TERRACE TALK: Man United - Tepid start to a possible nightmare week

Yesterday was May 1, traditionally a date that’s a holiday for the working classes of the world, so I suppose we should be grateful for the 25 first-half minutes of exciting graft Manchester United’s wage slaves did deign to give us.

By midway through the second half, however, the Sunday slippers were truly on, with Wayne Rooney, in particular, playing as though he really had changed footwear at half-time.

Not for the first time this season — or this week, come to think of it — the old post-match phrase of Sven Goran Eriksson sprang dismally to mind: “First half good... second half not so good.”

You might say the same about Louis Van Gaal’s two seasons at United, of course.

Louis loudly claimed to incredulous hacks on Friday that he will be getting a third: “You will be seeing me next season,” he howled, and all I could think of was a bad horror movie villain, closing the final reel with the promise of a sequel no-one really wants.

Had United managed to exploit the late red card and win yesterday, it would have been a travesty - not to mention dangerously taking the mick out of the cosmic forces of justice, given that we’d just pulled the same stunt at Wembley.

We’d have also severely upset a Leicester-supporting nation already sick of the sight of this current United team, whose matches this season have supposedly produced fewer shots and goals than those involving any other side.

As it is, a draw seemed to leave most involved strangely satisfied, at least to some degree. Leicester will surely still win the league — perhaps even tonight — which will delight all right-minded Reds, while United can still stagger on with faint hopes of a top four miracle finish.

Though looking at the United players’ wretched second-half display, you do wonder how much some of them really want it.

It is hard to escape the suspicion that they may be subconsciously affected by the knowledge that top four would offer a lifeline to a manager whom most of them would rather see drown.

Besides, there’s now a cup Final to stay uninjured for; why risk that dicey tackle or hamstring-testing lunge, hey?

So, no having to watch the title being won by opposition on our own ground, then — although, to be honest, few Reds gave much of a monkey’s about that in the first place.

Who could hate or begrudge Leicester? (Who could be bothered?)

Besides, there are far worthier vessels for our expelled bile — and two of them are in action this week, threatening to create visions far grimmer than Foxes cavorting around OT would have been.

Liverpool FC, rightly ebullient after the Hillsborough verdicts, are promising the nation another ‘special Anfield European night’ on Thursday, and will reach a 12th continental final if they triumph.

That’d be twice as many such finals as we have reached. Ouch.

Far worse, though, may have already happened by then.

If Manchester City take Madrid on Wednesday, this season will then be threatening to take a place alongside 2004/5 and 1973/74 in our Red annals of anni horribili.

What state will we all be in by the time we next meet for the Norwich match, then? Quite possibly not a very pretty one — unless the club crack and announce Mourinho’s appointment in the meantime.

And yet... “We’ll always have Wembley,” as Bogey might’ve murmured to Bergmann, had Casablanca been Cleethorpes. Keep whispering it to yourself, as we once did when 1989/90 was similarly petering out.

Same ‘beleaguered boss’ situation, same Pardew-infused opponents, same best European qualification hope... same outcome?

And who might be our Lee Martin? After all, if there’s one thing we have wearily learned Louis is good at, it’s desperately bringing on full-backs in search of a late impact.