No one can ever put a dent in my loyalty to the Manchester United Red Devils, but who, if anyone, will be the one to say, “enough is enough.?”
I have watched the team play two matches and they looked like crap in both contests.
I have never been a fan of manager Erik Ten Hag.
His teams lack passion.
They play like they have won trophy after trophy (like our rivals), but the only plus mark on Ten Hags’ ledger is the win over City in last seasons’ FA Cup final. His teams don’t qualify for Champions League competition, so we haven’t had a chance to see his teams hit the pitch for any real hardware and after today’s loss at Brighton, I am already convinced they won’t finish in top four, so they are already relegated to hoping they can finish in the top six in the Premier League.
I am hoping too.
A good manager can take the resources available to him and put together the tactics and game plans that will produce a team that is always competitive. Scratch that; Ten Hag’s team merely go through the motions.
A great manager can take the players he has and find a way to win matches.
It doesn’t matter how much money, how many injuries, or any of that lot, a great manager finds a way to win.
Period.
The manager we have seems to find more and more ways to lose.
So how long do we long-suffering United fans have to wait until we get to see a team start to play like their storied predecessors?
Best, Charlton, Stiles, Beckham.
They never stopped.
All match long.
And they would rather cut off their arms before accepting defeat.
The British, bless their hearts, are more civil and decorous in their handling of manager terminations.
I grew up in England and was there for the year 1966 when they were the kings of world football.
One of the coolest things we used to do was play pickup football matches whenever there were enough players to do so. We would carry around a soccer ball and whenever there were at least six people, we had two teams. We would place two jackets about 20 feet apart (24 is regulation) and the game was on.
We would play for 90 minutes per regulation, only stopping to argue whether a goal (between the two jackets designating goal) was too high (over the imaginary crossbar) or not.
We played with unbridled joy and passion for the sport, living for that moment when the ball crosses the goal line.
We hated to lose.
Not that we were stupid or anything.
And not that we were in love with the concept of winning.
No.
We hated to lose.
Realistic?
Hell no.
We played every ball like it would be the very last touch we would get. There was a sense of urgency we played with that infected the whole team top to bottom.
We played like I hope, at some point in time before I pass, the Red Devils will play.
Hope springs eternal.
Go Reds!
Stay well.
