There can be times, when looking in from the outside on England’s most chaotically run football clubs, that trying to make sense of what is actually going on ceases to be of any significant value. There is no method, only madness – no narrative arc, just a series of random events held together by a small cast of characters, and the only way to be able to keep a grip on the entire sequence is to treat it all as something akin to the lucid dreams of a hyperactive three year old, full of Sunny Delight and the infinite possibilities of his or her imagination.
One is given pause to wonder, when considering the current travails of Leeds United – whose current plight keeps them firmly rooted in second place after Emmerdale in the running to be Yorkshire’s longest running soap opera – what is going on in the minds of some of the central characters. What, exactly, are Massimo Cellino’s thought processes? Is there some sort of grand master plan at work here that the rest of us are simply too troglodyte to understand, or is he more like a toddler? Is he capable of reacting to forms of basic sensory stimuli and perhaps even of basic, if strange to adult eyes or ears, logical thought? And if he does indeed possess a level of cognitive development that is somewhere on a spectrum between a sunflower and a highly strung toddler… how on earth did he get to be so rich? It’s difficult to avoid the suspicion that the rest of us mere oiks might be missing a method behind the madness so subtle as to be almost imperceptible.
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