The saga of Ruben Amorim's departure from Manchester United has concluded not with a tactical defeat on the pitch, but with a stark lesson in modern football's power dynamics. The Portuguese coach, who survived a poor league finish and a dismal win rate, ultimately met his match not in a rival dugout, but in the club's executive suite.
The Unbeatable Adversary: Jason Wilcox
Amorim's tenure at Old Trafford was marked by struggle. He weathered a loss to Grimsby, a crucial European final defeat to a weak Tottenham side, and home losses to West Ham and Wolves. He presided over a 15th-place finish, was criticised for tactical inflexibility, and even labelled his own team "the worst in Manchester United history." Yet his downfall was sealed by a confrontation with a different kind of opponent: sporting director Jason Wilcox.
In a move rich with irony, a manager known for berating players for losing individual duels was himself outmanoeuvred by one of the Premier League's most formidable executives. This episode has radically reshaped perceptions of Wilcox. Previously seen by some as an inexperienced appointment, owing his role to his connection with Omar Berrada, he has now positioned himself as a strategic force within the club, having also outflanked Dan Ashworth in earlier power plays.
A Clash of Visions: The 3-4-3 Fundamentalist vs. The Boardroom
The core of the conflict was philosophical. Wilcox, who was part of the hierarchy that hired the staunch 3-4-3 advocate Amorim, later led efforts to persuade the coach to abandon his favoured system. These directives, coming from a former England international with a title-winning pedigree, created an irreconcilable rift.
Questions remain, notably why Amorim is leaving with a full payout and no compensation reduction clause. But Wilcox, who operates largely away from public scrutiny, is not compelled to provide answers. His authority, and that of the structure he represents, appears absolute.
The Ultimate Authority: Sir Jim Ratcliffe's Grand Design
However, Wilcox is ultimately an agent of a higher power: Sir Jim Ratcliffe. The minority owner has made his tactical preferences clear, privately advocating for a back four and even reportedly suggesting Brentford's Bryan Mbeumo could play as a right wing-back. Ratcliffe's vision extends beyond formations; he is driving a data-led revolution and has emphatically stated that the club's style of play "will be determined in this room" – the boardroom.
This reflects a broader trend in elite football, where real power has shifted from the training ground to the executive floor. Coaches are increasingly less like visionary chefs and more like delivery drivers – responsible for the end product but with little say in its recipe. They become the public face, selling a vision crafted by others, and are the first to be dismissed when it fails to materialise.
The cases of Enzo Maresca at Chelsea and Wilfried Nancy at Celtic exemplify this new reality, where coaches bear the public blame for systemic failures. Amorim's exit – hired for his 3-4-3 philosophy and then dismissed for adhering to it too rigidly – is a perfect microcosm. It underscores the rise of an executive class whose decisions are rarely questioned, whose mistakes are offloaded onto hired hands, and whose authority, derived from wealth and position, is considered sacrosanct.
