Por The Red Devil Ranter
I stroll down a lonely path lined with empty promise and shattered potential. The streetlamps flicker, the asphalt cracks, and every corner has a mural of a once-bright young star now wearing the haunted look of a man crushed by the relentless weight of Old Trafford’s post-Ferguson curse.
Since Sir Alex’s retirement, United has become less a launching pad for stars and more a mausoleum for talent. The hopes arrive bright-eyed and ready, only to fade into anonymity, replaced by endless managerial merry-go-rounds and tactical chaos. This boulevard? It’s littered with dreams, but we still call it home. And we walk it alone.
Here’s my list of just some of the young players with massive ceilings that Manchester United have spectacularly ruined since the great man left.
Anthony Martial
Signed as the next Thierry Henry (or at least the Aldi version), Martial arrived with a price tag that screamed “Galáctico” and a debut goal that had United fans writing poetry. For a hot minute, he was gliding past defenders like they were holograms and finishing like he had cheat codes. Then came the tactical confusion and the injuries. At one point, Martial looked so lost on the pitch, Google Maps started sending him notifications.
Once a feared dribbler who made defenders look like they were playing Twister, Martial slowly morphed into a footballing enigma, too talented to ignore, too inconsistent to trust.
Managers came and went, each trying to decode the Martial mystery. José Mourinho didn’t fancy him at all, reportedly wanted him gone faster than a Lukaku first touch. But Joel Glazer, United’s co-chairman and Martial’s unofficial fan club president, wasn’t having it. Glazer apparently saw Martial as United’s very own Pele (yes, really), and blocked any attempts to sell him like he was guarding the last slice of pizza at a boardroom lunch
Martial’s United career is best described as a slow burn that never quite caught fire. A symbol of wasted potential, and a reminder that sometimes, the hype train runs out of track
Paul Pogba
The prodigal son returned, with a world-record fee, a flashy haircut, and a social media team working overtime. Expectations? Sky-high. Delivery? Sporadic at best. Instead of becoming the midfield talisman, Pogba’s time at United was a masterclass in inconsistency, injury spells, and headline-grabbing distractions.
One week he was bending passes like Pirlo, the next he was trending for dancing in his kitchen. His performances were like the mancunian weather, unpredictable, occasionally brilliant, mostly grey. Managers tried everything: deeper role, freer role, leadership role…none of it stuck. Pogba remained an enigma wrapped in a mystery wrapped in a riddle, wrapped in an Adidas tracksuit.
He should’ve been the heartbeat of the team, steady, central, impossible to ignore. Instead, he became the mood ring of the squad, reflecting the chaos around him, never quite setting the tone. Each season began with a trailer-worthy promo and ended with a cryptic Instagram post featuring emojis, obscure quotes, and a location tag from Dubai. For fans, teammates, and managers alike, it was less a journey of glory and more a long winding detour through the land of unfulfilled potential.
Now, after injuries, an 18-month doping ban and an extortion scandal involving his dear own brother, Pogba finds himself back in France. Not in Paris, but Monaco. A two-year deal, a fresh start, and a quiet hope that the final chapters of his career might yet echo the brilliance of his early ones. He’s not chasing Ballon d’Ors anymore – just peace, redemption, and maybe a dab or two for his kids.
Mason Mount
Arrived with pedigree, promise, and a price tag that made eyebrows raise across London. Chelsea fans mourned his departure. United fans Googled his best position. Since then, his fitness has been as mysterious as United’s attacking patterns post-Ferguson.
He’s played as a No. 10, a No. 8, a wide midfielder, and possibly as a decoy. Ten Hag tried him in every role short of kit man. Amorim now calls him a “proper footballer,” which is football speak for “we’re still figuring it out.” His best position remains a mystery, somewhere between “not quite fit” and “not quite used.”
Since joining in 2023, he’s missed more games than he’s played, and at this point, his most consistent position is “unavailable.” Every time he nears a return, another setback appears like a plot twist in a soap opera: dramatic, unnecessary, and somehow always perfectly timed to ruin momentum
He was meant to be the metronome in midfield, the quiet conductor of attacking rhythm. Instead, he became a ghost in the squad list, present in theory, absent in practice. Now, as he inches back from yet another rehab stint, there’s still hope he’ll find his place. But for now, Mason Mount remains United’s “what if.”
Rasmus Højlund
The latest in United’s long-running experiment: “What happens if we sign a promising striker and then forget how to play football?” The kid was supposed to be the Viking Haaland. Højlund arrived with pace, power, and potential – only to be fed a steady diet of long balls, isolation, and Bruno Fernandes crosses to nowhere. United’s service to him was so bad it should be reported to social services His frustration became a weekly feature, visible in every shrug, every mistimed run, and every glance toward the bench that screamed, “Is this really the plan?”.
Forced to feed on scraps like a stray dog outside a kebab shop at 3 a.m, he managed just four Premier League goals last season which is impressive if you’re a goalkeeper. Unfortunately, he’s not. United’s tactical setup gave him all the tools to fail: no service, no support, and eventually, no future. Amorim’s response? Bench him for a friendly and unveil Benjamin Sesko as the new No. 9.
He came as a storm, full of promise and thunder. But Old Trafford offered only silence. Now, with Napoli calling and United moving on, Højlund stands at a crossroads – between what he was meant to be and what this club made him. A striker starved of goals, of chances, of belief. And like so many before him, he may only find his fire once he’s far from Manchester’s cold.
