The first time us Leeds fans were introduced to Alan Smith was at Anfield in November 1998. We were trailing the home side, then under the coalition management of Roy Evans and Gerard Houllier, 1-0, and David O'Leary, our then popular boss, threw on Smith, a local rookie, for his debut.
His first touch quickly became part of our modern-day folklore. A sweet drive into the bottom corner after David Hopkin (yeah, I know) had seen a shot charged down. Jimmy Floyd-Hasselbaink then added a quick brace and Evans was shown the door and the Liverpool culture of the bootroom boys was over. For Leeds, a whole new love affair was beginning.
12 years, over 500 games and Seth Johnson later, the story is somewhat different.
Hundreds of think pieces exist as to what went wrong with Leeds United, who was to blame and why it all happened. One of the unfortunate byproducts of our ungainly and ugly fall from grace was the loss of our own bootroom boys. The academy on which our Champions League dream was built was dispensed around the country in a cut price sale not seen since the days when MFI used to open on January 1.
Jonathan Woodgate, bored of 'horseplay', left for Newcastle, bizarrely spent a season with Real Madrid and then rocked up at Tottenham where he has been making the most of their physio's table ever since. Paul Robinson, the man who single-handedly kept our goals against column in single digits against Barcelona went to Tottenham, had a to-do with a divot in Croatia and is now well-respected at Blackburn. Steve McPhail is still opening cans of beans on his left foot (Eddie Gray) at Cardiff after an unfortunate battle with cancer, and Ian Harte is at Reading after a nomadic few years that have taken in Sunderland, Blackpool, Carlisle and Levante.
At the higher-end of the market Harry Kewell is on a peacekeeping mission in Istanbul with Galatasaray, or so he'd tell you, previously wearing the number 19 shirt, his old number at Leeds, in a bid to build bridges between the two clubs after all that went on. Good luck with that one, H.
And that leaves Alan Smith. Smudger. The one-club man, the heartbeat of the team. The man who cried on the field at Bolton after our relegation from the Premier League was confirmed. The man who, in what remains our last home Premier League game, scored a penalty against Charlton, kissed his badge and was carried from the field in tears. The local boy done good. The successor to David Batty who was the successor to Billy Bremner as the heart and soul of the team. Or so we thought.
Within weeks of our demise, Smith was photographed at Manchester United's Carrington training ground, with David Gill on one side and Sir Alex Ferguson on the other, dotting the Is and fisting the Ts on a four-year contract with the one club he had said he would never, ever, sign for.
For those of you that are wondering why this was such a big deal to Leeds fans, let me explain. Yes Manchester United have won 18 titles and three European Cups, play in front of 76,000 and claim to be the biggest club in the world and yes, we have most recently been torn a new one by Cardiff, but, believe it or not, we are rivals. A hatred exists. While the on-field rivalry has had to take a back seat over recent times (apart from this), historically, the blood runs deep. We sing songs about them and they most certainly sing songs about us.
So, our poster-boy local hero signing for them was a pretty big deal. Even though we knew our relegation meant our stock was pretty low, the last thing we wanted to happen was our captain to confirm it so publicly by betraying everything he had said and done in the past by making the short journey over the Pennines to find a new badge to kiss.
And kiss it he did. One massive smacker, right on that Red Devil that adorns their shirt. Another dagger to the heart. (NB. Fellow Leeds nut Andrew Haigh claims this didn't happen - I think it did!)
Opinions on Smith had rarely been split during his time with Leeds. Sure, some preferred his strike partner Mark Viduka (I was firmly in that camp), but there was no denying Smith's effort, his passion and his commitment, even if he was, for a striker, light on goals. But, after his defection, the percentages started to alter. There were apologists who said he "had no choice" and had to go, and that his waiving of a loyalty payment was a sign of how much he cared for the club and how one day, he would return.
To the majority, though, he was dead. Toast. He had never played for Leeds and most certainly never would do again.
As he started his career with Manchester United quite spectacularly, scoring goals from all over the place, our stock continued to fall. We replaced Smith and Viduka with a collection of bargain basement strikers such as Michael Ricketts, Nathan Blake, Julian Joachim and Danny Cadamarteri. Despite a play-off final appearance, we eventually landed in the footballing wilderness of League One, and the "Where's Yeovil?" t-shirts that the club had printed up for sale only added to the delight of the rest of the country.
Obviously, we are in slightly better health now. Thanks to the astute management of another Leeds fan, Simon Grayson, and largely thanks to the goals of Jermaine Beckford and Luciano Becchio and the invention of Robert Snodgrass, we are back in the Championship and one lucky/good/miraculous season away from a return to the promised land.
This season, our first back in the second tier, we started well but have lost five of our last six, including a shellacking by Cardiff on Monday night. The general consensus is we can score goals, but we can't stop them. Eddie Gray, now a respected media pundit for the club feels we have no leaders and no talkers. We need a midfield hard man, a general and a captain. I like Jonny Howson, our 22-year-old stand-in captain while the real skipper, Richard Naylor, is rested/dropped/injured/out of form, but, one feels he needs to be able to focus on his own game rather than having to drag us out of this current sticky patch.
We need an experienced head, someone with fire in his belly, someone who will run through the proverbial brick wall to protect our biscuit-like back four.
We need a Bremner, a Batty, a Smith. Only one of them is available.
While Smith's career at Manchester United started well, it ended with a whimper after a horrific leg break and, after realising his goalscoring days were over he rebranded himself as a midfielder, went off to Newcastle and has spent the last three years there, going from regular starter to bench warmer to Carling Cup starter.
Now, this is where my plan comes together.
Like all couples that do love each other really, a time comes when, after seeing if, to quote Alex Ferguson, someone's cow is better than the one you already have, you have to decide if you want to be with each other again. And, while I never thought I would say this, ever, this is our time to see if Alan Smith still loves us.
I don't want it to be this way. We don't need him, but we do. We need someone who can give us what he can give us. The fire, the legs and the running. The snap in midfield, the shouting, the bawling and the tears. I wish there was someone else. I wish, somewhere in this country, this continent or on this planet, there was a player, in our price range, that could do that. But, at the moment, all roads seem to lead to Rothwell. To Smith.
Let's not make any bones about this, though, he needs us as well. He turns 30 today (Thursday October 28) and is currently a bit-part player at a club that have had their fair share of financial troubles over the past couple of years. What would he rather do? Make another 40 or 50 appearances for Newcastle or come home, put the armband on and lead what he always claimed was "his" team back into the top flight, restoring some credibility in the process.
Yes, he said he'd never sign for them and yes he kissed their badge, but what better way to kiss and make up than putting his club, my club, back where they belong.
It certainly wouldn't be the most popular move. Even I have said previously that I would rather catch malaria than cheer Smith in a Leeds shirt again but, the way I see it a the moment, we need to stay in this division, and eventually we need to get back into the Premier League. I'm not sure if Amdy Faye is going to make that happen. I want Jonny Howson to make that happen, but he needs someone to help him do it. Smudger is that man.
Simon Grayson was at Newcastle for their game with Arsenal last night and saw Smith show what he could do for us. So come on guys, get your heads together and make something happen.
Alan, you've seen the word and had some fun but now, it's time to come home. No hard feelings eh?
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Feel free to let me know what you think of my ramblings below and, if anything I say may be of interest to you, then check out the work of my friend and colleague, Jonathan Veal, who blogs and tweets about football in South Yorkshire.
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