The Fosse Way

When someone on Twitter asked for unpopular Leicester City takes the other day, the usual suspects began rolling in: “Steve Cooper was actually okay”, “we need to back the ownership”, “fans are entitled”.

But if we’re actually being honest – the truly unpopular opinion is this: our supporters aren’t anywhere near angry enough.

It’s no secret that this club has imploded over the last few years.

Collapsed. Cratered.

Choose whatever catastrophic verb you like. And instead of fury, swathes of supporters have collectively responded with a shrug and a “well, thank you for 2016… we did used to be in League One you know?”

“What’s everyone so upset about?” they ask, as if the miracle of that title-winning season perpetually removed our right to hold anyone to account for anything ever again.

Leicester is not a wealthy city, and these are far from prosperous times. Fans spend real money – money they don’t always have – to follow this club. It’s an invisible contract each football fan takes out with their football club. We donate our time and money, not in the unflinching expectation of unbridled success, but an expectation that the 11 players chosen to wear the shirt each week, enjoying a career millions dream of but few get, put in a bit of bloody effort.

Therein lines the crux of the anger though. For the better part of half a decade, we haven’t received that. Instead we’ve been met with a sustained, relentless barrage of contempt. From underperforming egotistical players who behave like representing Leicester City is beneath them. From a hubristic board that continues to make the same naïve and reckless errors of judgement. From official supporter mouthpieces whose sole purpose appears to be parroting whatever line the club hierarchy feeds them.

And still, somehow, the wider fanbase is expected to be grateful. It’s like thugs smashing your car windscreen and expecting a “thank you” when they point you to the nearest Autoglass store.

I leapt out of my seat as we took a 2-1 lead against Wednesday, as I would for any City goal, but when I saw who’d scored it, I felt flat. I didn’t want to celebrate. I didn’t want to feed a parasite (one of many) that’s slowly killing the club from the inside.

A decade ago, we won the footballing Euromillions. We were gifted one of the most remarkable sporting windfalls in Premier League history. The inheritance from that season alone should have kept us contending in the top half of the top flight for at least two decades, but we blew it all on proverbial snake oil.

Poor decisions, vanity projects, terrible recruitment silently dismissed, errors obscured by elusive ‘internal reviews’. And now that the money’s gone and the club is gasping for air, the message we receive is: be quiet, appreciate what you had, remember where you came from.

But, no. That’s not good enough.

Because none of this was inevitable. There was no mystical force dragging Leicester City back to yo-yo mediocrity the second we lifted that trophy. Both Chelsea and Manchester City thrust themselves upwards, became juggernauts and stayed juggernauts. Even Bournemouth and Brentford – with their limited resources – seem to be evading this mystical spectre that the happy clappies would have you believe is destined to yank them back to whence they came.

So why is it only us who are apparently doomed to this cycle of self-inflicted misery?

Because that is a coping mechanism. It’s not fate. It’s not destiny. It’s the result of years of arrogance, dither and inept decisions made – over and over again – by people who still flagrantly refuse to learn a thing.

And while the Premier League and EFL gleefully crucify our finances and tighten the screws, our own board just keeps smiling and insisting nothing is fundamentally wrong.

Maybe the real unpopular opinion is that we need to stop being polite. Stop accepting this. Stop letting nostalgia muzzle the outrage we absolutely should feel.

Leicester City fans deserve better – and more importantly, we should demand it.

Because I, for one, am tired. Tired of being inexplicably let down and told it was inevitable. Tired of being asked to clap players and staff for doing the bare minimum, but to turn a blind eye when they fail egregiously. Tired of seeing the same old faces of failure clinging on, year after year, as if accountability doesn’t apply to them.

Nothing changes if nothing changes.

Rudkin out. Whelan out. Top out.