A few weeks back, I wrote about how Ruben Amorim was navigating the storm at Old Trafford. At the time, there was a glimpse of hope — a tiny one, but real nonetheless. It came through something Amorim once said he’d never do: switching to a back four.
And suddenly, United looked… good.
Against Bournemouth, and particularly in the first half against Newcastle, Manchester United looked as good as they had at any point under Amorim. Organised. Balanced. Functional. Not exactly box-office, but recognisable as a football team.
Fast-forward ten days and he’s gone.
Dumped at 9:30am, barely before his first cappuccino had time to kick in. Efficient. Brutal. Very Manchester United.
But the real death sentence was signed the night before. In the post-match press conference following the draw with Leeds, Amorim went after United’s hierarchy. Everyone’s heard the soundbites by now — “I’m here to manage Manchester United, not just coach.”
Let’s be honest: he wasn’t wrong.
This club is a mess.
Structurally. Culturally. Strategically. Pick a department and you’ll find dysfunction. Amorim was probably justified in feeling that frustration. But here’s the unforgivable error: you don’t say it out loud. You vent to your wife. You vent to your assistant coaches. You vent into the abyss of your WhatsApp group. What you don’t do is go public. Once you do that at United, it’s game over.
There are two failures at play here, and both deserve equal billing.
Ruben Amorim failed.
And the ownership failed — again.
The Glazers. INEOS. CEO Omar Berrada. DOF Jason Wilcox. Since Sir Alex Ferguson retired, Manchester United has slowly morphed into a boys’ club — a place where banker mates hand out jobs to other banker mates who wouldn’t recognise a double pivot if it tackled them.
Case in point: Ed Woodward.
When INEOS took over football operations, there was genuine hope. Real optimism. And to be fair, last summer’s signings of Cunha and Mbeumo have been solid. But plenty of other decisions remain deeply questionable.
Look at the squad and you see a decade of footballing malpractice.
Victor Lindelöf spent eight years at the club on £140,000 a week. Eight. He should’ve been shown the door after year two.
Diogo Dalot and Manuel Ugarte remain two of the most limited footballers in England.
Casemiro? A dinosaur. A great one, once — but this is the Premier League, not a testimonial tour. He belongs in Saudi Arabia, not anchoring United’s midfield.
Zirkzee? Simply not built for this league.
That’s not on Amorim. That’s recruitment. That’s hierarchy. That’s years of poor planning and worse judgement.
But Amorim isn’t blameless.
His unwavering commitment to a failing 3-4-3 system ultimately did him in. Most United fans never want to see that formation again — and for good reason. Starting three centre-backs in the Premier League doesn’t work, especially not at a club built on attacking football.
It’s anti-United. Borderline anti-football.
United’s DNA has always been front-foot, aggressive, wing-driven football. Proper wingers. Pace. Risk. When you score one, you go and get another. You don’t retreat, absorb pressure, and invite chaos — something Amorim did repeatedly.
That was the great contradiction of Ruben Amorim. He spoke boldly in press conferences, but his football was timid. Careful. Insecure. There was no dare.
And so here we are. Again.
No one at Manchester United deserves praise. The owners have failed at ownership. The executives have failed at structure. And the managers — one after another — have failed to understand or embody the club’s ethos.
It’s time to stop hiring managers who fight against Manchester United’s identity, and start finding one who actually complements it.
Because until that happens, this cycle won’t end — it’ll just keep claiming victims before their coffee goes cold.
