I probably wasn’t the only one thinking about Sir Alex Ferguson over the weekend following news of his ill health.
Safe to say the greatest manager in British history wouldn’t have tolerated this lethargic, baggy, can’t be bothered sign-off from the league winners.
Harsh words in the context of a wonderful season but like it not, this was the performance of a team who’ve won a title and not one befitting of champions.
Sure, we can shrug it off, file it away and look back with a smile when it’s invariably trotted out at a pub quiz in the years to come, but what a truly abysmal effort against the worst side in the division.
The fans that made that long slog to Wearside deserved much, much better.
Nuno rang the changes and it would be easy to lay the blame at the feet of the reserves, but it’s really the established stars who should carry the can.
There was simply no appetite to compete, to establish a rhythm or even just exit first gear. Doherty, Douglas and Neves were three operating in cruise control and the game completely passed them by.
With broken cogs in the mechanism it was fanciful to think the likes of Miranda or Gibbs-White were going to ride to the rescue. They did not.
Poor old Will Norris certainly had an afternoon forget as his goal was repeatedly peppered and two farcical errors were extracted to gift Sunderland the win.
Nothing stuck at the other end either with our Portuguese contingent ironically wilting in the sun after tolerating the coldest winter in 50 years. You couldn’t make it up.
No, this was a complete write-off and the worst possible way to sign off the best possible season.
And with thoughts invariably drifting towards a manager who built a dynasty on playing to the end, I’m loathe to forgive an early check out.