Sunday was one of the most heartbreaking days I’ve ever experienced at Old Trafford.
A lot has been said about Ole over the past 48 hours. I don’t necessarily think he’s the right man to take the squad that he’s built forward from this point, but I’ll always be incredibly grateful for what he’s done for us over the past 3 years. If this is the end, then I love him, and I’ll miss him.
I remember how I’d started falling out of love with football from 2014-18, how watching us play started feeling like a chore rather than something I looked forward to. Even when we were winning I was enjoying the results but not the 90 minutes leading to that point. The crowd were largely dead during the games because there was little to react to at times. The adventures of Woodward and the sponsors had overshadowed the footballing side entirely. It was an era of this clubs history I’d never, ever want to revisit even despite the odd trophy here and there. The apathy around the place was staggering.
Ole’s Man United made me fall in love again. The miracle of Paris, the high-scoring wins, the rise of Greenwood, the resurrection of Rashford, Shaw and Pogba, the wins on derby day, the rising noise of Old Trafford, the brief title challenge in lockdown when there was nothing else to look forward to, the hype around Bruno and Cavani, the rapid counterattacking goals, the euphoria of “Ronaldo day”. It was exciting, it was fun again. It was Manchester United again.
His song is true ... he made us happy when skies were grey ❤️