Where on earth do Manchester United go from here?

Well it actually happened. The unthinkable, the unfathomable. Manchester United were beaten in the game they simply could not afford to lose.

After writing off a sinking domestic season in December to go all in for the riches of Europa League glory, with the pot of gold on the other side, United went to Bilbao and blew it. Blew it against a side even worse than us that does not win these types of games. United’s players, staff and fans will wake up this morning not quite knowing how damaging this will be.

United will struggle to get their signings

For one thing, we can forget any notion of Viktor Gyokeres and Rayan Cherki now. United will sign Matheus Cunha, whose goals and physicality will improve our toothless attack. Liam Delap will probably come in to complement Joshua Zirkzee. Rasmus Hojlund’s self inflicted fate remains unclear.

There will be a lower than usual summer spend. Certainly lower than necessary. An inability to move as many players off the books, meaning a reliance on the same squad next season. New ways for INEOS to make us fans feel the pinch – schemes to move them, to raise prices further and monetize things that previously were not. We will only watch as our rivals get stronger and we get weaker.

Ruben Amorim is not wholly to blame for this mess. He inherited a shambles of a squad in the middle of a shambolic season and barely had the funds to sign Patrick Dorgu from Lecce. He does deserve the summer and the start of next season, but his credit in the bank is fast running out.

Amorim not entirely to blame - but has to do better

Amorim got it wrong, badly wrong, in that final. United struggle against opponents who make a match even remotely physical. Yet Manuel Ugarte, the one player we’ve got who can handle that sort of contest, was nowhere to be seen. He had to start alongside Casemiro, who looked a shadow of the player that has come in clutch so often in this European run. Instead, he did not play a minute. 

Each stride United have taken to get here - from the first game against Twente to the thrill-a-minute classic against Lyon - count for nothing now. 

The Mason Mount selection failed. Alejandro Garnacho should have started. The substitutions came too late and there was no attempt to change anything and gain any modicum of control in a game that was slipping from our grasp. At the very least, we had to neutralise Spurs midfield, but failed to do so. Kobbie Mainoo, man of the match in the FA Cup final, came on with only minutes left. Luke Shaw looked unfit, off the pace and out of his depth at this level. Amorim ultimately shied away from what got him, and us, this far. He will go away and will regret the mistakes made. This will hurt for a long time. 

Managers can make mistakes. Pep Guardiola got it wrong in City’s final loss to Palace. It does not mean he should be sacked or leave immediately. Top level sport doesn’t work like that.

United facing uncertain future - and let the fans down 

From a purely sporting perspective, no one would have been expecting this United to challenge for the top honours. Nobody will expect us to qualify for it next season, either, with INEOS and this abhorrent group having resided over the worst season in the club’s modern history.

This was a match in which United came into at a crossroads: win it, and something beautiful could bloom. Lose it, and United’s road to recovery would be that bit more arduous, that bit more difficult.

This was more than just losing a game of football. This was a manager in desperate need of renewal after overseeing some of the worst performances this club has ever seen. It was a squad of players who have delivered those performances, many of them on massively inflated contracts (to go with their equally inflated egos) that reflect the size of the club they play for and not their contribution to it.

As ever, United’s magnificent band of travelling supports made the pilgrimage to Bilbao by any means possible – boats, trains, planes and automobiles – and were ‘rewarded’ by the worst display I’ve ever seen from any team in a European final.

The players do not deserve the unstinting loyalty and love bestowed upon them by the best fans in the world.

Spurs were not much better but did what they had to do. Their midfield beefed up by the presence and physicality of Yves Bissouma, Rodrigo Betancur and Pape Sarr, Spurs made this like a Premier League game and United’s feeble follies had no answer. It meant Ange Postecoglou’s fitful side have beaten us four times in the same season. When United needed players to step up and help out workaholic captain Bruno Fernandes, there were none. Losing to the worst Tottenham team in a generation, on the way to their first silverware in a generation. These players will carry that with them forever. For a good few of them, there is no coming back from it. 

