It is difficult to make sense of the transformation of Manchester United since David Moyes took over from Sir Alex Ferguson in July 2013. Once a formidable force capable of destroying any opponent in its path, under Moyes, United have become a timid shadow of the side they once were, a fact which became abundantly clear after the 0-3 humiliation at Old Trafford at the hands of fierce rivals Liverpool. Despite a recent recovery of form against Olympiakos and West Ham United, the Red Devils still seem strangely subdued, and recent reports emerging from the club of the likes of Rio Ferdinand and Michael Carrick being told what Phil Jagielka or Leon Osman might do is nothing short of bizarre. While it would perhaps be a stretch to describe United’s extraordinary demise as Kafkaesque, it is worth deconstructing some of the major moments of Moyes’ tenure alongside the opening passage of the forefather of exsistentialism’s most famous work, Metamorphosis. While firmly tongue in cheek, some of the similarities, given a little imagination on the part of the reader, are truly remarkable. Enjoy the read, and please don’t take it too seriously!





“When Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from troubled dreams, he found himself changed into a monstrous cockroach.”

When David Moyes awoke on the morning of July 1st 2013, he found Manchester United, once a team feared and loved in equal measure across the land, had transformed into a hideously lethargic cockroach.

“However vigorously he flung himself to his right, he kept rocking on to his back.”

When difficulties first arose at Old Trafford, it seemed as if no matter what he tried, Moyes’ United kept rocking onto their back, legs flailing frenetically and helplessly in the air as their main title rivals started to open a gap on the champions.

“If only I didn’t have to follow such an exhausting profession!”

As United’s woes mounted, supporters, players and management alike begin to realise that perhaps success in football as it had seemed to be during Sir Alex Ferguson’s historic tenure. Moyes started to age horribly, wearing the haunted expression of a man under the weight of history.

“He would have needed arms and hands with which to get up; instead of which all he had were those numerous little legs, forever in varied movement, and evidently not under his control.”

With scrutiny now growing on the work Moyes was doing to try and get Manchester United out of bed, it soon became apparent that a fully fit and functioning partnership between Wayne Rooney and Robin Van Persie was essential if United were to once again function as they were supposed to. Instead, the numerous little legs of his bewildered and disjointed side, particularly those of Rooney and Van Persie, were flailing forever in varied movement, evidently not under Moyes’ control.

“At first he thought he would get out of bed bottom half first, but this bottom half of himself, which he had yet to see, and as to whose specifications he was perfectly ignorant, turned out to be not very manoeuvrable; progress was slow; and when at last, almost in fury, he pushed down with all his strength, he misjudged the direction, and collided with the lower bedpost.”

Having acknowledged the transformation of Manchester United into this monstrous cockroach, Moyes decided the best course of action for getting the club out of bed was with the support of the club’s loyal fanbase. But having only witnessed these fans giddy and impressionable, fed on a diet of success, he now found them to be distant, unfamiliar and far less manoeuvrable and supportive than he thought them to be. When in the near fury of the Liverpool defeat the support were galvanised, and provided Moyes with the support and movement he needed, Moyes made a misjudgement, collided with the figurative bedpost and declared that United, even in their present state were capable of not only escaping their present torment, but also able to exploit the ‘weaknesses’ of an apparently invincible Bayern Munich side.

“He didn’t forget to remind himself periodically that clarity and calm were better than the counsels of despair. At such moments, he levelled his gaze as sharply as possible at the window, but unfortunately there was little solace or encouragement to be drawn from the sight of the morning fog, which was thick enough to obscure even the opposite side of the street. ’Seven o’clock already,’ he said to himself as his alarm clock struck another quarter, ‘seven o’clock already, and still such dense fog.’ And he lay there for a little while longer, panting gently, as though perhaps expecting that silence would restore the natural order of things.”

Despite what was beginning to look like an eternal struggle, Moyes was aware that it was better to stay calm and clear of mind in order to fully comprehend and finally overcome the predicament his club had found itself in. Wallowing in the depths of despair would do nothing to end his torment. In his search for clarity, Moyes gazed out of the window, hoping to at least revel in the woes of Liverpool and Manchester City as they lurch from disaster to unlikely disaster. Only today, Moyes found his view obscured by the thick fog of pessimism outside his window. Moyes was astonished. It was late March and his team still hadn’t shown any real signs of becoming what it had been before that fateful morning.