If ever there was a summer of our discontent, the months that followed the end of the 1995/96 season was it. The previous campaign had been a rollercoaster featuring genius cameos from the maverick Tony Yeboah and two unlikely cup runs, one culminating in our first Wembley final since 1973. But after the humiliation there by Villa, Leeds won just one league game of their final nine.

Behind the scenes there had also been division, both within the playing staff and the boardroom. Chairman Leslie Silver was smart enough to understand that in the new Premier League era the amounts that had to be risked to achieve success were potentially ruinous; the failed big money transfer of Tomas Brolin had gone some way to proving that the old school, gentlemen’s way of running a football club was over.

Silver and Bill Fotherby had been sounded out on a takeover by Chris Akers, one of an upcoming generation of entrepreneurs to successfully monetise the internet via sports and media. His Caspian Group had an ambitious plan to modernise the set up at Leeds and prepare it for the 21st century, their ultimate goal being to float the club on the stock exchange, making it answerable to both shareholders and fans. As negotiations dragged on it became clear that Caspian were minded to replace Howard Wilkinson, in post for seven years, with whom frustration had been steadily growing among a section of the fans.

When the deal finally went through on July 8th, it looked ominous for Wilkinson. Akers lived on the same London street as George Graham, and while the outgoing board had remained loyal to the man who had handed them the last First Division title, his allies upstairs now were few.

He wasn’t the only one considering his future. Chief amongst the disillusioned was captain Gary McAllister, who became frustrated by the deadlock and fled to Coventry City. But if possible worse was to come, as Gary Speed also departed, bound for Everton. Wilkinson at least now had funds and wasted no time in bringing in nineteen-year-old Lee Bowyer and England keeper Nigel Martyn, while an eye-watering £4.5m went on Lee Sharpe.

Possibly the strangest inbound transfer of the decade was former Liverpool striker Ian Rush — by then 34 — arriving from Anfield on a free transfer. The man for whom the term fox-in-the-box might have been invented, Rush still seemed to be the anathema of a Wilkinson player. He and all three of the other major arrivals were in the starting line-up for the opening game at Derby.

County were managed by Jim Smith and had just returned to the top flight after a five-year absence; this would also be the last meeting between the sides at the Baseball Ground. Dilapidated but not without atmosphere, it had been the scene of many memorable intra-club battles, none more so than the pugilism involving Norman Hunter and Francis Lee in 1975. A few months before this game Leeds had been there in the FA Cup, coming back from 2-0 down with four unanswered goals to win.

I travelled down the M1 with fellow Square Ball stalwart Eddie Taylor and the day became more complicated by the fact we had seats in the main stand. Prior to the game we also talked our way into the press box and got into a brief conversation with Hunter and Eddie Gray, although discussions about Norman’s blockbuster right hook were kept to a minimum.

It was a red-hot afternoon in the East Midlands. The Leeds end to our left was packed, pissed and noisy. While Derby was hardly the most intimidating of venues, caution anywhere when sitting in the home areas then as now is always recommended at the risk of leaving the ground via an over-zealous steward.

This decorum was completely respected for nineteen minutes until Jacob Laursen sliced a nothing ball into his own net. Cue that awkward celebration; the involuntary yes, the half stand, the realisation that you might get kicked out or kicked in, then immediately trying to sink into the background.

We’d given ourselves up, now the questions came from those around us.

“How did you get in here?”
“My mate works at an insurance company and got us the tickets,” we lied.
“There’s never been any away fans in here before.”
“Well, we’re just here to enjoy ourselves, Derby look okay, don’t they?”

Leeds were playing well, Bowyer linking in a dynamic style we’d become familiar with in subsequent years. Ian Harte got a second, but this time despite the excitement we just shared a grin; Dean Sturridge then pulled one back with a screamer, before a minute later a sloppy equaliser meant that suddenly there were people in our faces everywhere.

Then came a test of character. Bowyer got on the end of a Rush knockdown(!) and around us the entente cordiale was evaporating quickly. Discretion being the better part of valour we started heading for the exit, only to be caught up in the melee when Sturridge again equalised with two minutes to go. Once safely back in the car our journey could be deemed a success, at least in terms of making it out of Derby without needing medical attention.

It was, we reflected, a bright start, with Bowyer especially catching the eye. But defensive frailties were still apparent, and Mark Ford was no David Batty however much we wanted him to be. On the drive home we listened to Radiohead’s The Bends and wondered if we’d witnessed the beginning of a new chapter from hostile territory. Then came Alex Ferguson and Cantona — and Wilkinson’s time was up. He remains the longest serving manager at Elland Road since Revie. ⬢