Chapter 208: Leeds Fans are going Crazy

Words : 1924 Updated : Oct 3rd, 2025

"Leeds United! Leeds United! Leeds United!" "Arthur! Arthur! Arthur!" From the upper deck of the team bus, the chants roared like a tidal wave. It was almost surreal. Looking at the sea of excited fans outside the windows, most of the Leeds United players sitting inside had the same dazed thought: Wait a minute, did we already win the Premier League and nobody told us? But no, it wasn't a championship celebration. Not yet, anyway. The bus had just pulled into the parking lot at Thorp Arch, their training base. The season wasn't over, and there was still work to do. A lot of it. Still, no one could blame the fans for losing their minds a little. The last time Leeds United had come this close to winning the top-flight title was back in the 1991–1992 season, when the Premier League hadn't even been born yet. It had been fifteen long, bumpy years since then—full of wild highs and painful lows. There had been a Champions League semifinal once. There had also been bankruptcy, relegation, and more misery than any fanbase should have to endure. But now, with Arthur at the helm, hope had returned. And with it, came thousands of screaming Yorkshiremen trying to flip a team bus with the sheer power of love. The vehicle came to a gentle halt just outside the gate. A few security guards tried to maintain order, but it was a losing battle against the flood of fans chanting Arthur's name like he was the Messiah in a tracksuit. One by one, the players disembarked, clutching duffel bags and earbuds, trying to squeeze through the cheering crowd like tired celebrities at the end of a long film shoot. Rest was precious. In just four days, they'd be flying to Catalonia to take on Barcelona—the reigning Champions League kings. Arthur stayed behind with captain Vincent Kompany to handle the fanfare. It took them over half an hour to calm the crowd. There were handshakes, photos, and a lot of autographs—mostly on shirts, scarves, and foreheads. One lad even asked Arthur to sign his newborn's onesie. Finally, after the last fan waved goodbye with a teary-eyed grin and Arthur signed one last slightly sweaty home jersey, he and Kompany retreated inside the training complex. Arthur flexed his wrist and let out a dramatic sigh. "My hand's going to cramp for life. They better not ask me to sign anything in Spain." Beside him, Kompany gave a goofy grin. He was usually the embodiment of discipline on the pitch—composed, unshakeable—but right now, he looked like a giddy schoolkid who just got told Christmas was coming early. "Boss, our fans are insane. If we really do win the league this year, Thorp Arch is gonna be flattened. You should seriously ask Allen to get someone to reinforce the gates—or build a moat or something!" Arthur rolled his eyes. "You daft? Who celebrates a title at a training base?" Kompany blinked. "Well, I mean..." "Don't tell me you forgot what happened two years ago when we won the Championship?" Arthur said, turning to him like a disappointed teacher. "The whole city basically shut down. It was chaos! Full-on motorcade, flares in the street, people hanging out of windows wearing nothing but scarves." "Oh right—heh, yeah." Kompany scratched the top of his clean-shaven head, suddenly looking sheepish. "I was still kinda the new guy back then. Wasn't really in the spotlight." Then his tone changed, growing softer. "That was James' moment. Milner was up there at the front of the bus, lifting the trophy. It's kinda a shame. If he hadn't left..." Arthur gave a small nod. He knew Kompany and Milner had been close. And yeah, the way Milner had left had stung—both for the team and for the fans. But that's football. Friendships get tested, ambitions clash, and sometimes people move on. "You're not wrong," Arthur said, his voice mellowing. "If Milner had stayed, he probably would've been up there again with that trophy in hand." There was a pause. Then Arthur clapped a hand on Kompany's back. "But it doesn't matter now. You guys are pros. Everyone's got their own dreams, their own path. And hey, look at the silver lining—because he left, the captain's armband now belongs to you." Kompany raised his eyebrows. "You think that's a silver lining?" "Better than bronze," Arthur shot back. "And just think—if we win this thing, you won't just be a captain. You'll be immortal." Kompany squinted at him. "Immortal?" "I mean, metaphorically," Arthur said, sweeping his arm toward the empty wall in the lobby of the building. "That wall over there? Blank now, but not for long. That's going to be our Wall of Honour." "Sounds fancy." "It will be." Arthur turned to him with a grin. "Every single player who brings this club a trophy is going up there. Photos, plaques, you name it. Maybe even one of those bronze busts if you win enough." Kompany's eyes lit up. "You serious?" "Dead serious. I want your big bald head on that wall every single time we lift silverware. A whole row of Kompanys—Kompany '07, Kompany '08, Kompany '09... like a trophy Pokémon evolution." Kompany let out a laugh, the weight of earlier regrets lifted off his shoulders for a moment. "Alright, Boss," he said, chuckling. "Deal. But only if you're standing next to me in every one of those photos." Arthur smirked. "Oh, don't worry—I'll be the one holding the champagne bottle and ruining the suit every time." And with that, the two of them walked deeper into the heart of Thorp Arch—one thinking about titles, the other thinking about dry-cleaning