Alious
If Manchester United fans needed a metaphor for their season, it arrived just seconds into the second half at Old Trafford—when Chido Obi was sent to warm up before a ball had even been kicked. That subtle but telling gesture summed up everything: a team devoid of urgency, ambition, or belief that their current XI could turn things around. It wasn’t just tactical. It was symbolic. United have hit rock bottom—and they seem content to sit there.
In a match dripping with post-European hangover, United fell to their **15th league defeat** of the season, slumping to **14th place**, a position that mirrors their overall malaise more than it insults it. The Old Trafford faithful were still high on Thursday night’s Bilbao-bound euphoria, but the comedown hit hard, and it hit early.
The decision to hand the captain’s armband to **Victor Lindelöf**, a player with one foot out of the starting XI on most days, set a dismal tone. With **Bruno Fernandes** benched and Luke Shaw nowhere to be seen, Ruben Amorim’s selection felt less like rotation and more like resignation. Lindelöf’s appointment was a stark reminder of how far standards have dropped since Sir Alex Ferguson ruled the roost.
The visitors, **Wolves**, showed more hunger, more grit, and more identity—traits that used to define United but now serve as a mirror for what they’ve lost. The goal from Pablo Sarabia was stunning, yes, but it was also inevitable. United looked like a side that believed safety from relegation meant freedom from responsibility.
Even the emergence of bright young talent like **Tyler Fredricson** and **Harry Amass**—cheered for their tackles more than any attacking flair—felt like the club was clinging to romanticism rather than revolution. These are talented players, no doubt, but they are being thrown into chaos and expected to swim when the senior leaders have long since let the tide carry them out to sea.
Up front, **Rasmus Højlund** continues to prove he’s all heart but little bite. His one goal in 28 appearances is no longer a blip—it’s a crisis. Across the pitch, **Jørgen Strand Larsen**, his Wolves counterpart, looked sharper, more clinical, and ironically more “United” in his purpose than anything the hosts mustered.
Supporters didn’t hold back either. The **banners in front of the directors’ box** spoke louder than the team did: *“Tourists over fans,” “Save our seats,”* and a damning *“You know the price of everything and the value of nothing,”* aimed squarely at **Sir Jim Ratcliffe**, who was once again absent.
This isn’t just a bad run. This is cultural rot. For the first time since the early 60s, United have suffered **eight league defeats at Old Trafford**. They haven’t hit the 40-point mark yet—and only **Ipswich Town’s** loss elsewhere kept the word “relegation” from escaping more mouths.
Make no mistake, this was more than just another dull defeat. It was a 90-minute diagnosis of a footballing giant that’s lost its pulse. And while supporters chant about **Bilbao** and cling to nostalgia, what’s happening on the pitch might just be the beginning of something far worse than a lost season. It could be the end of United as we knew them.
Alious
