By Lewis J. Hannah
Not since 1992 had supporters of Leeds United been able to parade around the city in celebration of a title-winning season, when the Whites bested their historic rivals Manchester United to the old First Division title in 1992, a team referred to as “The Last True Champions”.
Of course, Leeds did claim the championship title back in 2020 under Marcelo Bielsa, as the Whites ended a 16-year absence from England’s top-flight, but that title was won during the Covid-19 pandemic, meaning no parade could be organised in recognition of their achievement. There was no such event to stop the party this time.
It had already been a couple of weeks of hefty, jubilant celebration. The party started when Leeds thrashed Stoke 6-0 on Easter Monday, to put them within touching distance of the Premier League. Sheffield United losing at Burnley pushed the Whites over the line. Promotion was confirmed.
Elland Road found itself serenaded in scenes not seen for over 30 years. A 4-0 win over playoff-chasing Bristol City saw the Leeds team celebrate their promotion in their final home game, in front of fans, a party that had been waiting for its coronation. And then came the title, Manor Solomon’s 91st minute winner sealing a 2-1 win away at Plymouth, and the title itself.
Anticipation and excitement filled the Leeds streets of a 150,000-200,000-estimate following. The realisation that this was not a dream, that this was really happening, and that, whatever the next season back in the top-flight may entail, now was not the time to ponder, now was the time to serenade themselves in glory. Or beer. Or pyro smoke. Pick your poison.
I found myself sitting on a window on a building opposite the Leeds Art Gallery, with my dad and close family members, as we waited for roughly 3-4 hours for the buses to arrive. People found their joy in that time in the drinking, the constant stream of pyro smoke that is probably still in my lungs, the songs and chants that kept coming. Some people took to imitating Largie Ramazani’s now iconic dance.
When the buses did arrive, you would have mistaken Leeds City Centre for a wasteland akin to Mad Max. which would be a perfect way to describe the scenes. Mad… and to the absolute max. All the flares meant you could barely see the buses. The Kaiser Chief’s ‘I Predict A Riot’ blared through the speakers. And for once, Leeds were not falling apart, again. A group chanted to us folk on the window asking us to give them a song. My dad responded with the “we all hate Leeds scum” chant. He is 43, he has waited 33 years since he was ten to be involved in scenes like this, and he got his moment.
Modern football culture is in a weird place. To some, you cannot celebrate anything unless it brings you a trophy. But football has never been a sport predicated on just the very top. It is about savouring the moment, the journey to get to the top, and taking it all in, because you never know when the next time to celebrate will come. There may be no fanbase that understands this better than Leeds United.
Monday 5th May 2025 was exactly that. A day of unfiltered… long-awaited… celebration.
