What I find amusing watching just a bit of these two nitwits is how both mention “This is Manchester United!” or “We expect better from Manchester United!” which somehow means the players should . . . do what exactly? Play for the shirt? Play hard because of the “prestige” of your “history”? News flash, you dumb bitches — they don’t give a fuck. They’re there for the MONEY. They’re there because your idiot management team regularly overpays for old and/or overrated brands. They’re a collection of uncomplementary misfits who cannot and will not work together. Ever.
These two choads are STILL in a fucking time warp. As long as they are, you know ownership and management are too. Someone there needs to stand up and says “We aren’t a big club because big clubs win trophies and we haven’t won dick in a decade.” And no one ever will.
Every business goes through four phases of a life cycle: startup, growth, maturity and renewal/rebirth or decline.
We all know where the rags are in this cycle, owned by a bunch of distant, know nothing parasites, they're trapped in a rhetoric of renewal that fails miserably to mask their on field decline. The situation is made even worse by the weight of their history, or more accurately the mythology they've spun around that history, the "United way", "Theatre of dreams", "class of 92" blah, blah, blah...
The peculiar nature of football fandom means that Utd are partially insulated from the consequences of their dismal football failure, but only partially. The rags' coffin nails are being hammered home everyday, from Cheltenham to Chittagong, by every little nipper who rejects them and chooses instead to run around in a City shirt.
Meanwhile the Stretford Walking Dead are stumbling through the five stages of grief....Denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance.
The poor f**kers are trapped between bargaining and depression, they're incapable of acceptance. They're already sloping off in numbers, muttering that they've fallen out of love with football, which is rag speak for Utd no longer give meaning to my miserable, meaningless existence, so I'm going back to Pimlico and Pornhub.
