By now, you will have read an awful lot, probably even too much, about ‘Spygate’, the story which unfolded after a Leeds United employee was caught spying on a Derby County training session ahead of the Championship fixture between the two sides at Elland Road. Every pundit and his dog issued a verdict on the incident, with opinions ranging from the reliably cantankerous Guardian scribe Barry Glendenning declaring that Leeds had done ‘nothing wrong’ to – of all people – Stuart Pearce claiming that the result of the game should be reversed and the points awarded to Derby.
It was interesting and actually quite dizzying to follow the national media as they sank their teeth into a story emanating from Moor Farm. Football’s journalism establishment, like the New York Times‘ Rory Smith and the Times of London‘s Henry Winter, tweeted their two-pennorth. Managers from Pep to Pulis were asked about it in press conferences. And as far as I can tell, your take on the seriousness of the incident really came down to your existing biases.
The incident was confirmed when Derby issued a terse statement stating that a man working for Leeds had been acting suspiciously outside their training ground, that Derbyshire Police had been called and that the two clubs were in contact to discuss what had happened. Next out of the traps was the Telegraph’s John Percy, who reported that the man had been carrying a change of clothes and a pair of pliers, which he had used to cut through wires and make his way inside the training ground, in order to watch what Lampard’s squad were doing.
Since the initially sensational report of wrong-doing, the details of what actually happened have become blurred. We now know for a fact that the Leeds employee was not arrested and was merely sent on his way. A Derbyshire Police Twitter account sent out a picture of the man in their van, with a comment ending “#spyingischeating“, but after heavy shelling from Leeds Twitter, rowed back from this and sought to make nice, saying that the comment had been meant in jest.
Regardless of the fact that no arrest was made – which has led many Leeds fans and even some pundits to declare that the club are in the clear – Leeds owner Andrea Radrizzani formally apologised to Mel Morris. Based on Leeds’ official statement, which acknowledged that the actions of their coach had lacked “integrity and honesty”, we can assume (or at least hope) that there will be no more spying from now on.
More importantly, the FA and EFL both confirmed that they would be launching investigations into the incident and 11 Championship clubs wrote to the EFL to formally register their displeasure at what happened.
In the face of all this, Bielsa did the precise opposite of what any orthodox public figure would do. He not only fessed up, he laid all of his cards on the table. Yes, he sent the spy – and he’d been doing the same thing all season, to all Championship clubs. It was part of his standard working practice, it wasn’t illegal and he had no idea that it was frowned upon here in England, he said. Bafflingly, he claimed that doing so gave him no advantage, but was simply something he felt obligated to do because of his extreme need to analyse the opposition as thoroughly as possible. A presentation he gave to journalists, at which he invited them to have a peek at his full analysis package of Derby County, swiftly became the stuff of legend. The media (at least those parts of it that I tend to read) swooned.
Suddenly, the narrative was not that Leeds had done something very out of the ordinary at best, completely unacceptable at worst, had changed. Bielsa was a hero and was simply ‘owning’ the Championship by being much more professional, diligent and hard-working than everyone else – without breaking any laws of the land. Some reporters, like the Guardian’s Paul Wilson and Jonathan Wilson, even sniffed at Lampard for having had the temerity to complain about the incident. Paul Wilson praised Bielsa for his “disarming frankness”, while sneering at Lampard’s “attempts to gain the moral high ground”, given that that José Mourinho, he said, would have been up to much the same tricks during his tenure at Chelsea, while Lampard was on the playing staff (this ridiculous accusation is akin to blaming a son for his father’s indiscretions. It’s not as if Lampard would have had any say or influence on how Mourinho chose to operate and there is absolutely no suggestion that Derby under Lampard have behaved in a remotely comparable way to Leeds under Bielsa.)
It’s unsurprising that reporters with a keen interest in global football – the best example probably being Jonathan Wilson, author of “Inverting the Pyramid”, a history of football tactics – have a deep and abiding respect for Bielsa and were keen to defend him from what is perceived as an English media mob keen to jump on a ludicrous moral high horse against what they perceive as foreign ‘cheating’.
As with any story, there are elements of truth to both sides.