All eyes on INEOS as summer looms 

The ownership group have suggested they want a United side capable of challenging for the title by 2028. Strangely, at times we have not looked far away but the chasm between us and Liverpool and Arsenal – even the likes of Newcastle. Forest and Villa – tells a different, sobering story. But yet, United have lost so many games 1-0 in a dire domestic league there is enough evidence to suggest only minor improvements, namely in goal and up front, are needed. It is a bizarre and baffling paradox.

And then there is Sir Jim Ratcliffe and his merry band of men in the corridors of power.

With no Champions League revenue to pay off the debt, Ratcliffe and his committee need to take responsibility instead of foisting it on to others who have done nothing but shown unrelenting loyalty.  He made a choice to partly purchase a football club and reached an agreement to stagger the nature of a full sale; he ultimately took control of decisions which impacted the lives of the human beings devoted to the club – our club.
It is nobody’s responsibility except his.

What needs to be fixed can only be done so by removal of the debt. That is Manchester United’s Apocalypse now… a can which has been kicked down the road until last night’s loss.
The cost must be burdened by Sir Jim Ratcliffe, or he should step aside and allow someone else to do it. Before another manager, another player, another supporter or another employee pays the price. 

Manchester United Basque in the glory… but the job is not done yet

United face Tottenham in an all English 
final on May 21

Follow, follow, follow...

And so it has come to pass. With the Basques of Bilbao conquered in more-convincing-than-expected fashion, Ruben Amorim and his unlikely lads will get their shot at season-saving redemption.

It would be some salvation – not only a third major trophy in three seasons (quite something for the worst United side in my lifetime), but the riches of Champions League football and the financial security it brings.

It wouldn’t, and shouldn’t, excuse the abominable car crash that has been the wreckage of the Reds season. Lowest ever league position, points tally, fewest number of wins in the Premier League era, and most losses (with three games left). But United will be back in the ancient northern coastal city for the final on 21 May. It would allow Amorim to recruit the right player profile for his system and new signings are more likely to want to join us – and for us to be able to afford them – with the Reds dining at the top table. It would also mean we have had a better campaign than Arsenal, yet again. The worst Manchester United in my lifetime has reached a fourth major final in as many seasons, and will bid to win a third major trophy in a row. 

You could argue Amorim would benefit from no European football next term, to go without it would actually help him and us: it would give him more time to instil his methodology and fine-tune his obligatory three-at-the-back system. Fewer matches means Amorim will have longer to work with the players at Carrington.

Unbeaten United's deeds of derring do 

Somehow, we got here. United’s dramatic high-wire act has been quite the ride. From the opening draw with Twente in the last knocking of Erik ten Hag’s tenure, to the brink of European glory. United have been in ‘do or die’ survival mode since Christmas, and have cleared every hurdle from Twente to Bilbao via Porto, Fenerbahce, Lyon and Sociedad - the only unbeaten side left in each of the three European competitions.

But why? Why this contrast between the team’s league woes and our other wordly deeds of derring do? None of us will know for sure, but there are a few potential factors: The fact the players gave up on the league months ago, the fact Europe is less physically demanding and a slower intensity, and Amorim’s 3-4-3 formation is continental in style and seems to suit the rigours of this marathon European voyage.

Not many people gave us a chance against Bilbao with United the rank outsiders against Spain’s fourth-best side. With the final in their home city, there seemed a sense of fate for the Basques to seize this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity of playing in a European final on home soil. But United, as we have done so often, tore up the script and wrote a totally new one. United saved their two best performances of the season for a continental semi-final. Make it make sense.

But our job is not done yet, the mission not yet completed. We still have one more big assignment left.

The finishing line of one of United’s greatest ever acts of escapology may be within sight, but we have not crossed it. The last couple of miles are always the most difficult.

Amad Diallo will be fit for the final

Reds to face familiar foes in Bilbao showdown

Standing in our way are struggling divisional rivals Tottenham Hotspur in an-all Premier League dust up. It’s the worst case scenario: A club that does not win trophies under a manager who always wins one in his second season. They are in exactly the same position as us: one of English football’s biggest names languishing in unchartered territory in the lower reaches of the table. Hull City got to an FA Cup final and finished 16^th, Wigan did so and were relegated so it has happened before, but certainly not in a European final and not with both sides having completely stunk the gaff out. It’s a funny old game.

