In January 2014 the 13th series of Celebrity Big Brother aired in the UK, the show so popular that its run time was extended by five days before a public vote anointed Jim Davidson the winner. Then, two years later when Brexit happened, people wondered where their tolerant country had gone, lamenting the ephemeral spirit of London 2012 as though the 2011 riots were some kind of fever dream, not a desperate response to decades of structural and institutional racism exacerbated by the cruelty of unnecessary austerity. The truth is that if security is quickly upended, it was built on quicksand to begin with.
Which brings us to Manchester United, easing effortlessly from an uplifting third-place finish to some of the worst football in their history. It is entirely possible that Alex Ferguson made a deal with the devil to the effect that United would be great until he retired and hilariously dreadful thereafter. But assuming not, his l’état, c’est moi mentality was busy setting up the post-him fall even at the height of the success – itself a consequence of what had gone before.
A day after the Munich air disaster, Louis Edwards – later a seller of condemned meat to schools – joined the board, eventually assuming control thanks to a dodgy rights issue. He bequeathed the club to Martin – his substellar son – who floated it for personal gain, turning an institution that sought to win, entertain and unify into a business legally compelled to return value to shareholders. This left United vulnerable to acquisition by anyone and, when Ferguson fell out with two directors – a horse, a horse, his kingdom for a horse’s ejaculate – they sold to the Glazers, who loaded the purchase price and accordant interest obligation on to the club, with government and football authorities waving through a move since outlawed.
Ferguson, meanwhile, must have feared exactly what the takeover would entail and known that without his support the banks might not have lent the money, while the chief executive David Gill admitted opposition to it but stayed in his role anyway, and so the pillaging began. The English game then exploded, with investment in United left available only to those of wealth so extreme it necessarily casts aspersions over their character – such as arch polluter and anti‑immigration zealot, Jim Ratcliffe. Proclaiming inaccurate and divisive rhetoric contrary to the inclusive, cosmopolitan spirit of Manchester and United, jobs were culled and fights picked with fans, Old Trafford’s most desirable seats socially cleansed so the club could sell them to day-trippers for astronomical prices, with longstanding supporters banned after trumped-up charges of touting – a deeply principled stance the club fails to apply to itself.
Not untypically for a billionaire, Ratcliffe seemingly believes that correct opinions reflect exchequer not expertise, giving himself final say on footballing decisions. And rather than the “best in class” executives he promised, his United operate according to what political analysts call the “Boris principle”, no‑marks in thrall to their own self‑image given jobs for which they lack the ability and character, the consequent chaos being effective sabotage. So the patterns continue: Champions League qualification is missed, insufficient funds are released; a new unsuitable manager spends heavily on players below requisite standard; Champions League qualification is achieved via unsustainably reactive style; the manager is denied necessary funds amounting to less than the bounty of Champions League qualification; the manager imposes a proactive style without the necessary materials; the manager is belatedly fired for a fee far exceeding that saved by cutting jobs; a new unsuitable manager, with entirely different requirements to his predecessor, is appointed; executive accountability is absent.
It is thus no surprise that Michael Carrick remains unfired, despite exuding the vibe of a man who’s mentally fired himself. Perhaps it’s a stay of execution, but more likely there’s bizarre hope of a turnaround, partly to save paying him off, partly because the relevant executives can’t achieve consensus on a replacement, and partly because surely even Omar Berrada and Jason Wilcox accept that, following another catastrophe, after dismissing Carrick they are honour-bound to dismiss themselves. Except they and United don’t work like that.
Extract — continue reading at the source.
