat, Dave was effusively bold,
“In anyone else, all those attributes, I’ve seen not”,
Much like those 400,000 Euros owed for his yacht…
And a night of redemption,
When many worms they did turn,
A White Leeds Radio appearance,
Some harsh truths we did learn,
Dave was the Devil,
Each supporter a b*tch,
Massimo a darling,
For being a GFH snitch,
The momentum was his,
Come the appeal day of reckoning,
Anti-Football League chants at Wigan,
With a press release beckoning.
He was in…yes really,
A shock to us all,
That mad Italian triumphed,
Over English football,
Massimo was judged ‘reckless’,
In his ‘Nellie’ tax caper,
Only one future worry remains,
Being ruled ‘dishonest’ on paper,
So kudos for sticking with us,
Massimo, I must give you that,
But for all the time, patience and money,
At times you’ve still acted the t**t,
A takeover process,
For the most part, a farce,
And tellingly, it’s most defining image,
Will be Eleonora’s pert, shapely a**e.
Yet one seminal evening,
Where you spoke like a fan,
Fuels hope in us all,
That you might yet be ‘The Man’,
Bu maybe take a deep breath,
Before acting think things out,
President is your title…
He doesn’t sit in the dug out
Duly buying the club,
Without the diligence needed,
Has burdened you with extra millions of debt,
Such a warning ought to be heeded,
As for Beeston Dave,
‘The Devil’ – his future is now unclear,
His ‘face saving’ resignation statement,
Failed to win a sympathetic ear
I personally still want to see him down at Elland Road,
He can even continue to pedal his lies…
“Oh right, so it wasn’t your fault then, David…now please get my burger and fries”
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