A club without a major trophy since 2008 – one of the longest droughts in football, and, like us, needing victory to save their season and qualify for the Champions League. This will be torture, hell on earth, and I’m going to hate every second of it. Gdansk level of pain x 50. Imagine being THAT club… no, let’s not go there. I don’t want to think about it but can’t stop doing so.
It will feel like a Premier League game and will be played like one against a side whom have doubled us and also knocked out the Carabao Cup…. fourth time lucky, right?

90 minutes to save our season 

And so it all comes down to this. The San Mames stadium in Bilbao in two weeks time and the chance to redeem ourselves. The jeopardy is high, the stakes are higher. A 59-game season decided in a single blink of the eye: 90 nervous and nail biting minutes to determine reap or ruin. A season’s worth of blood, sweat and tears settled by a single match.

The Europa League has grown in importance as United’s season has lurched from one catastrophe to another. It started out as a minor inconvenience but could be the most important silverware United have won in years.

Follow, follow, follow cause’ United are going to Bilbao. Let the piss boiling commence.

 

United's Lyon resurrection an Easter miracle for the ages

When Alexandre Lacazette stroked in ten man Lyon's fourth goal from the penalty spot I was ready to give this all up.
Upset and broken more than ever before, I felt like turning my back and walking out on a club I have loved since I was six. Too much pain, too much heartache, too much angst - it didn't seem worth it any more. I was done. I didn't want to go through this any more. As thousands of United fans headed for the exits, I too stormed out my local pub in a fit of pique to give myself space and to come to terms with one of the most heartbreaking losses I've ever had to suffer. It felt like the end of a lifelong relationship. Thanks for the memories Man Utd, but it's time to say goodbye. I should have known better. Sir Alex Ferguson and the halycon days of yesteryear may be long gone, but sometimes - just sometimes - United conjure those memories. 

Manchester United's Easter miracle

At this time of year Christians throughout the world celebrate the miracle of new life. The miracle of a man rising from the dead to breathe new life into humanity. A saviour sent from above to rid us of sin. 

As this abhorrent collection of wasters stank the place out to snatch defeat from almost certain victory, United needed one such miracle. It seemed not even Jesus could save us. We were, pardon the pun, dead and buried. Yet just when you have seen it all, football finds new ways to make you agape, make you scratch your eyes in wonder - imagine not liking the Beautiful Game. There are people out there who don't like football. From 2-0 up and cruising into the semi finals with 20 minutes to go, to 2-4 down and five minutes away from elimination. There seemed no way back as United were inexplicably pegged back by a Lyon team you would never know were a man down. 

Step forward, Harry Maguire - United's very own Messiah. Just like Jesus, he rose when all seemed lost. Maguire, playing as a makeshift centre-forward, dragged United from the dead to bring us back to life and complete his own personal resurrection. Crucified in the press and the public, Maguire completed one of Manchester United's greatest ever comebacks and his own personal redemption arc. With the purgatory of penalties looming - five weeks on from our FA Cup KO from the spot - Maguire's winner will go down in the annals as one of the most extraordinary ever. Now, Sir Jacob Harry, where would you like the statue? You know the thing? I missed it. I missed the winner. Still in a rage, I had gone home and disconnected. I should have known better really. 

What on earth happened last night...

It's the morning after the night before. I've had four and a half hours sleep, and my head is on three different planets. Even for a club that has 'seen it all and won the lot' this was something just remarkable. Just about every emotion possible - from nerves to joy to anger to heartbreak to renewed hope and absolute hysteria all in the space of 120-odd minutes. Even for a club defined by generational feats of derring do, this was something else. I have never seen, or felt, anything quite like this before. In those eight minutes, United produced something other worldy, a comeback from above. It didn't feel real. Just like Jesus, I feel as though I could walk on water right now. It was a staggering sequence of chaos and carnage from an alternative reality. This club is special. It's nights like this that remind you why you fell in love with it. 

This was only a quarter-final, of course. United's mission is not yet complete. But, dare I say it, is our name on that Europa League trophy? Sometimes as fans you get that feeling. When United beat Liverpool in THAT all timer, and then squeezed out of jail against Coventry in the FA Cup last term, it seemed meant to be. It seemed meant to be we'd go on and beat City in the final. I'm getting the same vibes now. Maybe, just maybe, this is United's year in the Europa League. There is a long way to go and Athletic Bilbao, on the cusp of a final in their home city, will be a difficult challenge. 