Donny van de Beek
“Manchester United have pulled off a great bit of business here. I think they’re basically getting an £80 million player for half the price. This guy is the real deal. He’s already a big, big star, but at Old Trafford, he’s going to become one of the best players in the world.” The immortal words of Sky Sports journalist and transfer market guru Kaveh Solhekol, introducing… Kylian Mbappé? No, wait – checks notes – Dutch midfield maestro Donny van de Beek. If you think this was a fever dream, fear not: the moment lives on in glorious HD. Link below, for your disbelief and mild heartbreak
Perhaps the most tragic figure on this list. Van de Beek arrived as a smart, technical midfielder ready to shine, fresh off Ajax’s magical Champions League run. But instead of flourishing, he was repeatedly ignored and sidelined. Remember that run? Yeah, neither does he.
His United career became one long disappearing act, except the trick was making a player completely disappear. Managers kept insisting “Donny’s working hard in training,” which is football code for “We have no idea why we signed him.” He became the poster boy for United’s transfer mismanagement: rarely given consistent minutes, slowly fading into a forgotten benchwarmer.
Van de Beek came in with a high ceiling. United promptly installed a basement underneath it. He never recovered that initial shine, with loan spells at Everton and Frankfurt falling flat. A Lazarus-lite resurrection at Girona last year offered a flicker of hope, but the damage may already be done.
Antony
Signed for £86 million, Antony was supposed to be Ten Hag’s golden boy, the samba winger who’d tear up the Premier League. Instead, he turned out to be a one-trick pony whose one trick was spinning in circles like he’s buffering in real life
After managing just five Premier League goals in three seasons, United finally gave up. He was exiled from Amorim’s plans and told to find a new club or enjoy the view from the stands until the summer. Naturally, Antony rediscovered his form at Real Betis, scoring nine goals and five assists in 26 games, and now insists Seville is the only place he wants to be.
He came with flair, fire, and a fee that could fund a small nation. But at Old Trafford, the samba stopped. The southern Spanish sun did what Ten Hag’s tactical briefings couldn’t – remind Antony he’s Brazilian, activating his dormant Brazilian powers like a solar-powered Neymar. Suddenly, he’s scoring rabonas from 30 yards, flicking balls over defenders like he’s auditioning for Cirque du Football, and dancing so much after goals you’d think La Liga introduced a choreography bonus. Real Betis won’t know if they signed a winger or a carnival.
And so Antony becomes another chapter in United’s anthology of expensive misfires, written in spin moves, missed crosses, and the haunting whirr of a £86 million fidget spinner. A samba dream turned slapstick saga.
Jadon Sancho
Once the jewel of Borussia Dortmund, signed for £73 million in 2021, Sancho was supposed to be the crown jewel of United’s rebuild – The winger who’d finally solve the post-Ferguson creativity drought. Instead, he became the poster child for United’s ability to kill joy
Tactical confusion, inconsistent minutes, and a public fallout with Ten Hag turned his United career into a slow-motion car crash. He was sent on loan to Chelsea last season, where he hoped to revive his form. Chelsea responded by paying a £5 million penalty just to send him back. That’s not rejection, it’s a restraining order.
Now, Sancho finds himself at Aston Villa, under the watchful eye of Unai Emery, football’s version of a career rehab specialist. Emery has a knack for turning lost causes into cult heroes. He revived Marcus Rashford, gave Marco Asensio a second wind, and now he’s taken on Sancho like a DIY project with missing instructions and half the screws.
Villa didn’t even need to pay a transfer fee. United were so done, they practically left him on the doorstep with a note that said, “Free to a good home. May require emotional support.”
Sancho’s arrival at Villa Park feels less like a signing and more like a rescue mission. Emery’s probably got him on a strict diet of tactical clarity, hugs, and highlight reels from 2020. If anyone can turn Sancho from ghost to gladiator, it’s Emery, but even he might need a miracle, a montage, and a motivational speech from Roy Kent.
He came with hype, with highlights, with hope. But Old Trafford dimmed his light. Now, as he drifts between suitors and second chances, Sancho is no longer the future, just a name on a transfer list, waiting for someone to believe again. A talent lost in translation, and in Manchester. Emery might be his last translator.
Honourable Mentions
Angel Gomes – Brilliant enough to escape, now pulling string at Marseille
Memphis Depay – Tried to be a lion at United, ended up samba-ing his way to Corinthians. Still allergic to consistency.
Facundo Pellistri – The human embodiment of a boomerang. Loaned out so often, even DHL couldn’t keep track.
Alejandro Garnacho – Occasionally brilliant, occasionally invisible. One week he’s scoring screamers, the next he’s posting cryptic Instagram stories and getting benched for vibes. Stamford Bridge awaits
If there’s one thing we’ve learned in the post-Ferguson era, it’s that talent alone won’t save you, not when you’re tossed into a tactical maze and handed a manager who’ll be gone by Christmas. We’ve had disciplinarians, vibes merchants, clipboard tacticians, and Ole. None of them found the magic formula, unless the formula was “make it worse.” United has become a carousel of philosophies, each spinning faster than the last, leaving players dizzy, confused, and wondering what “the project” actually is.
This club doesn’t just sign players, it absorbs them, reshapes them, and occasionally forgets they exist. The boulevard of broken dreams stretches from Carrington to the corner flag, paved with potential and lined with regret.
And yet, we stay. Because this is home. A glorious mess. A cathedral of chaos. We chant, we hope, we suffer. We walk it alone, not because we have to, but because somewhere deep down, we still believe the magic will return. Even if it’s just for one more spin
