After the storm: Manchester United’s season ends, but the love remains

"First of all, I want to apologise for this season," he said. "I know you are really disappointed with me and with the team. I want to say thank you. We are very grateful for your support during the season, and I know that it’s been hard. I know it was hard to support us in many games but now we have to make a choice or we stay stuck in the past because this season is in the past, it’s over.”

"We fight each other, or we stick together and move forward. Six months ago, in my first three games in charge, with two victories and one draw, I said to you the storm is coming.

"Today, after this disastrous season, I want to tell you the good days are coming. If there is one club in the world that proves in the past that it can overcome any situation, any disaster, it’s our club, it’s Manchester United Football Club.

"Now I want to say sorry also to my players, sometimes I was not fair, but I always try to be honest with you. Thanks very much, see you next season."

Those were Ruben Amorim’s words at Old Trafford, a raw, heartfelt farewell that echoed into the chilly Manchester night like a hymn for a broken congregation. And as fans stood there, arms crossed, scarf clutched tight to their throat,every Manchester Unitedfan felt somethingtheyhadn’t felt in years—not hope, not anger, but something deeper. A love so fierce it hurts.

For those of us who have bled red for decades, who grew up under the towering shadow of Sir Alex Ferguson’s reign, this season—like so many before—felt like a cruel rerun of a bad dream. A season of dashed hopes, of mediocrity dressed up as transition, of excuses and empty promises.

But let’s rewind.

When Sir Alex retired in 2013, he left behind not just a team, but an empire. Thirteen Premier League titles. Two Champions League trophies. Countless domestic cups. More than the silverware, he left behind a legacy of resilience, of passion, of never-say-die spirit. But what was Manchester United after Sir Alex?

It was confusion. It was chaos. It was David Moyes, handpicked as the chosen one, yet devoured by the pressure of filling shoes too big for anyone. It was Louis van Gaal’s tactical rigidity and endless philosophy talk, crowned by an FA Cup but devoid of soul.

It was José Mourinho’s bitter pragmatism, a Europa League here, a League Cup there, but ultimately a dressing room split and a fanbase divided. It was Ole Gunnar Solskjaer, the baby-faced assassin trying to recreate past glories with smiles and nostalgia but lacking the steel to truly rebuild.

And now, it was Ruben Amorim. A coach who arrived with a swagger, a belief, and—briefly—a spark. His high-pressing game excited us; his insistence on youth over marquee signings gave us hope. But football, like life, is cruel.

This season, 2024-2025, will be remembered not for the magic, but for the frustration. For the repeated defensive frailties, the lack of midfield control, the inability to convert dominance into goals.

For the injuries—oh, the injuries!—to key players, the late collapses, the painful defeats at home and away. For the persistent gap between us and the likes of Manchester City, Liverpool, even Aston Villa.

For a club that once set the standard for English football, this decade has been a lesson in humility. We have become a club caught between nostalgia and necessity, between the ghosts of our past and the hard truths of our present.

The Glazer ownership saga has left scars that no amount of signings or rebrands can heal. The sporting structure has often felt reactive rather than visionary.

But—and this is where Ruben’s words hit me hardest—being a United fan isn’t about winning all the time. It’s about believing when it’s hardest. It’s about that knot in your stomach before kickoff, that lump in your throat when the Stretford End roars. It’s about singing “Glory Glory Man United” at the top of your lungs even when we’re 3-0 down.

Yes, I’m angry. Angry at the board, at the mismanagement, at the players who didn’t fight hard enough. I’m angry at the false dawns, the promises of “next season” that turned into more disappointment. I’m angry that I don’t recognize this team as the fearless, relentless United I grew up with.

But I’m not leaving.

Because love isn’t about walking away when things get tough. Love is staying through the heartbreak, the mediocrity, the embarrassment. Love is wearing the badge even when it feels heavy.

What does the future hold? Maybe a new manager, a rebuild—again. Maybe a fresh start for the academy kids, a return to basics. Or maybe more of the same. I don’t know. What I do know is that this club—my club—isn’t just a football team. It’s history. It’s identity. It’s family.

So, to Ruben Amorim—thank you. Not for the results, but for reminding us that Manchester United is more than silverware. It’s about us. The fans who fill Old Trafford, who chant in away ends, who argue in pubs and cry in the car park.

To the players—you let us down. But we’ll be here next season, cheering you on, because that’s what we do.

And to Manchester United itself—my beloved club—I’m angry at you, but that doesn’t mean I stop loving you.

I’ll see you in August.

(Disclaimer: The views of the writer do not represent the views of WION or ZMCL. Nor does WION or ZMCL endorse the views of the writer.)