Iturns out Ruben Amorim was able to withstand defeat by lower-league opposition. He weathered an important continental showpiece versus one of the worst Tottenham teams in living memory. He withstood losing at home to domestic rivals, a lowly league position, an unwavering system, squandering the team's most promising homegrown talent, a poor winning percentage, labeling the squad the poorest in Manchester United history. But there was one adversary with whom Ruben Amorim would not be allowed to tango. If you challenge the sporting director, you had better succeed.
Unfortunately, similar to numerous top-flight right-back in Blackburn’s title-winning 1994-95 season, the coach came at Jason Wilcox and seems to have missed. Even the most distracted of readers will notice the irony here: a manager who frequently berated his squad for failing in individual battles succumbing in the face of the white heat and animal charisma of a the Premier League’s most intimidating football executives.
And frankly, this entire painful saga seems to paint the director in a different perspective. It may have been easy, given his brief stint of experience with the Saints, to regard Jason Wilcox as little more than a drudge in the United exoskeleton: a man whose appointment was due as much to his close relationship with ex-colleague Omar Berrada rather than any demonstrable skill. How mistaken everyone was. In brilliantly outmanoeuvring United’s feted manager, just as he bested the hapless a previous executive before him, he has demonstrated as one of football's true generals: a strategic mind that United’s competitors will now be rightly wary.
For example, this was the director who having been part of the hierarchy that appointed the 3-4-3 fundamentalist the coach in the first place, was instrumental in attempting to convince Amorim to abandon his beloved formation. Naturally, these entreaties were resisted. However, these judgements carry more weight when issued from the mouth of a man the impeccable football pedigree he possesses, holder of international appearances and a role in a title-winning side from 31 years ago.
Perhaps in time Jason Wilcox may be persuaded to outline his reasoning to the rest of us. Perhaps at some point questions may arise regarding why the coach is departing with a full payout, with no compensation reduction clause activated. But Jason Wilcox speaks rarely publicly, for excellent reasons. The real thinkers of this sport – individuals such as Jason Wilcox – function on a plane beyond our own prosaic understanding. Were he to speak, most likely we would perceive would be ultrasonic blips and complex calculations. Desiring an explanation is not quite equivalent to being prepared to receive.
Naturally, by focusing our attention on Jason Wilcox we are obscuring the true genius behind the modern United throne. The director is, in reality, simply carrying out the directives of his superior Sir Jim Ratcliffe, who privately has made very clear his desire for a four-man defense. According to reports, Ratcliffe has also suggested deploying the forward as a right wing-back. The owner is eager for the club to adopt analytics and analytics. According to ESPN, in an executive meeting soon after his minority ownership, he announced that the team's approach of play “will be determined by this group”.
After all, Ratcliffe is a specialist in these intricate football matters, drawing from his previous experience in petrochemicals and yachting. Above all he remains incredibly rich, and it is known, the wealthy are superior: more perceptive, more wise, more tactically astute, fundamentally superior. Who else would you trust to manage an enlightened programme of austerity, the building of a new stadium that looks a lot like someone’s leftover knitting, the acquisition of a new striker?
This is a trend that is becoming prevalent at the elite levels of the game. Historically, clubs foolishly entrusted big footballing decisions to subordinate staff such as coaches, scouts – players themselves. Perhaps it was once feasible for a young, innovative manager with a philosophy and energy to go into a club and see their vision through to completion. But how many companies have these guys established? How many mass redundancies have they overseen? Better by far to place genuine authority where it rightly belongs: the executive class, the casually dressed executives, the guys with impressive LinkedIn profiles. Better by far to determine the tactics in the boardroom and appoint someone who will adapt their methods to suit. If managers were once chefs, they are now more like delivery personnel: not responsible for the product, but still finally accountable should it be delivered cold or leaks out of the box.
Nowadays, a coach's role is increasingly less about crafting the philosophy and more about marketing it: the front-facing representative on the front desk, the public face for a club they can do little to change. Enzo Maresca takes a squad of literal children into Europe and secures domestic cups, and essentially is dismissed for talking. Wilfried Nancy finds his standing damaged whereas those individuals who hired him continue to make errors indefinitely.
And perhaps on some microcosmic level this represents neoliberalism at work: the rise of a privileged overclass who can never be wrong, whose choices are always sacrosanct, whose mistakes can always be resolved by sacking without justification. Appoint the system coach and then dismiss them for using excessively 3-4-3. Bring in the process guy and then bin him for requiring excessive time. And above all show gratitude; for the incremental season ticket price rises, for your new player acquisitions, for the reality that the adults – however well qualified – remain in control.
