If Jose really loves Fergie, he will end the agony today

It will not happen. This team is finished. And the sooner United and Ferguson get the message, the better.

For the past four years, ever since they lost the Premiership to Arsenal in 2002, this United team have been living on borrowed time. That was the season Ferguson chose to first announce his retirement; he should have gone then (if not immediately after the Treble).

The immediate impact of his decision, later retracted, was to send the team into freefall and hand the title to Arsenal. The malaise continued into the next season till a superhuman effort by Ferguson and an injury-hit team — inspired by Ruud van Nistelrooy and the unlikely Phil Neville — derailed Arsenal.

Once again, Fergie walked on water.

‘We’ve got our trophy back’ said the T-shirts but they didn’t add the rider: We know it’s only a short stay. Sure enough, Arsenal’s Unbeatables came back to win it in 2004 and Chelsea the next season; United couldn’t even finish second in either season.

This season has begun on a disastrous note for United and there’s a different phenomenon at work. It’s not that Wigan and Bolton are placed higher in the table. It’s the loss of the fear factor.

Once the sight of the team-sheet alone was enough to scare United’s opponents, worth maybe a goal or two headstart. Now the teams come to Old Trafford like carrion in the bush, circling over a lion in winter. They wait for their chance, they know it’s going to come sooner rather than later. And it usually does.

You can’t blame them. Look at their opposition: the young stars — Fletcher, Park, Smith, Richardson — wouldn’t have found a place on the subs’ bench two years ago. Those in their prime — Ferdinand, Van Nistelrooy — have clearly lost their bite. And there are far too many veterans for comfort.

Even Arsenal inspire more fear, especially when they have Henry in the side.

This team is riding on the immense talent of Rooney, the maddeningly inconsistent Ronaldo, the shot-stopping of Van Der Sar and whatever momentum is left from the glory years. You can’t even beat Spurs with that line-up, forget about taking on Europe.

United’s problem is summed up by Chelsea’s midfield: Robben, Duff and Essien could all have been wearing red instead of blue but saw the signs of decline.

In the cut-throat world of competitive sport, the signal to quit is when rivals sympathise with you on your defeat. The sportsman feeds on the reactions he provokes, positive or negative; he seeks a fist, clenched either in anger or support, not an arm draped over the shoulder in commiseration.

This team, and its manager, have a metaphoric arm draped over their shoulders. Nobody likes to see a champion go down; think of Ali, think of the proud West Indies, think of Borg and that sad comeback in 1991.

Nobody wants to see Alex Ferguson cornered, outwitted, beaten. Yet football is an unforgiving sport; it will happen to him because he cannot let go. And all the trophies he has won, all the fame he has earned, even his $8 million annual salary, will be worth nothing.

Alright, let me amend my opening statement. Maybe I don’t want United to lose. Maybe all I really want is for Ferguson to go out with his head held high. But something tells me Jose Mourinho has other plans. Maybe because, like many of us, he too is a Ferguson fan.