My Leeds United - Grandstand, the bleak 80s, David O'Leary's shamrock and County Clare Whites

Steve Underwood is a builder, Leeds fan and adopted Irishman.

Grandstand, bleak ’80s and O’Leary’s shamrock.

My father was a coal miner and a motorcyclist, showing little interest in the beautiful game. At friends’ houses, I became aware of Grandstand and saw a small part of the 1967 FA Cup final. At school I remember the buzz around the ’68 European Cup final, but it meant nothing to me.

My introduction to Leeds was via the medium of coloured pictures of the 1968 League Cup final in a schoolmate’s book. The sight of King Billy picking fights with the towering Arsenal defenders stirred in me a new all-consuming passion for Yorkshire’s finest.

I didn’t even know that Leeds were that good or even the numbers each player wore on that soon-to-be-famous white shirt. I became like a sponge, devouring all information I could about football.

Money was tight back then but, every time I was able, I’d try and get to see ‘Don Revie’s Aces’.

I appreciate now how lucky I was to witness that magnificent team, but as a kid, things like that wash over you. ‘Nothing’s forever’, as they say, and, sadly, super Leeds became anything but.

By this time I was a diehard and I suffered through the ’80’s, bringing along a young nephew whose first-ever match was at Salford.

I wasn’t having that.

We were able to enjoy 1987 before Wilko came and delivered some welcome glory.

By this time I had a young family and they were gradually brought up ‘the Leeds way’, we enjoyed seeing that cracking side, the ageless Strachan, the Chief, Yeboah.

The late ’90s found us relocating to Ireland, leaving behind family, friends, and our beloved Leeds. This meant keeping up with events through newspapers and the fledgling Sky Sports.

The problem back then was keeping a Leeds match on in the pub, as they invariably clashed with Gaelic games, horses or F1.

Driving to a local village one day, the boy and I were gobsmacked to see a lad wearing a YEP away shirt on a bog road in the West of Ireland.

Salvation came in August ’01 with the formation of the long-mooted but now famous Ennis LUSC of the County Clare.

Ironically, the first trip for the club was a St Patrick’s Day defeat of Blackburn, where the treasurer presented O’Leary with a bunch of shamrocks. The inevitable Giles even graced us with his presence three years running for charity golf classics.

The early optimism of the club gave way to despair and disbelief upon the implosion at Elland Road, but the Ennis Club has remained strong in adversity, taking big numbers throughout the League One disaster and up to the present.

Myself and my family have been made more than welcome by the Clare Leeds family.

I’ve gone from seeing Leeds at Liverpool’s Anfield to Limerick’s Market Field, aye, that’s my Leeds. MOT