FA Cup news: Man Utd dumped out by Brighton as interim manager Darren Fletcher awaits first win

Brighton beat Manchester United 2-1 at Old Trafford on Sunday to knock the Red Devils out of the FA Cup and increase the pressure on interim manager Darren Fletcher.

Brajan Gruda and Danny Welbeck put the visitors two goals up before United grabbed a consolation strike through Benjamin Šeško.

Here, Sports News Blitz writer Robert Bore runs through the game and takes a trip down memory lane.

Question all United fans are familiar with

Let’s be honest: if you’re a Manchester United fan, you’ve definitely been asked the question a million times – probably in various forms over the years, depending on how many birthdays you’ve had.

That golden question, usually asked with a sneer and a certain level of animosity, can make weddings quite awkward, especially if asked by the bride.

“Why do you support [insert your version here]?”

[that shite (in the 1980s)]

[that shite, they’ll be shite again soon (90s)]

[that shite, you’re just a glory hunter (2000s)]

[that shite, Fergie’s gone and you’re shite (2010s)]

[that shite, ha ha, you’re just shite (2020s)]

Substitute “that shite” for “the scum” if you’ve lived anywhere near deepest West Yorkshire.

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Trip to Wembley – there and back again

As FA Cup third round day rolled around, my shite team was preparing to face Brighton, so please allow me to take you back just short of 42 years, to May 21st, 1983 to be exact.

It was the time of Billie Jean and Bonnie Tyler, Flashdance and “Come On Eileen”.

A young Bobby Bore was thrown into the back of his Dad’s mate’s car with a packed lunch and a smile as we set off down the M6 for my first trip to the Big Smoke.

Wembley was the destination as Ron Atkinson’s Red Devils were to take on the relegation-bound Seagulls in what would surely be a first major trophy since 1977.

As it happens, I don’t remember much of the 1982-83 season, fresh off the back of my first ‘proper’ World Cup the previous summer – which cultivated my love of Bryan Robson, Captain Marvel himself.

I do remember being upset when Ronnie Whelan curled in a winner in the Milk (League) Cup final weeks earlier and my hatred of Liverpool was born.

This was a real adventure.

There was a slight hitch in that we had no tickets, but it mattered not to me and the day was glorious.

Some old bloke gave me one of those old rattles you see on old Pathé News reels, dipped in white emulsion and bedecked in red stripes courtesy of some strategic electrical tape.

I think it is still in the attic somewhere.

However, the aforementioned hitch would end my dream and we had no joy with touts, so as the match was about to kick off, the adults amongst us decided it would be best to get back up the motorway, presumably as they’d be able to make it back to the pub quicker and we’d get to listen to the game on the car radio.

The car, oh that car.

From memory, it was a sporty (very old) little green thing, no idea of the make, but unlike one of James Bond’s vehicles, this one didn’t like water so much – as a result, when we drove through a flood somewhere around Watford, the car began to tap out.

By tap out, I mean it broke down, albeit close enough to the M1 for the decision to be made to hitch hike north.

We got lucky with our first lift, a Jamaican family (husband, wife and mother-in-law) who only stopped because of seeing a seven-year-old ambling along the safety of the grass verge and somehow squeezed the three of us in all the way to Nottingham.

The husband worked for Football Pools company Littlewoods and had been dropping a hefty check off to some lucky punter who had tipped him the princely sum of 50p.

We got lucky again with a kindly coach driver stopping and taking us as far as Doncaster where it was a train across the Pennines.

I remember being in a motorway service station at some stage, and a couple of taxis might have been involved to join all the geographical dots before my Dad’s mate departed as we neared home.

The pair of us were left at a local taxi office, the last leg of our adventure but not the last drama.

As we sat outside waiting for the cab with a bag of chips, a couple of ladies were scrapping it out in a bus stop. I’d had more life experience in a day than the previous seven years.

We got into the house just in time to see Gary Bailey deny Gordon Smith a last-gasp winner on the Match of the Day highlights, with the immortal words of “...and Smith must score” from legendary commentator Peter Jones as the tie ended 2-2.

United finished the job a few days later with a 4-0 replay victory, our neighbours not appreciating the significance as my old man banged on the wall adjacent to their living room as Arnold Muhren’s 62nd-minute penalty sealed it.

I was hooked – shackled to my club for life and starting an unwanted trend or habit of travelling to a major final but not getting into the game, something I’ve since done at the new Wembley, the Nou Camp and in Rome.

Saying that, major finals seem a long way off at the moment and after the midweek draw at relegation-fodder Burnley, dreams of a record-equalling 14th title seemed fanciful.

