It's always the way with rag fans. They start off sounding reasonable and honest about their club, we all enjoy a bit of banter, there's give and take from both sides, and you begin to think "Well, maybe there are some decent rags in existence." And then they revert to type. The moment you state something factual that paints the club in rather unflattering colours, something that peels away at the whole Hollywood facade the club's PR team have gradually built up over the years, the moment you point out, for example, the sheer hypocrisy of them calling us out over having a rich benefactor, the abuse starts. They revert to childish name-calling and end up getting banned. So they skulk back to dead cafè and lie to their slow-witted colleagues about how us bitter berties hate Pep, we detest Sergio, can't stand our wealthy owners, and wish with all our collective hearts that we had Maureen and his billion-pound Wimbledon instead. About how we watch in stunned amazement as Phil 'the face' single-handedly ensures De Gea never has anything to do. As Lukaku, with an almost supernatural agility weaves intricate little patterns against the opponents, how that saintly cherubim Fellaini never complains to the ref when players deliberately smash their heads into his elbows.
And all their followers in Asia and the middle-east all nod their heads wisely as if to say: "You good, kind, gentle soul. Thank you for showing those berties the error of their ways."