Turmoil at Manchester United where the hierarchy is pondering whether to bomb out the effervescent Michael Carrick.

In true Old Trafford style they’ll probably do it and then stick him back in as interim manager for the rest of the season.

That’s a gag, but it’s not entirely beyond belief. They’re knee-deep in clowns.

Nobody apparently loves the club more than Michael. But presumably even he doesn’t love it enough just to do the right thing and get the hell out of Dodge.

Like Ole, he’s just a crap coach. There no shame in that. Horses for courses, and he’s a donkey that even Keir Starmer’s mum wouldn’t save.

And now, the collapsing club has just to farted out some wet blurb to confirm that he’ll still be in charge on Saturday against Chelski.

Take a step back and marvel at the insanity. That a top club feels that such a missive is merited.

They really are screwed, aren’t they?

The implications of all this are more striking: it reminded me of the times that shit colleagues were sacked but were still required to work their notice. A heady blend of incompetence and counter-purposiveness pumped into the corporate veins by shady, jobsworth HR goons.

Unless of course it’s a masterstroke? A dastardly ploy to offer him up to the lions with one final, crushing clusterfuck?

Either way, he’ll soon be pushing out a wheelbarrow of loot and exiting stage left, hopefully followed by a Berrada.