Man United: Our Most Soulless, Clueless & Heart-Breaking Side In Decades
It is difficult to know where to start when attempting to describe the myriad of thoughts, feelings and emotions swirling through the mind of a man who has just experienced his lowest point in over thirty years supporting Manchester United.
We have been so spoilt in that time, steered through a sea of success by the colossal Sir Alex Ferguson. Hence, it is understandable that fans of other clubs will not be forthcoming with their sympathy. Which is fine. It is to be expected that they should now revel in our downfall.
It is the level and pace of the descent that is so shocking, though, and that must have our enemies rubbing their hands in glee and pinching themselves to make sure it isn't all a wonderful dream.
United fans will wish they could wake from this nightmare. Indignity follows indignity and the chorus of impassioned, unending song that filled the Theatre of Dreams in the face of this latest calamity, as we watched in horror as our greatest rivals toyed with our team of champions, on our own turf, was a moving outpouring of raw emotion; an heartfelt show of love and grief and defiance that welled up from the horrified depths of our souls as we witnessed the legacy of Ferguson's incredible reign lying in tatters on the Old Trafford turf.
In the end, this particular fan was left unable to add his voice to the choir, literally choked by a profound sense of loss and mourning, fighting back tears of sorrow and rage and disbelief. To watch this match was akin to watching somebody you dearly love dying before your eyes.
Those who had once again clutched at a half-decent performance against a woeful, bottom-feeding side the previous week as a sign of corner-turning progress were quickly given a rude awakening, with the reigning English champions making a start so jittery it made a mockery of their collective medal-haul.
Two rigid banks of four; long, hopeful punts up to the lumbering Marouane Fellaini, a player whose recent improved form soon seemed a distant memory; woeful, flat-footed defending; running into brick walls on the wings; corners and crosses that failed to beat the first man or sailed into advertising hoardings that we are told are the envy of the sporting world; one shot on target.
It was the most dismal, soulless, clueless, heart-breaking performance from a Manchester United team in decades.
As for the man orchestrating the unfolding disaster, David Moyes blustered around his technical area, shuffling from foot to foot, occasionally clapping his hands in a vain attempt to cajole players who appear to have completely lost faith in him and his methods, while the allies he shipped in from Everton sat slumped on the bench.
It didn't take a footballing genius to see that changes desperately needed to be made. Yet Moyes, clearly now totally bereft of ideas, left it until the final fifteen minutes to throw a couple of subs into the fray.
This despite Adnan Januzaj having been wholly ineffective from the start, completely lost on the left and only marginally better when switched to the right; Robin Van Persie reduced to a shadow of the player we fell in love with last season after breaking Arsenal hearts; Wayne Rooney, the only player who seems to believe in his manager, a picture of ineffectual valiance, tearing about the place like a man possessed but failing to make the slightest difference to proceedings; Rafael appearing to have regressed a good two years; Juan Mata running forlornly around in an attempt to get involved; Nemanja Vidic looking every bit his age and then some; I could go on.
Players out of position, beaten to every ball, huffing and puffing as their opposite numbers literally ran rings, or rather triangles, around them, were humiliated at every turn. It was like seeing a once-great athlete reduced to a flabby, wheezing mess.
It gets more staggering by the day that David Moyes remains in his post. Fans are left wondering just how many more abject displays like this we will be subjected to and it is unimaginable that the atmosphere will not become poisonous at some point in the very near future.
There are no signs of progress, no redeeming features and the Scot, having lost the players, has now also lost the crowd.
His pathetic pre and post-match platitudes offer no inspiration. Imagine if Winston Churchill had spoken so insipidly:
"Hopefully we shall fight on the beaches, hopefully we shall fight on the landing grounds...."
Hopefully, hopefully, hopefully; try, try, try. It simply isn't good enough.
Manchester United fans have shown great patience since David Moyes succeeded Sir Alex Ferguson, last summer. That patience, however, has run out. The rousing cauldron of noise that reverberated around Old Trafford for the final twenty minutes, on Sunday, was a show of love for the club, not support for the man on the touchline, and it disguised the bubbling undercurrent of discontent that is rising from the depths.
Manchester United fans want change and they want it now.
Follow Paul on Twitter, @PaulGunning1