Some deaths happen quietly, and some deaths refuse to leave the mortuary because the relatives are still arguing over who should take responsibility. Manchester United appears to belong to the second category.
The club may not have received an official death certificate from the Football Association, but football-watchers can see the symptoms. The patient went into intensive care around the end of last season, stopped responding to treatment, and, before the new Premier League season could even properly begin, appeared to have finally given up the ghost.
Yet, remarkably, Manchester United is still playing. This is where the matter becomes spiritually confusing. The fixtures say Manchester United. The shirts say Manchester United. Old Trafford says Manchester United. The television graphics say Manchester United. But the football? Hmm.
That one may require the services of a traditional priest, a forensic pathologist and possibly a second opinion from the Manchester Police. Because what we are watching every weekend looks less like the Manchester United of old and more like the ghost of a football club that once lived a very glorious life. And the supporters are suffering. My dear United fans, please accept my deepest condolences. I know it is not easy.
You grew up watching Manchester United bully English football, collect trophies and turn injury time into a private business. You watched opponents arrive at Old Trafford already calculating how many goals they could concede without embarrassing themselves.
Today, some United supporters approach match day with the same emotional preparation a Ghanaian has for a hospital lab result. You sit down. You pray. You check the blood pressure. You take water. You tell the person beside you, “Today will be different.” Then the match starts. Five minutes later, you are asking whether the club has a branch at Korle Bu or Konfo Anokye.
The most fascinating part, however, is the family quarrel over the cause of death. The coach is blamed. Then the players. Then the recruitment department. Then the owners. Then the sporting director. Then VAR.
At this rate, if Manchester United loses a match because the goalkeeper forgets his gloves, somebody will blame Sir Alex Ferguson for retiring. But perhaps we need to stop looking for one murderer. Maybe the old Manchester United simply died of footballing old age.
It is possible that the problem is not one coach, one player or one transfer window. Perhaps the greater tragedy is that the club has spent too much time trying to resurrect the Manchester United of yesterday instead of constructing the Manchester United of tomorrow.
You cannot continuously live on history. A trophy won ten years ago cannot defend a corner today. A famous badge cannot score a goal. A legendary manager cannot come out of retirement every Saturday to rescue a confused midfield. And chanting “United! United!” cannot automatically transform a collection of footballers into champions.
This is where the supporters need to learn from the other side of the footballing cemetery. Look at the supporters of clubs like Arsenal FC (Gunners) that have spent years building, rebuilding and competing. Their hearts have become hardened like old leather. The Emirates Stadium have suffered humiliations, managerial blame and transfer-market catastrophes, yet they learned one important lesson:
Football does not owe anybody a trophy because of what happened yesterday.
Manchester United supporters, therefore, must stop treating every defeat as an assassination and every poor season as a conspiracy. Sometimes, a football club simply loses its way. Sometimes, the giant falls. And sometimes, the giant needs to remain on the ground long enough to discover how to stand again.
So, to the Manchester United management: stop attending the funeral every week to investigate the cause of death. The Gods are not to blame. To the players: please stop playing as though you are attending the funeral rather than representing the deceased.
To the coach: kindly check whether the patient is still responding to your instructions. And to the supporters: please, for your own cardiovascular protection, accept that the Manchester United you knew may have departed this world.
Do not worry. The club itself is not necessarily finished. Football has a strange habit of resurrecting the dead. But resurrection requires first acknowledging that somebody has died.
Until then, Manchester United will continue appearing in the Premier League table, attending matches, occupying dressing rooms and collecting points here and there—while the spirit of the old club wanders around Old Trafford asking:
“Where are my players? Where is my midfield? Where is my Manchester United?”
Meanwhile, the supporters are still shouting: “We are Manchester United!” Of course you are. But please whisper it because it is embarrassing. The neighbours are mourning. And for heaven's sake, somebody tell the undertaker to stop preparing the coffin every weekend.
The club may yet rise again. But until that resurrection comes, let us stop pretending that the corpse is merely sleeping.
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