Yep. Ratboy will be on his Sly soapbox from now until then, drumming up the plastics to protest against my heroes, the Glazers. He will be conducting things from the safety of his comfy studio set, urging and cajoling the zebra brigade to urge all out war on the club that made him a wealthy man, and thus gave him the platform to launch his PR broadsides from.
It's another PR attempt from him to tell the mongol masses that he's 'one of them.' A local working class boy made good. A scruffy little urchin from the back streets kicking an empty tin can about and dreaming of being a famous footballer. And all the gullible little non-entities will follow their leader and encourage him to launch a hostile takeover of the club, which he will do successfully with the help of class of '92, then he'll be held aloft by the cheering crowds as they meander through the streets of Trafford with their new owner, Sir Ratboy Snivel, on their shoulders.
And then the treacherous, two-faced whinging little bastard will do what he's always done, stab everyone in the back and then fuck off to warmer climes with his bulging bag of swag.
It's known as history repeating itself.