We begin our journey into the depths of United’s anti-Glazer underworld with a brief explanation of #UnfollowUnited for those of you who fall ill at the mere sight of a social media platform (or simply don’t care about the online presence of our players).
This movement is the most recent attempt by a valiant minority of the United fanbase to bring down the evil Glazer regime from the outside. Unfollowing the Twitter, Facebook and Instagram accounts of the club – in peaceful protest against the much-maligned American ownership. Its success or failure has yet to be determined. But there’s one thing we can be damned sure of – the thought of losing followers online must be a waking nightmare for the owners. One can only imagine how this rebellious and heroic uprising was conceived…
The tide had changed. Manchester United fans’ ire no longer could be pointed in the direction of the stony-faced, dour Portuguese on the touchline who had been ‘singlehandedly’ captaining the ship to wreck and ruin.
The time had come to decide who or what would now face the wrath of the Old Trafford faithful…
‘Could we attack the half-time pies? After all, they’re definitely too hot for human consumption.’
‘No, that won’t work – we need to think bigger.’
‘How about the phone reception in the ground? It’s like stepping back into the Neolithic Era on a matchday!’
‘No, not that either. Bigger! We need to hit them where it hurts.’
‘Could we go for whoever’s in charge of the God-awful music selection pre-match?’
‘No! Bigger!! We need to send a message, a real message…’ The gargantuan figure took a swig from his Fred the Red mug. Nobody knew for sure what The Boss was drinking, but rumours had abounded that it was always Casillero Del Diablo. ‘Hold on…Hold on a second…I think I’ve got it! I know what’ll really change things around here! Sit yourselves down boys, you’re not going to believe this.’
‘What is it boss? Tell us!’
‘We’ll attack the social media accounts! They’ll never see it coming!’
‘Err, boss, the social media accounts?’
‘It’s so obvious! Why didn’t I think of this before?! We’ll unfollow the social media accounts – that ought to scare the Glazers off in no time, they won’t know what’s hit them! Imagine the dent to revenue they’ll experience!’ The Boss switched off the television on the bare-brick wall of the Gang’s HQ, which blared out MUTV non-stop. Boss had never once missed his monthly payment.
‘Boys, get your phones out – prepare to unfollow. Ready? One, two, thr…’
‘*Cough* erm, but boss, didn’t the Glazers still run us in a similarly uncaring and vampiric way before United even joined social media?’
‘Get out… and don’t you ever darken my door again. Here, you can still take the damn Tag Heur watch I got you for your birthday. Lovely bit of kit, shame for it to go to waste.’
‘B-b-boss, won’t us unfollowing just be a drop in the ocean of millions of users they have in their thrall?’
‘Oh, ye of little faith! Imagine little ol’ Ed Woodward when he sees he’s lost the best part of two thousand followers! His pockets will be quaking with fear! You can leave and all, questioning my authority like that – the cheek! Oh, but I had been meaning to ask how those Apollo Tyres I had fitted for you are performing?’
‘Boss, seriously. This isn’t going to make a difference. They don’t care about the club! A few people unfollowing them isn’t going to change that!’
‘You,’ Boss replied with a look of hatred so strong it rivalled Sir Alex’s for balloons.
‘I always knew you would betray me. You barely ever use the Man Utd app! How could I have been so blind to your treachery? Get out of my sight at once! And for God’s sake turn that Deezer playlist up on your way out’.
Boss looked around, a broken man. His loyal team… disbanded. His new United shirt and matching Adidas tracksuit wore heavy on him. He turned to his last remaining disciple…
‘David, book me a holiday. I think I need one. We’ll continue to plot when I return… EasyJet?! You must be joking! You know I only fly Aeroflot!’