It's always a rollercoaster ride being a Leeds fan but this week has been particularly up and down for David Guile.
It's always a rollercoaster ride being a Leeds supporter but this week has been particularly up and down for Fanzoner David Guile.
Does Pete Doherty dream about football? If he does, I bet there's some really weird stuff going on in the darkest recesses of his mind.
Stuff like his beloved QPR powering their way towards the Premiership while decent teams like Middlesbrough and Forest flounder in the lower reaches of the table. Everything would have a surreal edge to it, and there would be some pretty strange results knocking about as well; teams racing into 4-1 leads at home and then inexplicably self-destructing. But that couldn't happen in real life, surely?
My week started on a real personal high as I finally achieved my long-held ambition of meeting the great Lucas Radebe, who very kindly took two hours out of his schedule to sign copies of his book at the club shop immediately before the Sheffield United match. I hauled myself out of bed at a time that I'd only ever heard about in books and took a train and a taxi to arrive at Elland Road at a criminally early hour. Fifty people still beat me to it, and I entered the store to join the growing queue.
I was on the phone to my girlfriend when Paul Reaney, star of the all-conquering Don Revie side of the 70s, strode into the shop. Great, I thought, this day's getting even better. Denise actually ran into Paul at work the other day, so I decided to let her know that one of her favourite customers was in the shop.
Unfortunately, as soon as I said the fateful words "Paul Reaney" there was a noise like a KitKat snapping as two hundred necks whipped round and two hundred pairs of eyes locked onto the club legend. Within seconds, Reaney disappeared behind a gaggle of excited autograph-hunters. I could hear his voice plaintively crying "I'm not Lucas! I'm not Lucas!" as he fled the shop. If you're reading this, Paul, I'm genuinely sorry.
An hour and a half later I shook Lucas's hand, and thanked him repeatedly for everything he did for our club. By the time the final whistle went against the Blades, confirming a 1-0 win, I was beginning to think that life couldn't get any better. And then, with the grim inevitability of a storm cloud, came Preston.
There are few words that can describe the feeling of blowing a three-goal lead at home. I would compare it to winning a sports car in a competition, gleefully jumping into it and then finding out that it doesn't work. I'm not sure I wouldn't have rather watched us lose 6-0 - at least then the only emotions you experience are disgust and resignation. That game took me through the entire emotional spectrum and I almost never want to look at another football again. Almost.
Next we have Ipswich, and in keeping with how bizarre the past week has been I fully expect the game to be called off due to a pitch invasion of alien beings with the body of a spider and the head of Dara O'Briain. You heard it here first.
