UNITED WE FALL

There was a time back in the 90s when the world seemed fairer, the air tasted sweeter, autumns were crunchier and Liverpool had been properly 'knocked off their fucking perch' by Manchester United in both the domestic league and in Europe.

Sometimes I think one of the small mercies of my late father (a lifelong United fan) not being around anymore is that he doesn't have to witness the current team's absolute shit show of a decline that is making a mockery of a once great team's history and legacy. George Best is even pouring his last bottle of brandy down through the cloud drains of football heaven in utter despair.

You see, I have long held the theory that the decline of western civilisation in the 21st Century began around the time Sir Alex Ferguson retired as we (the fans) watched on in horror at the sinking collapse of a historically great club and endured our rivals (Liverpool and Manchester City) enjoy the spoils of victory in the absence of our once unrivalled domestic dominance. It seems now as if the further we get from those golden years the more pronounced our societial collapse appears to be. Maybe only when United return to their full power once again, will the equilibrium of both the club and the western world be truly aligned and restored. Applying this principle everybody should be willing United to return to the top of the league for their own security and well being.

Even Liverpool fans. ^^

For now, though, I've decided that the best thing for Manchester United is to shut up shop and turn the club into a temporary museum where the memories of our once sacred legacy can remain untarnished by the current crop of saboteurs who own and play for the club until a redemptive Christ-like hero figure appears in our midst to bless us with miracles once again. Not that I'm comparing Sir Alex to Christ. More Robert the Bruce if he wore a blazer and smashed tea cups in English dressing rooms up and down the country, far across the border from his beloved Scotland.

Now all of us humiliated fans are left with currently are the memories of those glory years which become more like faded, flickering cine-reels with each passing decade, or dusty photo albums from the attic. It was only watching the recent Netflix series 'Beckham' (2023) that I was reminded of that hallowed era when 'kids' played like men with the joy of the playground in their heart and destroyed all before them in a sort of juggernaut of youthful momentum that felt unstoppable. They may not have been as refined as some of the greatest European sides such as Ajax or Barcelona but they played with a swagger that was irresistible and trod a precarious tight rope where their vulnerabilities were exposed (especially in defence) but not so much as to outweigh their collective attacking genius.

Celebrating late on Saturday nights watching 'Match Of The Day' to finally see the actual reality of what we'd heard accounts of on the radio earlier in the afternoon was like a great workout for our imaginations as the team made us believe the impossible was possible. Beckham's famous half way line goal against Wimbledon, Giggs's last gasp winner in extra time against Arsenal in the FA Cup Semi-Final replay and Solskjaer's blink and you'll miss it reflexive twist of the boot to win the Champions League against a stunned Bayern Munich.

Other teams may create their own miracles these days, but they're not ours so they don't count. Or maybe I've become immune to magic in football as I've tried to preserve myself solely in a cotton wool cocoon of memories of United's increasingly distant golden age.

Teams who spend far more time in the lower depths of the league(s) will tell me to stop complaining as we had it so good for so long. But therein lies the curse. Once you've caught sight of the gold you can't forget its allure so easily.

Perhaps it would be better to now just focus on playing with abandon and accept for the chips to fall where they may, even if that were to mean relegation.

Humility then may be the only way to learn from the hubris and 'vaulting ambition' post Ferguson and find in the shadows of routine defeats and hard earned victories the flickering spark in the darkness that made us great before.

Otherwise, the club will continue to remain a poisoned chalice that turns supposedly great managers to dust just as Shakespeare's 'Macbeth' carries with it a curse.

For what was it King Macbeth himself says in Act V, Scene V - ""Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more: it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing."

Or as our own Scottish King, Sir Alex might say - "Football, Bloody Hell!"