Oscar Wilde once joked that he was so clever, often he didn't understand a word of what he was saying, and he wasn't even speaking in Scottish. So imagine how hard it must be for poor Fergie to decode his complexities into a suitable football team; seeing something that others can't might be a hallmark of genius, but there's always the chance that you might just be seeing things.

Because football is a perfectly balanced game, its formations are an unsolvable riddle; add something in one place, lose something in another. Nonetheless, there's a reason no one plays 3-5-2 anymore, and why its most famous proponent also thinks that suffering is a punishment for sins in a previous life. But for some hallucinatory reason, Fergie decided it was the best way of lining up at Fulham, forcing players already in unfamiliar roles into an unfamiliar system - one that effectively ignores the four corners of the pitch, particularly disadvantageous for a team that aims to make the playing space as wide as possible.

With a squad shorn of defenders, not even the most inveterate of acid casualties would have deployed one of its best at wingback, but there Patrice Evra was, not even moved when things went wrong. Meanwhile, Darren Fletcher, whose drive in midfield was so sorely missed against Villa, toiled at the back to no avail.

According to the law of moments, an object is in equilibrium when the net force and net torque exerted upon it are zero. Unfortunately, at the very time he needs to do least, Fergie is pressing and twisting like a bodybuilding Vulcan, conned into believing his own omnipotence after getting away with it against West Ham and Wolfsburg.

In fact the Wolfsburg game was a triple punishment, resulting in yet another tedious trip to Milan, instead of one to Seville, as well as encouraging continued perseverance with the frankly execrable Michael Owen, about whom Fergie seems determined to be proved right. Notwithstanding the obvious exception, after which he should have been summarily binned on the basis that it could only get worse, he has contributed startlingly little, and not even for a single moment looked a footballer of United quality.

Although this continued at Fulham, he was in no way helped by the incompetence of those around him. Watching the highlights, I was no less shocked to hear the commentary say "and Scholes has lost the ball again" than I was observing it at the time, despite his waning powers. The last two games have also illustrated how important Giggs continues to be, who claimed this week that not to have noticed much difference since Ronaldo left; he must be eating more buttered toast than he's letting on.

Anyway, once Fulham scored, the game was effectively over - there was more chance of Godot turning up than a United goal. Expecting to see the players coming out for the second half dripping with tea and hoping that Fergie and Phelan had also chucked a few cups at each other, they instead trooped meekly out to concede again – you can only hope that the tanning machine reported to reside at Carrington does actually hand out tannings.

Whilst even the grizzliest car crash is strangely compelling, its footballing equivalent was anything but, United's show bereft of any redeeming quality whatsoever, other than the fact that it ended. All those involved should feel very ashamed indeed.

Luckily no one else has been good enough to take proper advantage, and although neither Chelsea nor Arsenal are mugs (or should that be mags?), it's fair to say that this year's champions will be the weakest in a while, whoever they turn out to be. Talking of Arsenal, their substitutes showed no shame in sitting on the bench at Hull wrapped in blankets, only marginally better than the furry animal outfits they're pictured in all over London; I wonder why opponents consider them such a soft touch.

Of course the principal joy of this time of the year is the PDC Darts World Championship, and we have number three seed James Wade to thank for furnishing us with the following anecdote, in an interview with the Daily Star.

"I was down in the local chemist in Cobham and this guy went to me, "All right, Wadey?" I thought it was someone trying to be a pest. I replied, "All right". He then texted my girlfriend with the message: "How rude is your boyfriend?""

"He" turned out to be John Terry, so please be forewarned; should he ever say hello to you, be sure to respond with requisite ecstasy. Terry was one of many players to turn down the ludicrously acquired coin of Manchester City, who this week dispensed with the services of Leslie Hughes.

It's sad that ten years of genuine heroism can be irreparably tarnished by an 18-month period, but it's fair to say that most United supporters will never look at him in the same way again; not just for going there, but because of the alacrity with which he embraced the delusion.

He may have been unlucky to lose his job, but knew what he was getting himself into and deserves criticism for the total lack of imagination in any of his signings. At first it seemed odd that Roberto Mancini was considered to be a definitively better option, his success in Italy predicated on the disqualification of the teams who were better than his, but then that's exactly what City are attempting by way of artificially-gained wealth.

And we must also be pleased Hughes failed so that we were not denied the breathtakingly mendacious arrogance of Garry Cook's press conference. Justifiably nailed by most sensible commentators already, all that remains is to chortle at his utter dislocation from reality. There really are too many highlights to list, but here are a few:

He began by pontificating that "the owner, chairman and myself all worked to give Mark any resources he required", but did not expand on his contribution to the exchequer of the Al Nahyan family; no doubt without him they'd be living in a Baniyas slum.

Cook then went on to claim that the club was "like any other business", before using almost every cliché in the book with which adults patronise children; I was almost expecting him to accuse the press of showing off and being overtired. After talking of "a process of change that we've all had to go through", he then majored on his "disappointment" – as though this was somehow chastising to one and all – before asserting that the matter was closed, simply because he said it was.

But even then, he wasn't done:

"What has made this club very angry is the misinterpretation of our statement. We are so incensed by the misinterpretation that we plan to re-issue the statement again [sic]".

Issue the statement again? By jove, that is quite some fury, so let that be a warning to the world; mess with City at your peril.