After cantering away with the last four league titles with increasingly embarrassing ease, it seemed as if this season's Premiership would be a mere formality as United's all-conquering team aim to give their retiring manager a fitting season to remember. The theory that Fergie's last season in charge would be a mere procession on the domestic front was given further credence when the usually tight-fisted (urgh!) PLC board relaxed their vice-like grip on the Old Trafford war chest to add Ruud van Nisterooy and Juan Sebastian Veron to the galaxy of superstars already plying their trade at Old Trafford for a combined 30 million pounds; the fee for each player shattering the British transfer record much in the manner in which United usually obliterate their domestic rivals.

Yet, the transfer target that got away that summer would prove to be the most telling. French international defender Lillian Thuram was deemed, at 30 years of age, to be an unsound investment at 22 million pounds, even though any true Red would have readily acknowledged that it was United's back-line that was in most urgent need of fortification. What developed over the opening weeks of the new season would be the first melodrama to unfold over Old Trafford in this season of turmoil.

That United's defensive colossus Jaap Stam was sold should not come as too much of a surprise to those familiar with Fergie's ways. The Dutchman's controversial autobiography that was launched around the time of his sudden departure only led bewildered observers on a red herring chase. The merciless way in which Fergie dispensed himself of Stam's services had nothing to do with the affable No. 6's tell-all book; this much could be gleamed from Fergie's attempts to buy Thuram over the summer. Rather, hard as it is to swallow, the reasons that Fergie gave for the sale probably hold more than a grain of truth: that Stam is not the player that he was after his ankle cartilage operation (hello Owen, Saha and our own Indra Sadram!). Also, Stam has not developed into the leader of United's back-line, in the mould of Tony Adams, that Fergie had hoped for when he signed the 26 year-old Dutch international. Now, Fergie has realized that, at 30 years of age, Stam would at best be an effective man marker; nothing more, nothing less. United's star prodigy Wes Brown had learned all that he could from Stam, and a new tutor would be needed to elevate United's "best natural defender" to the next stage. So it's au revoir Stam, bienvenue Lauren Blanc!

Er... Lauren Blanc you say? THE Lauren Blanc who captained his France national team to the World Cup in 94 and European Championship in 96? But that's all in the last millennium, isn't it? Oh well, Fergie always liked his warriors vintage with age (hello Steve Bruce). Monsieur Blanc made a fine debut as well; cleverly shutting out Everton's self-styled "Bruise Brothers" Duncan Ferguson and Kevin Campbell when everyone was cynically expecting the physical strike partners to maul Blanc apart. It finally took Newcastle's Bobby Robson--- he of Barcelona and England fame--- to show the rest how to expose Blanc for the pedestrian that he is. That Bobby's weapon of choice against Blanc was the pacey but utterly talentless Craig Bellamy only further served to increase Blanc's shame as Newcastle ran out easy winners on the day. Still, Fergie has stubbornly stood by his team selection to this day, bringing unwanted memories of David "superstar" May's inglorious career as a right-back back to United fans everywhere. Well, you should remember if you're a real fan.

So, although the idea of supplementing Wes Brown with a perfect foil seemed a good one (actually, it is), the execution has so far left much to be desired. Stam's departure has given opposition teams a psychological boost; they now attack United with a genuine belief in their chances of violating United's once impregnable goal. The fear of Stam making clowns of them by manly brushing them aside in front of 55,000 mocking fans no longer exists. Even Wes Brown has stopped emulating his former teammate in that sense. He's taken to copying Gary (urgh!!!) Neville's open-mouthed ineptitude instead. And it's no better upfront, with Paul Scholes vividly uncomfortable with his new role operating behind van Nisterooy.

This has been United's worst start to the league calendar since 1990; the Red Devils currently lying in 6th position with an uncharacteristic three defeats already, five points behind leaders Leeds. Yet I'm secretly pleased at this turn of events, if only it would rid us of all the bandwagon jumpers who don't know their Warren Bartons from their John Beresfords. Let them pledge their undying support to Leeds'92, Arsenal, Liverpool, Blackburn, Newcastle, and Leeds'02 instead. Maybe we won't win the league again this season, with so much change destabilizing us, but for better or worse, we'll be United through and through.

United have never been perfect; we've had had to suffer fools since time began. This season has only seen us return true to form with the re-birth of Steve Bruce Mark II, a Bruce Grobbelar with a more severe hair loss problem in the ranks, and er... David May is still there as well. He shouldn't have complained about relinquishing his No.4 jersey to Veron, the silly boy. Now Fergie's handed him the dreaded No.14 cursed by the ghost of Kanchelskis. Jordi Cryuff, Andy Goram, and now David May... but Reds fans know what to expect from our resident Man City fan by now. You only have to look at his shameless attempt to appear in every photograph that glorious night in the Nou Camp in 99 to know that David "superstar" May knows no shame. He's lucky to get No.14. No.94 would have been more apt for a man of his inconsiderable talents.

After the 1-3 defeat to Liverpool at Anfield, Fergie remarked that maybe a few players had been at the club for too long and had lost their appetites. The current squad of athletes only need look at Fergie's former favorites to catch his drift. The portly likes of Neil Webb, Steve Bruce and Clayton Blackmore all had immeasurable appetites (for pies and cakes and other delightful cuisine, probably), and enjoyed longer runs in the first team than their talent warranted. So, if Dwight Yorke had any sense, he'd stop "eating all the right food" and gorge himself at the Red Cafe after every training session instead!