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Brighton take the lead at Old Trafford

For the game against Brighton, caretaker boss Darren Fletcher stayed 4-4-2, with Leny Yoro in for Ayden Heaven and Kobbie Mainoo back in the starting line-up for Casemiro.

Mason Mount also returned with Luke Shaw out of the matchday squad.

There was still no Amad Diallo or Bryan Mbeumo – although their AFCON expeditions were both ended slightly prematurely this weekend, it was not quick enough for Manchester Airport Terminal 2 to beckon ahead of kick-off.

United had two chances in the opening three minutes, both falling to Diogo Dalot and both being wasted, one due to a heavy first touch and good save from Jason Steele and one thanks to a wild two-point rugby conversion that’s going to come down with snow on it when it finally lands.

I will hold my tongue.

Steele then needed a long arm to push out Bruno Fernandes’ effort after a short free-kick one-two with Mainoo and from the resulting corner Yoro couldn’t convert at the far post.

But, in true United style, failure to capitalise ended up in us going behind.

Albion broke down the left with Ferdi Kadioglu, who dropped the ball into United old boy Danny Welbeck.

Mount and Yoro failed to get close enough and his dangerous lift into the box was met by the head of Georginio Rutter.

Lisandro Martínez cleared off the line, but the rebound went straight to Brajan Gruda who smashed home.

It was meh!

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United attack struggles to find a spark

It was almost double meh when Senne Lammens passed straight to Welbeck inside the United box, the keeper doing well to get a block on the shot before Rutter somehow spooned one over the top, although the flag had gone up by then.

It was a good tie, mind you, end-to-end with United on the front foot but always susceptible to a counter and Brighton’s second-choice stopper Steele proving to be in inspired form.

Fernandes went low and wide from a free-kick as the half wound down and Dalot managed to shut down another promising United attack with a silly attempted back heel much to groans from the stands.

There was still time for Matheus Cunha to scuff an effort wide of the near post, but Brighton were 45 minutes away from ending United’s season.

United came out attacking the Stretford End, Fletcher encouraging more noise from the Old Trafford faithful.

The hosts were getting joy out on the right, but with Dalot the outlet I wasn’t getting too excited.

We got to the hour mark with no change and the pace had relented – United needed a spark.

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Welbeck makes it two for lively Seagulls

Fletcher looked to his bench, Joshua Zirkzee and Shea Lacey thrown in for Mainoo and Mount.

But the spark was at the wrong end and United were suddenly ablaze as Gruda found Welbeck, who thundered in the second with a hammer of a left-foot strike, running cleverly off a static Ugarte to rattle in his 8th goal in 19 appearances against the hand that used to feed him.

I’ve used the phrase before: it was “depressingly familiar”, with United unable to cope with clever movement and stern defences.

Time was ticking as Lacey did well in beating his man and crossing for Benjamin Šeško, who could only head just wide of the far post.

Welbeck was rightly applauded off by all inside the ground, while Fletcher sent Casemiro and the returning Harry Maguire on with Ugarte and Martínez replaced.

It was sad to see the England man drop into the back four to be honest, knowing we needed goals.

Lacey curled a first-time shot onto the top of the goal and he looked like the most dangerous outlet while Šeško fired straight at Steele.

With less than 10 minutes remaining, it was quiet – and while nobody was leaving yet, there was a sad resignation to it all.

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Red Devils dumped out despite consolation goal

But, wait. There was a lifeline.

Maguire was making a nuisance of himself at the far post from a Fernandes corner and Šeško nodded past Steele.

They were back in it and the volume suddenly went through the roof as the rain began to bucket down from the Manchester night.

Šeško looked to be in for a split second but couldn’t keep his feet after a little tug from the defender, while Brighton broke and won a cheap free kick to take the pressure off and run down the clock.

Then Lacey was penalised for a very soft foul on Kadioglu, whose legs turned into those of a new-born deer, and the kid reacted badly by throwing the ball down in temper and receiving a second yellow, his first having also been harsh.

It was punitive, but by the letter of the law it was correct. He’ll learn.

And that was that.

Four wins in five visits for the Seagulls and a final whistle greeted by absolute silence as the autopsy began on the pitch and the United players looked around as though they had been wronged.

They hadn’t. They were just second best.

No post-Amorim bump, just the usual under-performance from a group of players who should be dropped off somewhere at the bottom of the M1 and told to walk home.

Or keep going south. I think I’d prefer that for the bulk of them.

The next time somebody asks me why I support this shite, I’ll tell them I’m not so sure anymore.

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