When Morrissey declared that he had forgiven Jesus, he was criticised by some for daring to suggest that could possibly be necessary. In similar vein, there’ll doubtless be plenty who’ll criticise me when I say that I haven’t, and will never, forgive Fergie.

Even though I’ve spoken them hundreds of times over the last four years, those are words that never flow easily. When the bible is read in synagogues, it’s sung according to a melody known as the trup, with each word marked by a particular note - one of which, the shalshelet, appears only five times in the entire Torah. It’s use is to indicate a pause, whilst its subject suffers the agonising turmoil of what’s termed a sin against the soul - when Joseph rejects the advances of Potiphar’s outrageously attractive wife, for example. And that’s how it feels to despise the man responsible for a reality so inconceivable that even Joseph himself couldn’t have dreamt it.

That heroes always let you down is a cliché for a reason, but even so, you’d have thought that Fergie had racked up sufficient credit to remain one forever. Although Busby status became unobtainable following the unsued-upon allegations made by eminent United historian Michael Crick, via the BBC’s Panorama programme, those purported indiscretions are dwarfed by achievements that won him significant slack. However his ushering in of the takeover reeled it all in and then some, imperilling the club in a way that was not only unacceptable but entirely avoidable.

Rewind to early 2005 and things looked a little different, even though horse semen and money appeared to have become more important than the famous Man United, evidenced not just through the dispute over Rock of Gibraltar, but the disgusting signings and performances that defined that period. Yet even then, and as the song goes, every single one of us still loved Alex Ferguson; not as blindly as before, but nonetheless with devotion. A hefty part of the reason why was the following quotation, dated November 2004:

"There's a stronger rapport between the club and the fans than there's ever been. We are both of a common denominator; we don't want the club to be in anyone else's hands. That is the way that the club stands with that. I support that."

Fairly categorical, you might think, and indeed it was - until it wasn't. Some might say that Fergie had no choice but to renege on his word because his job became dependent on it, but I'm not having that; had he clearly stated a refusal to work with the Glazers, the banks would never have lent them the money. But at the same time, he'd have known that the Glazers needed him more than the plc, so he stayed silent to protect his own position, already more heavily fortified than a man with a hip flask full of malt and a packet full of Nik Naks. And supporters have been paying for it, financially and emotionally, ever since.

Yes, there's plenty the authorities could have done, and yes, David Gill could have kept his word too, but we never expected we could rely on them. Fergie, on the other hand, was one of us, the proudly socialist man of the people who promised never to forget his roots, nor the backing he was given by United's support in his ridiculous dispute with Coolmore.

Fast forward a few months to August 2005, and United were in Budapest to play Debrecen. Happening upon the official party at the airport, a disgruntled fan took issue with Fergie over the takeover. The club's official website reports that the following was said:

Fan: "You've f***** us over too, you could've spoken out about it."
Sir Alex: "I've got close friends who've been working with me here for 15 years. They come first in all of this."
Fan: "So don't the fans come first?"
Fergie: "Well I suppose they do come somewhere."
Fan: "You what? That's well out of order."
Sir Alex: "If you don't like it, go and watch Chelsea."
Fan: "The fans have been screwed right over. It costs me over £20 a game as it is."
Sir Alex: "It costs more than that at Chelsea - go and watch them."

In one short conversation, a legacy two decades years in the building, not just tarnished, but forever buried under a mountain of turds. Despite the pompous pontifications in his autobiography, to Fergie football is evidently not about more than on-pitch accomplishment; identity, community and belonging are insignificant when compared to the needs of his little coterie, which the cynical might claim is comprised of but one person.

So it is that blame for anything going wrong can be legitimately attributed to him. Lose at home to Leeds? Well if Fergie had spoken out, you can be sure there'd have been a better striker on the bench than Michael Owen, who has missed a quite remarkable number of chances since he began infesting the club with his presence. This week, Owen was advised that to galvanise his career, he should address matters of feng shui – by Geoff Boycott of all people, not exactly renowned for the lightness of his touch, shall we say. Anyway, although I can't comment about the positioning of the furniture in Owen's mansion, United's squad would certainly look more centred and aesthetic without him in it.

Notwithstanding Fergie's duplicity, the eleven he selected ought to have been more than capable of disposing of Dirty Leeds, well though they played. Vidic pulling out in the warm up wasn't helpful – according to the ever-insightful Mike Phelan, "there was something wrong with his body" – but it was reasonable to expect better from Wes Brown, who endured one of the periodic nightmares that reminded everyone why he was displaced by Vidic in the first place.

Talking of Phelan, one can only wonder how on earth he has risen to become Fergie's number two (and yes, there's a childish joke there).

With the manager an infrequent training ground presence, and renowned neither as coach nor tactician, it would be handy if the person charged with so doing was properly qualified, rather than happening to be around when the previous incumbent left. Carlos Queiroz certainly wasn't everyone's favourite, often blamed for an unnecessarily conservative approach, but at least while he was around, the team defended properly, and it's hard to think of any players who have improved significantly since he left.

Perhaps the major difference between this United squad and those of recent years is the number of players able to make the crucial difference when things aren't going well. This season, only Berbatov, Giggs and Rooney have proved themselves in that category, whereas in the past, there've been a few on the pitch, with a few more waiting on the bench. It's now twice that chasing a goal, Gibson has either been left on or brought on, in forlorn hope that he belts one in from distance, the kind of quiet desperation that is really not the United way.

All in all, there've been better weeks to be a Red - with the press finally noticing what anyone with a brain could see in 2005, reminders of the of the debt and the future it promises are everywhere. Luckily, amusement lurks in the usual places, so thanks more than ever to Jamie Carragher and Manchester City. The former, interviewed following Liverpool's draw with Reading came up with this:

"I've been to Cardiff a few times but I'd love to get to Wembley. My son is six or seven years old and I'd love to take him to Wembley to watch Liverpool".

Not having kids, I confess to being slightly out of my element here, but after conducting a straw poll amongst friends who do, I can reveal that not a single one was stumped by the age of their offspring.

Meanwhile, now that City's buy-all-the-domestic-players-not-good-enough-for-the-best-teams plan has failed, they're pursuing the buy-once-great-now-hasbeens route. Rejected by Juan Sebastian Veron, despite Mancini informing us that "all the players want to join Manchester City", instead they've signed Patrick Vieira, who didn't even offer the usual massive club bluster, simply admitting that he needs first-team football if he's to play in the World Cup. No doubt when this policy doesn't work either, it'll be followed by the buy-anyone-young-who-once-had-a-good-game approach.

Still, with the money that City now have, a trophy of some sort will probably arrive at some point, but even when it does, it'll be utterly meaningless. There's a difference between wealth a club has earned on its own merits, and wealth it's been donated like some sort of charity case; it renders any subsequent success as plastic as Eastlands' famous empty seats. And for anyone pointing out that United now have those too, you know exactly who to blame.