by Maybe Eminem was right. You only get one shot. Manchester United had just one of them at Craven Cottage, or at least just one on target, 78 minutes into this exercise in minimalism.
They didn’t have any corners either. No one really knows what key passes are, but they only did one. Even the only goal of the match had no assist, the ball given to Lisandro MartÃnez after a scuffle, prelude to MartÃnez hitting a powerful, deflected shot that veered into the net onto the palm of Bernd Leno.
Related: Lisandro MartÃnez’s lucky winner gives Manchester United victory at Fulham
As they say in cricket, it’s in the book. It really doesn’t matter how you get them. Ruben Amorim, you feel, would love the leave in cricket, loves to see the new ball en route to a 267-ball hundred. At the end of this tense, cranky, long-armed 1-0 defeat of an energetic Fulham, Amorim looked as content, relaxed and generally playful – he’s always a little playful – as at any time during his spell in England.
Basically, he really enjoyed it. A solid, tidy, unmarked 1-0 win. It’s a currency. It represents control, in an environment where there was none. United are still 12th in the league. There have already been fragile new Dawns, bogus renewals, turning points that turn on themselves. But it’s also rare to win a match like this, to win it while still winning. There is a kind of art.
United had an academy midfielder on the pitch at the end, Kobbie Mainoo and the eager, Tottem-ish Tobyer. The away fans were loudly happy. Even the way the manager realizes himself on his touchline, coiled up for an invisible threat, like a late-night taxi driver braving the main drag on a Saturday night, had settled in. This kind of night is exactly what Amorim is looking for right now.
This also seemed consistent with his recent comments. It seemed last week as if the United manager had stumbled upon an incredible new tactic. Amorim’s approach right now is essentially to deny its own players. Old Trafford? We are terrified of this place. Bad? We are the worst. And not just the worst. Worst ever. We are bad alpha.
This is in its own way just another type of exceptionalism. And there is of course an element of self-preservation in this. Amorim knows that there is a small window of opportunity to make this thing work, that his own career is still on the rise, that it is essential to make it abundantly clear that none of this chaos is actually about his fault. Better to fail grandly, with a plan and a smile.
This is perhaps best viewed as a background exercise. Break down the team to improve it. Take the pain short term. Drain the juices. Force an elite group of players to learn a new way mid-season. Like all other approaches, it will work as long as it works. And it did it here. At least, it is at the end.
Amorim’s approach right now is essentially to deny its own players. Old Trafford? We are terrified of this place. Bad? We are the worst. And not just the worst. Worst ever. We are bad alpha.
First of all, the Sunday night 7 p.m. kickoff was an abomination, a show of contempt for anyone with the nerve to try to support his team in the flesh. Who wants that? Not British television. Clearly not match fans. It is difficult to imagine a more troublesome and costly time. It’s not necessary. The league is already making a lot of money. More please. It’s not just another TV show.
It was also cold and wet. Nights like these cottage making, it feels like it’s actually in the Thames, like you’re playing a game on a storm-tossed Dickensian pier shrouded in fog and river mulch. And early United looked a little lost in their own patterns, a team remembering instructions. It was like watching an arthouse noir film, long sequences with little time but in a tense way.
United’s starting Xi still didn’t seem to have enough midfielders, with Bruno Fernandes the other half of the main pivot and Manuel Ugarte looking like he was being asked to cover too much space. Again: how to win when you’re not really working. This is what control can give you.
Rasmus Højlund spent most of the first half in a full body with Fulham Center’s backs, arms, legs, elbows, teetering on his feet, like a man trying to put a horse in wooden clothes complex in the dark. That’s not what he’s good at. What is he good at? Definitely not target stuff. He lost the ball eight times in the first half. He only had 17 touches.
André Onana also had another strange, and perhaps unique game, playing badly, beating and beating, continuing the general idea of ​​a corner, but managing to keep a clean sheet in a narrow 1-0 victory.
For long periods either side of half-time, Amad Diallo looked like the only red-chimmed player with any real hope or joy in his game. But United were solid here too, the miracle ingredient missing of late. There will be more pain along the way. Amorim will be able to talk about suffering again, which always encourages him. And in the end it looked like the most minimal and orderly one.