Firstly, nobody questions Bielsa’s reputation as a coach. Pep Guardiola has always sung his praises and he has clearly done more than his due diligence on the Championship, adjusting to this league without any problems and very rapidly creating an impressive team. Pretty much any coach in world football could learn a lot from Bielsa. Lampard was clear before the first home game of the season that he considered it an honour to be up against him. The respect he feels for this legendary “coach’s coach” surely accentuated his disappointment over what transpired at Moor Farm.
There’s no doubt that Derby’s preparation for the game was interrupted by the spy and also no doubt that he gained valuable information that Leeds had no right to be privy to. Learning that Harry Wilson, one of Derby’s key players, was not involved in training would have been a very nice tip, for starters. So when Bielsa claimed that there is actually nothing to gain from doing these surreptitious missions – that he only orders them out of some sort of obsessive compulsive disorder, effectively – he is being economical with the truth, to put it politely.
Because Bielsa admits that he has had clubs watched covertly all season, the EFL now have a job on their hands. If it can be demonstrated by any club that their grounds are not publicly accessible, for example, then it’s perfectly possible that Leeds’ staffer would have had to trespass to gain the views he needed. If it can be proved that the man went out equipped to trespass – which some reports maintain he was when he was caught at Derby – then that is a much more serious matter than simply poking your head over the fence, which, while, unsporting, is harder to object to. Guardiola, a huge Bielsa fan, was completely unfazed by the incident, but then, he is sitting pretty in a private training compound these days and cannot be spied on. If no further action is taken by the powers that be, then sadly, maybe Mel Morris will just have to dip back into his pocket and build walls around Moor Farm, assuming planning permission for such a change could be sought.
English football has undoubtedly been caught off-beam by this incident. There is no formal rule that dictates that clubs cannot observe their opposition in training – the nearest edict to it is the EFL rule which says that clubs should behave towards each other in the utmost good faith, a vague catch-all which could be interpreted as relevant to any shady activity, or none. From the general bemusement this story has been met with, it feels that there has been a sort of unspoken “gentlemen’s agreement” on the subject. But Bielsa either didn’t know or didn’t care about that.
With half of the Championship having now written to the EFL demanding a proper investigation, it’s pretty clear that from next season, we will have one rule for everyone to adhere to in future. Given the widespread disgruntlement which has been expressed, it feels impossible that nothing will happen as a result.
Don’t forget @efl are a trade association. Their job is to implement the rules that the clubs set.
I think they will put it to the clubs to debate & decide on in the summer.
— Mark Clemmit (@MarkClemmit) January 20, 2019
As a coach with a wealth of experience and passion for the game, Bielsa clearly has a lot of wisdom to pass on. English football could learn a lot from him and it will be very interesting to see how he does in the Premier League, if he completes the job this season and wins promotion.
Would he be happy to invite the rest of the Championship’s coaches to an analysis masterclass, so that they can all benefit from his wisdom? How about inviting them in one by one to watch Leeds train on the eve of their games, so that they can understand his approach and how he is planning to set up his teams? Such insight into his methods and specific information about his gameplan for the coming match would be hugely appreciated by any coach, from a Nathan Jones who is just stepping up to Championship level, to the grizzled Pulis, who is in his umpteenth season (Pulis, when asked, was scathing about the spying, while Jones took the precaution of moving Stoke’s final training session before their game against Leeds to the Potters’ stadium, to foil any spies. Stoke won 2-1).
Of course, in the aftermath of all this, Leeds’ vociferous fanbase have done everything from carrying out their own quasi-judicial cross-examination of our local constabulary to calling me a bellend (and every other name under the sun). As Jonathan Wilson rightly pointed out: “Leeds fans who hark back to the glory days of skulduggery and dossiers will feel they have their club back.”
We’re all tribal and we all rally to defend our clubs or causes when we perceive them to be under attack, but as a group, the Leeds lot do seem to relish the feeling that there is a global conspiracy against them and will only have taken this incident as further proof that everyone from the EFL to the FA to the FBI to the Illuminati are plotting their downfall. Should any punishment be handed down, they will only take this as further confirmation that “the Football League’s corrupt”.
Marcelo Bielsa and Leeds United. A match made in – well, not in heaven, exactly. Brian Clough’s nemesis Don Revie must be chuckling happily in his grave.