He'll turn the Reds around, Ruben Amorim...

Ruben Amorim built a fine body of work at Sporting Lisbon before he was plucked from his homeland to replace Erik ten Hag. But it's no secret he has not been able to do the same at Old Trafford. He speaks and carries himself very well but results have not followed. But this night may prove to be one of those seminal turning points every struggling team and manager needs. If Amorim does go on to scale the heights we saw at Sporting at Old Trafford, we will look back on this victory as the night everything changed. It will be a night the magic started, a night Amorim can look to the spirit and character of his side and start to carve out his chapter in United history. 

In the long and storied annals of European football at our great theatre, Old Trafford has never witnessed a sight and sound like the immediate aftermath of Maguire's winner. 

It was one of our beloved club's greatest ever nights, but it will only matter if we go on to glory in Bilbao...

RIP Old Trafford: you will never be forgotten

Old Trafford, home of United since 1910

There are certain childhood memories you would rather erase and some that stay with you forever.
They say you never forget your first time and, for this humble hack, the day I first laid eyes on her will be etched on my conscience until the day I die.

The day I first fell in love

Clinging to my late uncle's hand as I climbed the steps - which as a six year old seemed to go on forever - I will never forget the sight that greeted me. There, yawning out before me like the Grand Canyon, sat rows upon rows of red seats leading down to the edge of the pristine carpet and the sporting world's most iconic patch of turf. On that very patch of grass were the eleven men I would follow through thick and thin over the next 27 years. It was a cathedral of football fit for greatness. Even to my innocent, six-year-old eyes, you could smell the history and tradition. Honour and glory at every turn. And so, a lifelong love affair began. 

This was Old Trafford. It was a place I would return to a few times a season over the next quarter of a century. The iconic, historic home of Manchester United. Our Manchester United. A place where dreams come true, legends are made, sporting heroes immortalised. A place for us mere mortals to escape surrounded by people with a common cause: to roar on the Reds at a place we called home. For Old Trafford is more than just the bricks-and-mortar dwelling of a football club. It is synonymous with the famous name of our once great club - from the bombs of World War II, to the tragedy of Munich and the triumphs and tribulations of magisterial managers Sirs Matt and Alex. 

Old Trafford 1910 - 2031 (approx)

A place known throughout the world for dramatic, logic-defying last gaps acts of derring do by a collection of some of the greatest exponents of their craft the game has ever seen. 

But now, Old Trafford's epitaph is written. For me and millions of other who have made the pilgrimage to follow our beloved team at our great theatre, it is indeed a sad day. 114 years of history gone in the blink of an eye . It was truly one of those moments where everyone remembers where they were when the news came through. 7/7, 9/11 and the day the Queen died (for the record, I was in a Wetherspoon's in Belfast). Add to that now the 11th March 2025: the day the sands of time ran out for one of the English game's grandest stages. 

There is no doubt the stadium I first set eyes upon all those years ago is no longer fit for purpose. It was once the envy of the world, but now it is an ageing relic pickled in aspic. A leaking roof, the crumbling concrete, the cramped turnstiles and uncomfortable seats. Old Trafford has fallen into disrepair, left to rot as the Glazers have counted their millions in absentia across the pond. 

Yet, strangely, its shortcomings are why we all love it so much. It may have become a bit of dump, but it was our dump. A dump that meant so much to so many, me included. It's precisely because it was falling apart that made it unique. Nowhere else do you feel that sense of history and prestige. The statues, the homage to Munich, the stadium homing into view as you walk up Sir Matt Busby Way. 

Soon, though, it will be no more: consigned to the annals of history as United set up shop on the same site but with a new 100k-seater stadium, as per BBC Sport. Probably called the Great INEOS Soccer Stage or some other horrible moniker. I hope I'm wrong but it's going to be soulless and the average man of the street simply will not be able to afford a ticket. It feels like the very essence of Manchester United is slowly being stripped away, brick by brick.

