Faith no more; Moyes must go.
When we were annihilated in our own home by City it was painful but I took comfort in the freakish nature of the result. Yes it was embarrassing, but bad days happen and we had shown frequently before that we had a good team and a great manager. We would suck it up and move on. As we did in 1996 when Phillipe Albert crowned a five goal demolition on Tyneside with an improbably delicious chip – even if it we had to endure a sobering lesson at The Dell in addition. Even when our most hated rivals ran riot five years ago climaxing in their captain reaching second base with a camera we knew not to worry – they could enjoy their moment but we were better.
Today was different. The sharp arresting pain of the unexpected was replaced with the dull ache of the inevitable. For the first time in my thirty years on this earth I felt that victory over Liverpool at Old Trafford was the least likely outcome. No logical argument could be made against their superiority if not in talent then certainly performance. A reality my Dad suffered for two decades but for me was a deeply unpleasant new experience. Hours before the game Hope sprung from the wonderful optimists. They couldn’t explain it but they felt something good was coming. I didn’t.
As each goal went in I felt like a a slowly deflating balloon. Liverpool are a good side but they were made to look like they were on a different level to us. Us with our £300k a week star player. Us with our freshly recruited most creative talent in the division. Us with the most prolific striker in the last two seasons. Us with our team of champions.
Us with our gaping wide holes ushering through our visitors like accommodating hosts. Us with our overwhelmed midfield pair and full backs gasping for air. Us with our world class playmaker treated as an afterthought stuck out on the wing. Us with our star player unable to control a ball, firing Hollywood balls in a manner we once derided our opposing captain for. No derision today – only envy. The player we love to bait even spared us the ignominy of a hat-trick. Us with our solitary strike on goal.
From the opening minutes it was apparent to all that we were set up wrong. He has to change it, surely he will change it? The soundtrack to the game was our most famous hater of scousers imploring, begging, pleading for a our boss to change. It didn’t come.
He wouldn’t change it. He couldn’t change it. We should change him. This great football club and its wonderful fans deserve better.