THE voice of the people is the voice of God, as the Latin proverb says.
A voice that echoed around on Sunday afternoon.
Not directed at boss , even if he is the next and certain fall guy.
Carrick, they know, is little more than a supporting actor, reading from a flawed and shaky script.
That was why he was applauded through the pain and evident anguish at his own inability to galvanise the players under his command.
It is the top of the castlist, the star turns, the director and producer who are really to blame.
Those United fans who turned their ire at the players under Carrick’s command, especially Bruno Fernandes, along with , the Glazers and the rest of the cowering suits, during the Bournemouth debacle were identifying the true scope of the unfolding chaos.
No matter who comes in next, unless there are genuine, substantive, structural changes, nothing will alter, except for the worse.
United were once an ocean liner of a club.
The pride of the fleet. Gleaming, pristine, shining. A beacon of stability and calm, certain reassurance.
Now, more like a rusting hulk, the leaks through the Old Trafford roof are a spectacular and searing indictment, the very embodiment of collective failure.
That listing craft is now caught in the football doldrums. No momentum. No sense of direction. Without a tiller. Blown by the prevailing winds.
Club legends refer to the “United DNA” — a blueprint of excellence.
We all knew what it meant, from the top down.
A board that identified issues and solutions. Run by real football men, like David Gill, whose connection with the club ran deep.
Determination and a siege mentality, yes. We all saw that. Heard it. Felt it.
But vibrant, thrilling, attacking football based on a solid, gnarly, take-no-prisoners approach to defending.
The Fergie model, the one he brought with him from Aberdeen and instilled in every United crevice, was simple, at least in that regard.
To steal from another 1986 release, you’ve gotta fight for your right to party.
Yet at the same time, faith in backing players, kids, who knew what United meant.
Who got that fervour, desire, sense of purpose. And who knew who the gaffer was.
Fast forward to 2026, more than a decade since the ‘Godfather’ passed on the reins of command, and United are a different animal, completely.
And none of it in a good way. On the pitch, it is hard to say what the plan is.
That is not entirely Carrick’s fault, of course. But he is complicit.
If a team is reluctant to run, and the manager doesn’t try to change that, it’s on him when, surprise, surprise, opponents run his team into the ground.
Likewise, switching shapes, asking the captain to play central, then right, then left, in a desperate, fumbling attempt to find a way out of the darkness was hardly likely to end with a positive solution, even if Fernandes then turning on the manager so publicly was more unexpected.
The shock on Sunday wasn’t that Bournemouth won 3-0.
It was that it was ONLY 3-0 and that it took them more than half an hour to turn their total superiority into an advantage on the scoreline.
As for that long-lost defensive resilience, it’s not so much ‘take no prisoners’ as jailers handing the inmates the keys to their cells and letting them walk away.
What hurt the United fans so much on Sunday, as it has done increasingly in recent weeks, was that none of them raged against the dying of the light.
They accepted defeat, meekly. Just another loss. No big deal. We’re used to that. It happens.
In the directors’ box, a modern-day Statler and Waldorf, digging out The Muppet Show they have just watched yet seemingly refusing to recognise their part in the failed production.
Chief executive Omar Berrada is very good at shaking his head. Actually running the club? Not so much.
As for sporting director Jason Wilcox, he is supposed to be responsible for recruitment.
Recruitment that has given Carrick no left-back cover for , a porous defensive line, no legs in the middle of the park and just the one, injured, centre-forward. Enough said.
But, as the fans made abundantly clear on Sunday, it goes higher than that.
Ratcliffe’s promise to end what he described as years of “complete misery” was a United that “needs to do things well, properly and thoroughly”.
He added: “What we need are the foundations to be in a good place to be successful.
“That means the right organisational structure.
Then populate the key roles with people who are best in class, ten out of tens, to get back to the top of the pyramid.”
That pyramid summit seems even further away, not closer.
Who are these “best in class” people? Berrada? Wilcox? Really?
It all means that whoever picks up the pieces has a huge task on their hands.
Not that it will stop someone wanting it, with and the current frontrunners.
Ex-Newcastle boss Howe, ready to come back after three months off, represents a safety valve appointment.
“He will not throw his toys out of the pram and offers calmness.
Nagelsmann, ejected by Germany after another World Cup to forget, has been tempted by England before.
Yet at both Bayern Munich and Die Mannschaft, came friction and eventual fallout.
As for others, Brighton’s and former Chelsea boss Antonio Conte — who would guarantee an immediate impact.
But then, sure as night follows day, blow up the entire club on his way out of the building — have distanced themselves.
Aston Villa chief would require a degree of control the current United hierarchy are unlikely to grant.
Yet it is difficult to see any appointment as more than a temporary sticking plaster covering over a gaping, poisonous wound.
United are a mess. Shuffling the deckchairs when the winds are blowing the ship towards the iceberg will not help. It is now looming ever closer.