bills. ***** "Leeds United win 3–0 away at Watford, overtaking Manchester United to go top of the Premier League. Will Arthur's wild prediction really come true?" "Fifteen years later, is the top-flight title finally returning to Elland Road?" "Manchester United vs Leeds United — the Premier League title race between two giants is now officially white-hot!" "Leeds United legend Norman Hunter claims in a live broadcast that Arthur has reached the level of a world-class head coach!" "Ferguson: Leeds United are top? It doesn't matter! There are still twelve rounds to go! Manchester United's priority is the Champions League Round of 16 tie against Lille next week!" "Arthur: The league title belongs to Leeds United!" "Barcelona vs Leeds United! Leeds United's odds of winning are under 40%!?" It was official. After beating Watford 3–0 away, Leeds United had stormed to the top of the Premier League table, leapfrogging Manchester United with all the subtlety of a rhino in roller skates. The press, naturally, went berserk. Headlines exploded across every sports site, TV ticker, and football blog: "Arthur's Leeds top the table!" screamed one. "Leeds United—back from the dead!" shouted another. Even the crustiest pundits on TV were forced to admit Leeds weren't just lucky anymore. They were good. Really good. Elland Road hadn't seen this kind of euphoria since dial-up internet was still a thing. The win against Watford wasn't just a win. It was a statement. A loud, cheeky, grinning, Arthur-style statement. And speaking of Arthur, the man himself was, as always, unapologetically loud about it. During the post-match interview, when asked about Manchester United breathing down his neck, Arthur casually shrugged and said, "The league title must belong to Leeds United. We've come too far to settle for second." Cue another storm. That quote made it into headlines, memes, parody songs on YouTube, and even a T-shirt within 24 hours. And just when you thought the hype couldn't get more intense, along came the Champions League. Four days after their Premier League triumph, Leeds United would face Barcelona at Camp Nou in the Round of 16. It was David vs Goliath, with a twist — this time, David had an attitude problem and a really stubborn midfield. But if Leeds fans were buzzing with hope, the internet was positively radioactive. Twitter exploded into chaos. Barcelona fans — bold, loud, and fluent in trash talk — were circling like sharks. "Arthur and Leeds United? Sorry, never heard of them," one Barca fan sneered. "It's okay, you'll know after we beat Barcelona at Camp Nou in four days!" a Leeds supporter clapped back. "What kind of rotten fish is Arthur? And where did this clown Norman Hunter come from? How dare he compare a man with zero major league titles to Rijkaard?" "This game has zero suspense. Barcelona will win 3–0 at home! I swear, if they don't, I'll eat... two kilograms upside down!" Whatever that meant, the replies were immediate. "What the hell? Mate's got a whole buffet planned for himself. Send your address — I'll be at Camp Nou. We'll make sure it's fresh!" It was glorious, ridiculous, and utterly unhinged — football Twitter at its finest. Still, between the memes and the insults, a few rational voices tried to poke their heads above the digital noise. "Let's be realistic," one user typed, clearly hoping for actual discourse (bless his heart). "Leeds aren't weak, and Arthur's obviously no joke. He's taken a team from nowhere to top of the Premier League. That's not luck. That's serious work." Someone responded immediately. "Alright then, Sherlock, explain why you still think Barca has the edge?" "Simple. Experience. Look at the facts — almost all of Leeds United's squad, including Arthur, are playing in the Champions League knockouts for the first time ever. No experience under pressure, especially not at a madhouse like Camp Nou." "And don't even get me started on the veterans. Leeds has, what, three guys with knockout experience? One of them is Rivaldo — a former Barcelona legend who they let go years ago. He's ancient now. Barely plays. Most games, he's just sitting on the bench like a wise old owl watching the kids flail about." "So yeah. Good run so far, but let's not kid ourselves. Arthur's tactics might work in the Premier League, but against Barcelona? In their backyard? Good luck." As expected, that sparked another round of furious replies. "Paper strength? Coaching ability? Please. If you know, you know," someone cryptically replied. "All signs point to a heavy loss for Leeds at Camp Nou," another added. "Reality check incoming." And yet, even among the doubters and trolls, a stubborn section of Leeds fans kept the faith. Some of them even embraced the chaos. One fan tweeted: "We're not supposed to win. That's the whole point. That's why it'll be beautiful when we do." In just a few days, Arthur and Leeds United had gone from underdogs to title contenders to meme material to hopeful heroes, all in the span of a week. Their rise was meteoric, but the football world had seen plenty of meteors burn out just as quickly. Barcelona awaited. The streets of Leeds were buzzing. The mood? Equal parts nervous, hopeful, and deliriously defiant. No matter what the internet said, no matter how much more money, prestige, or Champions League history Barcelona had — Arthur's Leeds United weren't backing down. Whether they were ready or not, the biggest challenge of their season was just four days away.

Chapter 208: Leeds Fans are going Crazy

Comments (0)