God. I've seen some disappointing United performances in my time, but watching that young side get dismantled by Brentford yesterday left me reaching for teh whiskey at 4pm. Not my proudest moment.

A 4-3 scoreline flatters us. It really does. Those late goals from Garnacho and Amad were basically putting lipstick on a pig that had already been roasted, carved and served with apple sauce.

Let me paint you the scene. Amorim decides to field what looked like a school trip to the Premier League - our youngest ever starting XI - ahead of Thursday's Europa League semi. My mate Dave texted me before kickoff: "This lineup is either genius or suicide." Turns out it was the latter.

Mount Finally Remembers How To Score

The one bright spot? Mason Mount actually scored a goal. I'd almost forgotten what that looked like. 400 days. FOUR HUNDRED DAYS between goals for a player we're paying obscene wages to. My neighbor's kid has scored more goals in his Sunday league during that time, and he's a goalkeeper.

His finish was actually quite tidy, and for about 12 glorious minutes, I fooled myself into thinking we might actually get something from this game.

Then reality hit. Hard.

When Did Our Defense Become So... Porous?

Our backline yesterday had all the stability of a drunk trying to walk a tightrope. Young Fredricson looked completely lost against Schade, who kept giving him the runaround like they were playing a game of tag rather than Premier League football.

Shaw's own goal was unfortunate, but that's what happens when luck abandons you. Poor bloke nearly headed into his own net in the third minute too - a warning sign we all ignored.

And then De Ligt gets injured. Because of course he does. Just in time for our biggest game of the season. I swear our medical team must be working on commission.

The Kids Aren't Alright (Sorry, Not Sorry)

I'm all for giving youngsters a chance. Back in 2018, I wrote a piece praising United's academy traditions. But throwing them into the deep end against a Brentford side that smells blood like sharks... that's just cruel.

Amass looked terrified facing Mbeumo. Dorgu was practically invisible. And poor Fredricson will be having nightmares about Schade for weeks.

My editor bet me £20 that none of these kids would start another Premier League game this season. I'm not taking that bet.

Bayindir: Another Goalkeeper Question Mark

Four goals conceded. I don't care what anyone says - that's a disaster for any keeper. Bayindir had a few decent moments (that save from Schade wasn't bad), but overall he looked about as commanding as I do when trying to get my teenager to clean his room.

Our goalkeeper situation is becoming a farce. I spent $120 on a replica goalkeeper jersey last summer... adn now I don't even know whose name to get on it.

Amorim's Europa Gamble

Listen. I understand the logic. Rest everyone for Thursday's semi-final against Athletic Club. It's our only chance of salvaging something from this trainwreck of a season.

But... did we have to make it so obvious? The team sheet looked like we'd already conceded the game before a ball was kicked.

When I showed it to my brother-in-law (a lifelong Brentford fan), his response: "Already updating my fantasy team." Smug bastard.

Ratings That Made Me Wince

Giving player ratings after that performance feels like judging a beauty contest at a burns unit. Harsh but necessary.

Mount and Garnacho deserve their 6s - they at least showed some fight and quality. Everyone else? The 4s and 5s feel generous. I feel stupid now for predicting Mainoo would dominate the midfield in my pre-match column.

The most telling stat? Our "experienced" captain Luke Shaw got hooked at half-time. When your leader can't even make it to the second half, you know things have gone catastrophically wrong.

This is what rock bottom feels like.

The Semi-Final Looms Like A Storm Cloud

So here we are. Thursday night. Athletic Club. Our season hanging by a thread.

If yesterday was Amorim's masterplan to keep players fresh, then those rested stars better put in the performance of their lives. Otherwise, this experiment will go down as one of the most pointless sacrifices since I gave up chocolate for Lent in 2022 only to demolish an entire Easter egg in one sitting on April 17th.

I'll be there, of course. Watching through my fingers probably. Because that's what we do as United fans - we keep coming back for more punishment.

Maybe I need therapy.