Manchester United’s problems run deeper than another managerial sacking

At its peak in the 1990s and 2000s, Manchester United was the reference point in professional club football around the globe. It set the commercial agenda, dominated the game domestically and projected power far beyond the pitch. That era now feels distant – not because ambition has faded, but because competence in execution has.

Manchester United’s latest chapter, the sacking of manager Ruben Amorim, has been framed as a necessary football decision. The team’s results were inconsistent and its performances uneven.

Yet focusing on Amorim alone risks missing the wider truth. Manchester United is stuck in a cycle of poor business decisions off the field. The arrival of petrochemical billionaire Sir Jim Ratcliffe’s Ineos to assist majority owners the Glazer family in 2023 has not broken it.

Ineos was brought in as a corrective force, promising modern governance, football expertise and significant investment in infrastructure. At the time, it stated that it wanted to see Manchester United back at the “very top” of English, European and world football.

Fast forward a couple of years and that aim already looks in jeopardy. Instead, the club continues to display the same damaging tendencies that have defined the era after Sir Alex Ferguson’s legendary management period between 1986 and 2013.

These tendencies include reacting to the performances on the pitch rather than prioritising the long-term vision and allowing managerial changes to disrupt wider restructuring projects. Staff redundancies, plans for a new stadium and the latest managerial sacking have all drawn criticisms from fans, analysts and journalists, who often take aim at the way Ineos has structured the hierarchy at the club.

Manchester United’s operating model has become predictable. First, the club appoints a “project” manager – someone with a clearly defined philosophy and a reputation for innovation. Expectations are set high, often publicly, with talk of culture change and long-term vision.

Next comes the structural failure. Recruitment and wage strategy are not aligned to the manager’s philosophy, creating a disconnect between the board, technical director and the manager. Players are inherited who do not fit the system, while new signings are compromises driven by availability, commercial logic or short-term pressure rather than long-term squad building. Power is split between executives, technical directors and owners, leaving the head coach as the scapegoat.

Under-performance then follows. This is not always catastrophic, but it is enough to trigger anxiety at board level and among supporters. The squad looks mismatched, results fluctuate and narratives of decline re-emerge.

Finally, the reset button is pressed. The manager is dismissed, the “culture” is blamed, and the cycle begins again. Reports since Amorim’s sacking have detailed tensions over control, recruitment and tactical direction.

Amorim publicly hinted at frustrations behind the scenes, while leadership including CEO Omar Berrada, director of football Jason Wilcox, and director of recruitment, Christopher Vivell, appeared unconvinced that his approach suited the club’s needs. What is striking is not that the relationship broke down, but how familiar the breakdown felt.

The question should not be whether Amorim was perfect – few managers are. It is whether Manchester United ever created the ecosystem required for him to succeed. The evidence suggests they did not.

Amorim was hired for his clearly defined system and his personality as a modern, progressive coach. But he walked into a squad built for very different managers and ideas. Clear lines of responsibility never fully emerged, and football decisions – or a shared footballing philosophy – struggled to filter down through the club’s corporate structure.

Amorim himself openly questioned how he had been appointed as a “manager”, only to discover that in practice he was operating more as a head coach. The club still seems unsure as to whether it wants a powerful manager, a dominant sporting director or a committee-led model running its football operation.

This ambiguity leaves every coach vulnerable. When results dip, there is no shared accountability – only a convenient exit route.

Financial consequences beyond the pitch

Sacking managers is also a costly business. Amorim left the club with 18 months remaining on his contract, a decision estimated to cost around £12 million in compensation.

Since 2014, the cumulative cost of sacking managers and senior staff at Manchester United has been estimated at close to £100 million. The club also paid £8.3 million in October 2024 to appoint Amorim early. Even for a financial powerhouse, such inefficiency risks becoming a burden.

Externally, instability weakens Manchester United’s negotiating position. Elite players increasingly view the club as a risk rather than a destination, while rivals with coherent structures exploit the indecision.

This is where the financial reality may bite, particularly if the club continues to miss out on the Uefa Champions League, the biggest club football tournament in Europe. The revamped competition can deliver close to £100 million per season for clubs that progress deep into the tournament.

Manchester United has so far maintained revenues — ranking fourth globally – but rivals such as Real Madrid, Barcelona, Bayern Munich, Arsenal and Liverpool have moved ahead on and off the pitch. Missing the Champions League once or twice is manageable; missing repeatedly is not.

Ineos may still believe the club is mid-reform, but reform without coherence is merely motion. Until Manchester United decides who truly owns the football vision and protect that vision through recruitment, patience and structural alignment, no managerial appointment will succeed for long.

Sacking Amorim may feel decisive. History suggests it will change little. Manchester United’s biggest problem is not who stands on the touchline, but how the club makes decisions when the cameras are off.

Manchester United FC and Ineos were approached for comment.

The authors do not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and have disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.