Terrace Talk: Man United - Another little death en route to final reckoning

Once again, I found my mind idly wondering, and wandering, while watching United on Saturday afternoon, writes Richard Kurt.

This happens a lot when watching Mourinho’s 2018 outfit; you’re desperate to give your brain something else to do, rather than it be left to think about the atrocity exhibition unfolding in front of you. My question to self was: has there ever been so abysmal a match that has produced four such nice goals? They stood out like diamonds in sewage.

Crazy diamonds, in the Pink Floydian sense, is what Mourinho says he needs to fix his team — or, to be specific, “mad dogs”, to give us “bite” on the ball. You might think that having a potentially lunatic rottweiler in the manager’s office is already quite enough on the unhinged canine front, but let’s concede that he has a point. United players’ seeming lack of commitment has been an issue all season; the general lack of leadership has been a problem for years. Of course, you then ask yourself “whose overall responsibility is that, then?” It’s a largely rhetorical question.

That said, there’ll have been some sympathy throughout football for Mourinho concerning his alleged comments about Pogba being a “virus”. Is there anyone left in the British game who still has time for this increasingly ludicrous popinjay, with his blatant lack of desire and his never-ending cavalcade of absurd ‘m’as-tu-vu’ haircuts? He had a broken heart shaved into his head before the Palace match but, when it comes to describing Pogba, it’s surely another part of the anatomy with which one would prefix “head”.

Perhaps we shouldn’t scapegoat him. After all, it is hard to find a kind word for anyone we saw in action — or should that be ‘in inaction’? — on Saturday, bar a brief nod to the flickering Rashford for his two assists. United haven’t actually lost any of the three games they’ve played since the grim derby defeat, yet all of them have felt like little deaths en route to some final collective apocalyptic reckoning.

Long-standing Reds who’ve lived through the ups and downs of the 70s and 80s, and who thus know how to have patience, are talking about throwing in the towel on this latest iteration of post-Fergie United. No-one wants to watch this stuff; it’s become an expensive, time-consuming, and occasionally distressing chore.

But on we trudge, because that’s our job; besides, we are still in Europe, and there are the potential thrills of the FA Cup third round draw any moment, and then there’s our old friends Arsenal arriving for a glamour game (sic) on Wednesday, and...

Gah! there’s always something else to look forward to, to keep you going, to tempt you into one more ticket purchase.

We’re addicted to this footballing advent calendar, with each unopened future window a potentially choccy-bearing tease — although the lumps of brown stuff revealed by those opened so far have definitely not been chocolate.

Should United somehow negotiate a way past Arsenal — oh, you easy mark Wenger, how we miss you — then Fulham will be next up; one hesitates to type “should be three easy points”, given recent events. We’re well into a magical winter wonderland where nothing can be taken for granted anymore.

No opponent can be written off; no formation or tactics can be assumed; no left-field player deselection or elevation may be ruled out. Every matchday is a Discovery Channel adventure expedition. Kremlinologists who’ve been out of work since 1989 should be queuing up to apply their skills to the enigma that is the mind of Mourinho, and to the mysterious intricacies of his régime.

Say one thing for José’s rule: the only thing that’s boring about it is the actual football...