A lifetime of memories 

The proposed interior of United's new ground 

I understand nothing lasts forever and the ground was out-dated and in need of either re-development or rebuilding. The cost of the former was probably too great and so INEOS and Sir Jim Ratcliffe opted for the latter. To move on, you have to let go of the past. Everton will soon get a new stadium, Tottenham's White Hart Lance was bulldozed and their new abode built on it. Anfield has been renovated - Old Trafford was existing in a time warp. They wanted a stadium befitting for a club of United's stature, something the north doesn't have, and this is the result. 

I will never forget the memories of our famous old stadium. From that very first game back in 1997 to Amad's winner almost exactly a year ago, it has been a huge part of my life. It is time to leave our home behind and, in truth, it's probably for the best, but it is a wrench letting go of something you hold so dear. It's a time for new history to be made, to move forward into a new era with a ground which will be the envy of the world once again. 

The longer lasting questions (what's the timeframe, who will pay for the ground, what will happen to the Munich clock, tunnel and the statues and where we will play in the meantime) can wait for another day. For now, whilst looking forward is always exciting, there is a sense of loss, of sadness, of the end of something. Part of my life has been taken away. 

Farewell Old Trafford and thanks for the memories. We will miss you and love you forever. 

Struggling Hojlund toils as goal drought goes on

Sunday’s two FA Cup ties proved a tale of two strikers as Danny Welbeck flourished where Rasmus Hojlund floundered.

Welbeck, a man once deemed as not good enough by United, fired his Brighton side into the quarter finals with a stunning breakaway finish deep into extra-time at St James Park. It was his eighth goal of the season, one more than United’s £72m man who has now gone three months without one.

A three-month, eighteen game goal drought amounting to over 1,000 minutes is an extraordinary barren spell for any centre-forward. Let alone a striker leading the line in the Premier League for one of the most famous names in football. But it’s not just the lack of goals as even the very best strikers can have fallow spells – Robin van Persie once went thirteen matches without finding the net.

It’s not as if Hojlund is doing everything right except scoring. It’s not as if he’s peppering the opposition keeper and upright, and only bad luck is keeping him out. He’s not even showing the basics of centre-forward play right now: holding the ball up, making runs, unlocking a defence with a silky piece of skill, or getting in a good position for an assist or goal. He isn’t occupying the centre backs to create space for others. He is so far below what you’d expect from even the most rudimentary of strikers in a lower league side, it is almost like United are playing with ten men.

Rasmus isn’t the only one toiling: Alejandro Garnacho hasn’t scored since Bodo/Glimt in November and Joshua Zirkzee has two goals since December. It’s a sorry state of affairs for United’s soporific strike force and our 33 league goals is the sixth lowest in the league. Only the bottom three clubs, Everton and West Ham have scored fewer. 

But at least Messrs Garnacho and Zirkzee are impacting games, and contributing to the team. Garnacho makes things happen and Zirkzee’s unique skillset is an asset to the side. Even when they’re not scoring, strikers can still influence a game and make a difference. The same cannot be said of Hojlund who has looked bereft of confidence and belief.

Last term was Hojlund’s first at Old Trafford following his move from Atalanta. His 16 goals in 43 games was a decent return for a young striker on his own up front in a system where he was continually starved of service. But the promise of that debut season has gradually eviscerated, to the point where his future at United is already looking uncertain. Hojlund only had one shot – an effort wide of the post from a Christian Eriksen cross – and struggled to make an impact.

Of course, he has time on his side. He has only just turned 22 and most strikers don’t peak until their mid-to-late 20s so his best years are still ahead of him.

No disrespect to Welbeck but the fact a 34-year-old who left United eleven years ago would be our best striker in 2025 is both embarrassing and damning. He is outperforming Hojlund in every metric and would walk back into our team. I would take a 50-something Andy Cole right now.

So is Hojlund the reason for Manchester United’s struggles, or the victim of it?

With United chasing an equaliser against Fulham, Ruben Amorim turned to 17-year-old Chido Obi Martin with Hojlund withdrawn after 68 minutes of next to nothing. Obi offered more in his cameo appearance than Hojlund has for weeks. It it beginning to appear as though Amorim himself is losing faith in a player he inherited, even if the Portuguese manager has publicly backed him. 

