A hollow feeling, boos to boost Bamford and a Leeds United sense of loss - Graham Smyth

What happens in between is what makes Leeds United games special.

But at Cardiff City Stadium, that stillness hung around right up until kick-off and even as Leeds United emerged, the occasion was struggling to kick its way out from under the blanket.

Whether it did or not might depend on your personal experience of the game, from wherever you watched it.

As one privileged enough to be in the stadium in person, football without fans felt hollow.

It’s not fair to say that the crowd makes it, because a stadium full of people singing but no ball game would feel equally as incomplete.

The game needs the crowd and the crowd needs the game.

It was difficult to ‘switch on’ in the press box at 11.55am, so it’s perfectly reasonable to ponder if the players were able to press the button marked ‘game ready’ without the natural noise that accompanies the final minutes of preparation.

How could you not switch on at Elland Road when a tumultuous roar from 35,000-plus greets your mere appearance at the opening of the tunnel?

And how could you not be moved to scream your delight at the sight of an airborne Luke Ayling crashing a Jack Harrison cross past a goalkeeper, against the crossbar and into the net?

Passion begets creativity, skill and bravery and vice versa, at Elland Road and anywhere the Whites go en masse on their travels.

In Wales at the weekend there were no masses, there was no passion pouring onto the pitch from the stands, no collective anguished howl from thousands as Harrison’s goal-bound shot hit Patrick Bamford and stayed out and no hairs standing up on the backs of necks.

It was a niggly game, but the angst that fuelled a series of fouls did not ignite an atmosphere.

As they lay out the 15,000 crowdies and experiment with Leeds themed crowd noise, the Elland Road chiefs might want to consider a button that unleashes a chorus of boos for Bamford, on their soundboard.

The striker has thrived on the abuse directed his way by various fanbases and taken visible delight in tormenting opposition defenders, feeding off the pantomime brays and growing in influence.

At Cardiff, his influence was negligible, and some angry Welshmen shaking their fists at him might not have changed that.

But consider what Bielsa said of ironman Mateusz Klich earlier in the season – he runs more when he’s angry.

Emotion can be a performance enhancer and it’s a drug that has been withdrawn by the lack of a crowd.

Yet in the words of the Argentine, who was opening his palms and accepting the presence of the new rules his side must adapt to, ‘it is like that’.

This strange set of circumstances is our new normal and Leeds are going to have to make do.

They’re going to have to make sure that their performance is affected less by the alien environment than their opponent, or that what they do with the ball is so technically proficient that they become almost robotic and immune to human variables.

We know they’re not machines, Bielsa has gone to lengths to point that out, but perhaps some sense of auto-pilot will kick in, as they go through the movements Scott Parker described as ‘scripted’ after the Craven Cottage meeting.

One game might not be a sample size sufficient to draw concrete conclusions but who can argue that by the time this pandemic is all over, football should be yearning for its customers to return and begging for forgiveness for taking them for granted.

The pound coin will, sadly, inevitably be king, as has been the case for too many years, but the case for the importance of fans is now cast-iron.

On Saturday, Leeds will take to the pitch that hosted a love affair between legends and legions of admirers.

Norman Hunter and Trevor Cherry will be remembered and their presence will be felt.

But the absence of their extended Leeds United family will only prolong the traumatic theme of this period in the club’s history.

At 3pm there will be so much to win, but it will be impossible to escape the fact that so much has been lost.