Brian Reade Column: Football: O'Leary's a miracle worker.. we don't hate Leeds any more.

Byline: Brian Reade 

TOMORROW morning I will hear The Dambusters tune played at the Cenotaph and subconsciously sing the following patriotic words with a tear in my eye . . . .

"We all hate Leeds and Leeds, and Leeds, Leeds and Leeds and Leeds, and Leeds, Leeds and Leeds and Leeds, we all flippin' (well, the Queen will be there) hate Leeds."

And I am not alone. On Sky's Soccer AM this morning, presenter Tim Lovejoy will preface the word "Leeds" with the word "Dirty."

He can't help it. Does it every week. It goes back to his childhood when everyone he knew pronounced Yorkshire's finest as Dirty Leeds.

Sir Alex Ferguson take note. Years before you brought your rampant paranoia to English football there was a northern team so detested Santa used to get 10 million seasonal requests for a Norman Hunter voodoo doll.

Although we begrudgingly admired their quality, the nasty, arrogant football they played, the Smiley badges, sock garters, and the big-eared manager who looked like something off Star Trek endeared us about as much as a Gilbert O'Sullivan single.

And I resurrect that sentiment solely to hail a phenomenal achievement. Leeds' chairman yesterday hailed his club's progress to the next stage of the Champions League as a "miracle."

Correct word, Mr Ridsdale, wrong context. The real miracle going on at Elland Road is that the most detested animals in England since Spanish rats brought us the bubonic plague have in the space of two short years won a place in our hearts.

How many neutral fans on Wednesday night abandoned Ron Atkinson with 15 minutes' worth of cliches to go, tuned the radio in to Milan, and willed Leeds on to victory?

I did. For three reasons. Their team is young, predominantly English, impervious to injury and play fluent, attacking football. Their chairman is dignified, modest and a genuine fan. And their manager David O'Leary is a miracle worker who in 24 months has put right 30 years of hurt. A man who has done the impossible. Made Leeds loveable, and one of the very few men who contradicts the statement that everyone in football is obscenely overpaid.

The pounds 10million, six-year contract Peter Ridsdale tied him to a few months back was the smartest day's work since Ferguson relieved Leeds of Eric Cantona seven years ago.

Right from the start, when O'Leary blooded unknowns and outplayed Roma, you knew he was born for the job.

To hear him con us with protestations about running a youth club while quietly spending pounds 46m on quality players and motivating them to fourth, then third in the Premiership, and now into a major European force, has been a delight.

This season he has never whinged about injuries or referees, he's just got on with the job. Last Saturday, at noon, he was 2-0 down at home to Liverpool, had just lost Jonathan Woodgate, and was facing a catastrophic week.

By 10 o'clock on Wednesay he had not only put Liverpool in their place, but Milan and Barcelona. Three of the biggest names in world football. With ten players out injured. And every true football fan was happy for Dirty Leeds.

Some week. Some manager. Some bloody miracle.

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HATED: Don Revie and Billy Bremner with the FA Cup in 1972