There can be sympathy for the Dane: service was again at a premium with United’s depleted ranks missing the cut and thrust of the injured Amad and loaned out Marcus Rashford. Noussair Mazraoui and Diogo Dalot, full-backs moonlighting in wing-back roles, provided no attacking threat whatsoever. Any striker in world football would struggle in this United side.

Hojlund has averaged 1.5 shots per game over the season and just 3.5 touches in the opposition penalty area. There is nowhere to hide and no rotation option; Obi Martin isn’t ready to start regularly and has not been registered for Europe.

But too often, Hojlund allowed himself to be bullied by compatriot Joachim Andersen and centre-back partner Calvin Bassey.  There is no denying his effort and work rate but it was far too easy for Fulham to defend against.
United signed Hojlund as a player for the future. The powers-that-be were convinced he would become a world class striker in the mould of Erling Haaland. He has not fulfilled that and has shown only glimpses of his pace and power – his confidence now looks shattered.

Hojlund’s last Premier League goal came against Nottingham Forest on December 7^th. Five days later he stepped off the bench to strike twice in Europe against Plzen and has not found the net since. Five of his seven goals have come in the Europa League with only two on the home front.

He never looked like getting in a position to score against Fulham and is not the type of player to drop deep and get involved as Welbeck does, starting many of Brighton’s attacks from deep.
Hojlund is getting no help from the rest of the squad as they struggle with their own pressures and problems. He needs an experienced arm around the shoulder like he would if he was playing in the side of Roy Keane, Gary Neville and Paul Scholes et al.

As his team-mates collectively continue to toil, Hojlund's individual malaise has become a huge worry for Amorim's United. 

INEOS are a disgrace: I'm raging at this club's criminal negligence (RANT)

When news of Amad Diallo's season ending injury broke on early Saturday evening I finally reached boiling point. I had to write this just to get it all off my chest. 

The one Manchester United player to emerge from this car crash season with a modicum of credit - the one man keeping our heads bobbing above the waterline - will play no further part in it. I don't think we will win another game this season now. United's attack for the last three months of the season consists of Alejandro Garnacho and very little else. We're doomed, we're screwed and we're more f****d than Lily Phillips. 

And it's all down to INEOS. All down to United's minority ownership who have somehow become more unpopular than the Glazers. Little more than a year since taking over, how has it come to this? 

I can't take this any more. How many more times do us fans have to suffer Manchester United lurching from one catastrophe to another? When is it gonna end? I don't want to do this anymore. As ABBA once sang: "I was angry and sad at the things that you do."

Defeat at Tottenham tomorrow will be the final straw. Something is getting broken. This club is a social experiment to see how much pain a man can experience. 

Has there ever been a new ownership regime that has turned so toxic so quickly. Sir Jim Ratcliffe and his board were meant to usher in an exciting new era in lieu of the leeching, apathetic Glazers, but instead things have gone backwards. I didn't think it would be humanly possible to find a regime worse than what came before. They sold us a dream but instead have us locked in a never-ending nightmare. They took over the club on a wave of goodwill because they aren't the Glazers but that's a distant memory now. 

Amad's injury is a devastating blow to what's left of United's season. Of course it had to be our best player this season, the one man opponents are wary of and the one player who makes things happen every time he goes forward. 

Of course INEOS couldn't have foreseen this. They are not to blame for the injury itself. But they are very much responsible for the resultant mess we now find ourselves in. They got rid of Antony, they shipped out Marcus Rashford, they chose to get no one in. Whatever your thoughts on the respective merits of those two players, surely it's better to have them in the squad than out on loan. Why get rid of them if you know no one is coming in? We're weaker than we were five weeks ago. They thought that was acceptable? They thought having ONE attacker was in the club's best interests. They really felt what we had was up to standards? Very good to know they were 'relaxed' about all this, though. 

Great to know Sir Jim sleeps well at night knowing the chaos he has caused. He and his little minions stand on the brink of causing the collapse of the biggest sporting institution in history. I hope they're proud of themselves. 

It's backfired after two weeks - years of squad building have led to this. It serves every single person involved in the process right for these disastrous decisions time and time again, a self-serving ownership with no plan, no clue and no ambition. No longer able to hide behind the club's financial clout, that well has now run dry and has come back to haunt us. No left sided centre back for the rest of the season, no midfield for tomorrow and now no Amad. End the season now and put us all out of our misery. 

