Look, nobody wants to be that fan—the one calling for the manager’s head at the first wobble. But after United’s loss to 10-man Everton, it’s becoming impossible to ignore the elephant tap-dancing in the room: what exactly is Ruben Amorim doing here, and how long can he hide behind the “project” label?
Let’s start with the obvious. When you’re up a man against a David Moyes side—a manager United already fired once for being too limited—and you still can’t lay a glove on them, that’s an embarrassment of the highest order. Getting outsmarted by 10-man Moyes-ball should be a wake-up call, not a footnote. And yet, what does Amorim do? Absolutely nothing. He keeps the same shape, the same patient-as-a-sleeping-koala tempo, and five defenders on the pitch like the red card was some kind of optical illusion. You’ve got a numerical advantage—use it. Shift the shape, overload the midfield, actually force Everton to defend deeper instead of letting them look comfortable. Instead, United played as if Everton had gained a player, not lost one.
And don’t get me started on the substitutions. Every single change Amorim makes is so like-for-like it might as well be copy-and-paste. It’s almost impressive—he has perfectly mastered the art of offering absolutely nothing different. The game needed variety, chaos, someone to flip the script. Amorim’s answer? Swap winger for winger, midfielder for midfielder. It’s like rearranging the furniture on a sinking ship.
Then there’s the attacking “philosophy.” If you can even call it that. The grand master plan seems to be:
1. Push it wide to Mbeumo or Amad
2. Pray they whip in the perfect cross
3. Watch 5’10” Mason Mount try to outmuscle James Tarkowski
4. Cry
Who looked at Mason Mount—talented, industrious, absolutely not a target man—and said, Yep, he’s the guy to challenge the beefiest centre-backs in the league for aerials? It’s predictable. It’s one-dimensional. And worst of all, it’s easy to defend.
Now, to be fair, United have improved compared to last season. The football is less chaotic, the team isn’t collapsing every 20 minutes, and there are stretches—brief ones—where it looks coherent. But let’s be honest: that’s down to recruitment, not Amorim’s master plans.
Bryan Mbeumo has been a revelation. Matheus Cunha looks like he was built in a lab to carry transitional attacks on his back. These guys aren’t thriving because of the system—they’re thriving in spite of it.
And that’s the real question no one wants to ask:
Has Ruben Amorim actually made a single United player better?
Because right now, the answer looks like a resounding no. The ceiling of this team is being pulled upward by individual talent, not collective identity.
So, yeah, maybe it’s time to stop pretending everything’s fine. Maybe it’s time to stop clinging to the idea that Amorim just needs “time” or “his players” or “a full moon and a favourable breeze.” Maybe it’s time to admit what’s staring us in the face:
United have improved—but not because of their manager.
And sooner or later, that’s going to matter.
