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Class is a funny notion when it comes to football, especially when attributed to a set of fans. It’s a description that’s nearly always self-appointed and rarely afforded to others. And as with any concept so abstract and vague, it’s impossible to measure and therefore conveniently easy to claim.

If class can exist at all in a sport so ridiculously loaded and assumed with inappropriate importance, then it’s surely most apparent (or not) when the chips are down. That's what truly separates the classless from the classy.

Anyone can be magnanimous and noble when things are going well; less so when it’s all going to pot.

Manchester United supporters like to think they have a modicum of class; something special that sets them apart from the fans of others. But oh the others! What wretched beings. They’re a joke; they’re pathetic; they need to get over themselves. Not like the Old Trafford faithful, who are virtuous and loyal to a man, woman and child.

Or so it forever seemed. It was easy to mock those ungrateful Chelsea fans with their impatient jeers and angry A4 printouts for any manager who didn’t bring instant success; Arsenal supporters, all arrogant neo-Hornby brats in comfy upholstered seats who would boo their team off at the drop of a point. Whilst sipping on their lattes in a funk.

Then of course there was the bitter blues; a collection of envious toads so contorted and hateful with jealous resentment that they’d much rather revel in United’s odd misfortune than any meagre success of their own. And what of Liverpool, the deluded Scouse prats with their precious paranoia and ludicrous sense of entitlement. The way they treated Roy Hodgson was an utter disgrace.

Everyone else is a shameless embarrassment. But not us, not I. Because even if our side were struggling to catch a break or win a game, even if our fiercest rivals were enjoying sickening success - even if the manager of our club looked on in wide-eyed bafflement at loss after loss, even then we’d never resort to such behaviour.

If the unrelenting success that affords us weekly contentment were to disappear tomorrow, we would surely retain a sense of loyalty and faith in our manager. Or at the very least treat him with the dignity and respect that any honest hard-working man deserves. We would never sulk and whine at the unfairness of it all, never mind fragment or turn on our own. Oh no, we’d never do that.

. Each a loss that either punctures or explodes an avenue to glory that would have salvaged a rotten season. In the parlance of many of foreign manager, it is not a ‘good moment’ for United. Fierce rivals excel all around whilst the red half of Manchester despairs at how quickly the crown cracked.

But hey, at least we’ve maintained our class and preserved our dignity. It is heartening consolation that we didn't let failure corrupt what makes us better than the Johnny-come-lately’s and knee-jerking plastics of other clubs. Principles were upheld despite the hardship. We never allowed ourselves to get bitter; we never spewed hateful bile; and we never lost our sense of perspective.

If all that were to happen at the slightest hint of trouble, we’d have to seriously question all sense we had of standing for anything above the glory hunt. It would make us no better and no worse than all those other goons we hold in contempt for their laughable ‘support’. But thankfully it hasn’t and doesn’t so jolly good for us.

Stay classy.