Today’s blog is about Leeds United. “In a mess again? Trouble at t’mill?” you ask? Do bears shit in the woods? Of course there’s problems at Elland Road. There’s always problems.

I can take losing to Derby County at the weekend. That’s a given. We’ve lost the last 10 matches against them -10 fucking matches – and whenever we play them again this season, I will bet you my complete collection of Pogs that it’ll be 11 consecutive defeats.

No, Derby can have their annual 6 points. It’s losing to the likes of Millwall, Reading and “Burnleh” which pisses me off. Do I blame the players? Not really. We have a few stand out stars, but the rest are pretty much deadwood. You wouldn’t ask Steven Hawking to climb Everest, so I can hardly demand Michael Brown plays like a professional footballer.

“It must be the manager then” you all shout. Yes, the manager. The poor twat who gets the blame every time something goes wrong at a football club. Every Saturday evening, after the afternoon’s football, turn on any post-match radio phone in, whether it be local or national and you’ll hear the same shite – “I didn’t go to the game today, Stan, I listened in on the radio; but I have to say enough is enough, the manager has to go. We were shocking today” Yes, kick the manager out and all the club’s problems will be solved. Not only that, but scientists will discover a cure for AIDS, Simon Cowell will get arrested for fiddling with guinea pigs and Channel 4 will recommission Brookside. Sadly, this dream scenario does not apply in the case of Leeds United. You see, Leeds United have Brian McDermott, who, despite looking like an egg with glasses, is the best manager in the division – even greater than Nigel “smug” Atkins and definitely better than ‘arry Twitch-a-me-bollocks.

Who is at fault then? That’s easy, Ken Bates. We can always blame Uncle Ken. Captain Birds Eye. Master Bates himself. Except we can’t – because he’s gone. The fact is, the party I hold responsible are the same group of people who I believe have done so much for Leeds United this past year – Gulf Financial House, or as they’re better known, GFH.

GFH have done wonders for Leeds United off the pitch. The problem is that the wonders of GFH have been just that. Stuff OFF the pitch. On the pitch it’s been shite. The only way it could get any worse is if they sacked McDermott and got on the phone to Neil Warnock at his Cornish home, asking him to drive back to Elland Road on his tractor and pick up his old mate, big fat bumbling Kevin Blackwell on route.

GFH have been all over Twitter. All over it like flies around shit. Like Sam Allardyce around a pie shop. Like Rio Ferdinand around coke… a cola.

They have promised investment. They even hinted about the return of the man-crush of almost every single Leeds fan on the planet. The gorgeous, the radiant, Luciano Becchio. The investment hasn’t come and neither has Luciano.

So this blog is a message to GFH. You do realise what you’re doing to us with your teasing tweets and press-conferences, where you mention money and the beautiful Becchio, yet fail to deliver? It’s like going up to an excitable dog and shouting “walkies”, before going to the cupboard, but instead of bringing out a lead and taking the pup on a trip to the park, to sniff other canine’s bottoms and poo in the children’s play area, you get out a baseball bat and smash the dog in the ribs. It’s like going to deepest, hottest Ethiopia and finding the most starving, malnourished child, promising him a pizza, and then phoning Dominos. Stop playing games with us, GFH. Show us the money and if there isn’t any, keep quiet.