Lisandro Martinez last week, Amad today. Add to that Manuel Ugarte, Kobbie Mainoo and Toby Collyer and an already thin squad is threadbare. Sack the medical staff, get all of them gone. But no, ol' Jim is too busy laying off cleaners, receptionists, office workers, shop staff and members of the catering team to worry about the real problem. 

 

It's criminal. It's abhorrent, it is negligent. Fail to prepare. Prepare to fail. No planning, no back up, no intention to even try and strengthen an area in desperate need of reinforcements. They've sold Ruben Amorim down the water. I wouldn't blame him if he said f**k you all and resigns tonight. 

How dare they bring him in mid season with a squad he doesn't want and give him no money to spend. How dare they set him up to fail. Just like we did with David Moyes, Louis van Gaal, Jose Mourinho and Ole Gunnar Solskjaer.

Amorim's got nothing to work with and has no choice but to throw some of the Academy kids on the fire and hope they don't burn. It's like going in to the site of a forest fire armed with a water pistol. I'm absolutely fuming, in fact I have never been more angry at a regime in my life. 

What have we done to deserve this? What are these wasters doing in training to cause these injuries - we've had nine days off yet are dropping like flies with four players injured in key positions. It never stops pouring with rain at United. Pouring with rain through the gaping hole in the Old Trafford roof. 

United's season is over, we're in the gutter and there's no way out. I am done. 

Manchester United: For the eternal love, not the glory

As Jean-Philippe Mateta turned our Sunday afternoon sour en route to another defeat, one word came to the fore: dedication. 

United vs Crystal Palace 

There wasn't much difference between the sides but Mateta's brace, in stark contrast to the struggles of our own soporific strikeforce, provided visiting Palace with the most precious currency of all. 

Watching from high up in the Stretford End, that feeling of resentment, of anger, the feeling that I don't want to do this any more, didn't last long. That feeling that you can't wait until the next time - despite the lows, and the lets downs, soon takes over. You do it because you can't let go. Just like in any other relationship, you're too emotionally invested. 

It got me thinking: everyone here has their own story to tell. A tale of how they came to be here, not just at this moment, but in life. Choosing to support this club. Each one of these 70,000+ people, every single one from a different walk of life, here for the same reason: united (pun intended) for a common cause. 

It matters too much to just throw it all aside. Right now, I'm disappointed, even apathetic, but in a few days, I will love this team again. I will be back in my jersey on Friday, willing the team on (this time from home) as we bid to make the FA Cup fifth round. United were my first love, and I will not stop. 

In the week United commemorate the 67th anniversary of the Munich disaster, there is a light that never goes out. United rose again after losing an entire team - set against that context, our current issues suddenly don't seem all that important. Manchester United will, like we did under Sir Matt Busby and Jimmy Murphy, come again. Where and when, we don't know, but we will be there. Better days are just around the corner. 

It may sometimes feel like it's not worth it, but in a few days you reset and go again. Your support is everlasting, undying, unrelenting. Through thick and thin - indeed, it's at times like this the club needs us, more than ever. It's easy to support when times are good. It's when times are bad your loyalty and love for your club is tested. 

That feeling that we are all so used to now - one of crushing disappointment - is expected at every turn, but is never any easier to take when the inevitable happens. As a wise man once said, it's the hope that kills you. 

I travelled over 300 miles to be at Old Trafford yesterday. The lad I went to the game with had to be up at 4am on Monday for his flight back to Ireland. There were no doubt countless others with similar tales of dedication. 
It makes you wonder if all this hurts the players as much as it does us. For them, it is just a job. A way of earning an (extremely lucrative) living. They still get their pay cheque at the end of the week. 

For us, it is our lives. It is not just an emotional investment. It is a financial one. We take time out of our cherished weekends - leaving our families and friends behind - to watch this club play. Hours of our lives given up to watch Manchester United: for some, it is almost a full time commitment in all four corners of the globe. I have heard of occasions where dedication for the club has cost marriages. 

As the eponymous James sung in his hit ' Sit Down', if I hadn't seen such riches, I could live with being poor. First released in 1989, it feels even more appropriate today.