It is always heartfelt, so much does Manchester United mean to Solskjaer, so deeply does he feel its history. It was, at first, understandable, a way to lift the spirits of the fans and the players, endlessly diminished by Mourinho. Increasingly, though, it feels as if Solskjaer is bound by the past. A story did the rounds not long ago that he refused to park in Ferguson’s old space at the training facility. He believes, the story went, that it is “still Ferguson’s spot.”

At the end of the 19th century, Norway — as it happens — developed a bit of a taste for open-air museums; the country’s folk museum, in Oslo, and the Sandvig Collections in Lillehammer were among the forerunners of Colonial Williamsburg and Henry Ford’s Greenfield Village in Michigan. Hans Aall, the founder of the folk museum, wanted to preserve an idealized Norwegian cultural history, at a time when the country was chafing against its union with Sweden.

This, now, is what United has become: a tribute act to its own former glories, a kind of permanent walking tour through a costumed, confected version of its past, a club adrift in a sea of nostalgia: a visit to the Cliff here, a mention of Barcelona there, never-ending mentions of Ferguson and last-minute winners and Manchester United DNA.

It worked, for a while, helping Solskjaer lift the team out of its slump, bringing a famous win at Paris St.-Germain — and in Ferguson’s favored, last-minute style, too — and earning Solskjaer, deservedly, a shot at the job full-time. Its effectiveness has long since worn off, though; Solskjaer is beyond the point where he should be paying homage to Ferguson, and needs to start acting like him, instead.