There was a time, not so long ago, when Manchester United measured success in silverware. Now, they measure it in the number of staff redundancies needed to balance the wage bill of a squad that is likey to finish 16th and made the Europa League look like a punishment rather than a privilege.
The campaign that began with high hopes and a shiny new minority stakeholder in Sir Jim Ratcliffe ended, appropriately enough, in a stadium echoing with the sound of indifference. United’s 1-0 defeat to Tottenham Hotspur in what will surely go down as the worst Europa League final of the modern age — lovingly dubbed El Crapico — was less a football match and more a televised autopsy.
One might spare a thought for Scruffy Jim, who surely now wakes each morning with the same question on his lips: “Why did I bother?” When he bought into Manchester United, he expected to inherit a football club. What he got instead was a high-functioning merchandise operation occasionally interrupted by 90 minutes of existential crisis on a pitch.
Finishing 16th in the Premier League would once have sparked riots in Stretford. This year, it’s greeted with mild apathy and polite shrugs. And yet, the club is reportedly considering a “strategic reset” — a term which, in layman’s terms, means selling the few competent players they have and failing to replace them due to the looming black hole of Champions League revenue.
The summer promises a ‘clear-out’ of so-called dead wood, but United face a curious challenge: who, exactly, is going to buy a 31-year-old reserve midfielder on £190,000 a week with a hamstring made of damp cardboard? The fire sale may end up resembling a charity raffle, only without the good cause.
Backroom staff, meanwhile, have reportedly been told to pack light — not for a European away day, but for the job centre. Sadly, a significant number of non-playing staff have already faced the axe, perhaps in a noble effort to cover the annual cost of Luke Shaw's physiotherapy sessions. A proud club that once employed scouts, analysts, and dieticians now seems intent on swapping them for optimism and a VHS of the 1999 treble season.
And so to the final indignity: the lap of honour. On Sunday, after the final whistle blows on what is likely to be another home defeat, the players will embark on a solemn shuffle around Old Trafford. With luck, the stewards and the four remaining fans might still be there to clap. If not, perhaps the catering staff can be roped in for applause — assuming they haven’t already been let go to fund another three-year contract for a player last seen walking during a counter-attack.
It has been a season of collapse, confusion, and corporate buzzwords. But fear not: pre-season is just around the corner.