As I exit Manchester Piccadilly station, the air hangs heavy with the lingering disappointment of United’s frustrating draw against relegation-battling Burnley the night before. The club’s sixth-place standing, with Champions League qualification slipping from their grasp, seems to have cast a pall over the city’s football faithful. 

Yet, in the shadow of the station, one of the north’s culinary beacons bustles with activity, a young server’s shrugging dismissal of the result as “simply disappointing” tinged with the resigned acceptance of a supporter who has weathered many such setbacks.

Venturing further, an eerily empty Starbucks offers a more nuanced perspective, a barista proclaiming the squad’s quality, while lambasting the team’s management. As I lend an ear to the locals, their opinions flit between managerial critiques, laments over a spate of debilitating injuries, and the ever-present shadow cast by their “blue” rivals.  It’s a familiar refrain, echoing the stories of the Haçienda’s heyday – when it comes to Manchester United, it seems everyone has a take.

Ascending the hotel lift, the lingering scent of the local ‘Spoons trails a shifty-looking supporter, who, after a friendly northern greeting, reels off his favorite players with a fervor that borders on the religious. From the injury-prone yet silky Martial to the creative fulcrum Fernandes, and Rashford, the local hero whose on-field exploits are matched by off-field heroics, his enthusiasm is palpable. But it’s a curveball name that truly piques my interest – Kobbie Mainoo, a 19-year-old with barely a year’s senior experience, yet one this fan hails as “amazing” with a cautious addendum, “but you don’t want to put too much pressure on him.”

And there, the following afternoon, is Mainoo himself, baby-faced and humble, flanked by an entourage whose level of care and sensitivity is heightened as the expectations around their young charge become ever more palpable. Eye contact is steady, handshakes firm, yet there’s nary a trace of ego – just the gentle presence of a boy still growing into himself, the hem of his oversized Balenciaga jersey grazing his knuckles like Ariana Grande.