There was something almost suspiciously pleasant about it all: clear skies, a soft final-day pace, and Brighton leaving the door open as though European football were no great concern. United took the invitation without fuss. The ball kept travelling to the right places, the game never quite caught fire, and that was probably the point. Not every win needs to be dramatic to mean something.

Fernandes ended where he usually does, at the centre of what matters. The assist carried its own bit of history, the goal carried a little more force, and both came from the same old truth that still irritates people for reasons best known to themselves: he sees the game quicker than most. The other goal in the match was the more interesting one, though, all short movements and clean combinations in crowded space, is this the sort of pattern that hints at what this side is trying to become?

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Sun at Old Trafford does half the work on a day like this. The place was in the mood to forgive a few loose touches, indulge a bit of selfish play and enjoy a game that didn’t carry much jeopardy but still managed to be properly watchable. Forest played their part, especially through Anderson, who auditioned well for a role in a Manchester production soon, even if it is in the wrong colours.

United had the better footballer on the pitch and, as usual this season, they made it count. Bruno kept threading passes into places that should have led him to more than one assist, Shaw popped up with a finish far tidier than anyone expects from a left-back, and Mbeumo kept missing until he didn’t, which is often the difference between a poor afternoon and a decent one for a centre-forward. The handball will get the noise, but the stronger feeling was something quieter: a last home game with a bit of light in it.

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Weeks ago, Sunderland could have represented a crucial match in the run-in: a tough place to go, needing a result, against an opponent still fighting for every place they could get. That is not how it transpired. Both Sunderland and United concluded, probably correctly, that this game could not matter less, and both teams played accordingly.

We decided to take this rare opportunity not to talk about the game at all. Instead, we took stock of a squad that has demonstrated it is held together by one or two individuals and, without them, looks a much less capable outfit.

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Liverpool were dragged into a game that never let them get comfortable. United tore into it, scored twice before the visitors had worked out the pace of the afternoon, and spent the first half making the whole thing feel oddly one-sided. Cunha punished the loose ball with no fuss, Šeško got his reward for being where strikers are meant to be.

Still, no United win is allowed to remain straightforward for very long. The second half offered the usual reminder that control can vanish through carelessness, and Liverpool were invited back in by errors more than invention. Yet the important part was not the wobble but the refusal to let it define the day. There is more steel in this side now, and a rejuvenated Kobbie Mainoo who knows where the goal is. With City dropping points and Champions League football secured, the end of the season suddenly looks a lot less like survival and a lot more like direction.

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For fifteen minutes it looked as though United might put Brentford away early and save everyone the usual strain. They moved it well, found the openings, missed the obvious chance, and invited the kind of game Brentford relish: busy, physical, slightly chaotic, full of second balls and turnovers. By the time the second goal arrived, Lammens had been busier than he should.

What followed was the sort of half that divides a crowd. Fewer risks, more protection around the centre of the pitch, and less concern for appearances. Brentford had already shown enough to justify the caution, even if that is not the kind of football anyone wants as a long-term identity. Casemiro sat at the centre of it all, still scoring, still reading danger, still forcing the uncomfortable question of whether a fine short-term solution can also be a reason the bigger picture stays cramped.

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There are few things more conducive to optimism than beating a direct rival away from home, and United did just that on Saturday night. After a limp return against Leeds, they travelled to Chelsea with half a defence missing, kept a clean sheet, and took a huge stride towards Champions League football. We look back on a composed if hardly dazzling performance, praise another decisive contribution from Bruno Fernandes and a clinical finish from Matheus Cunha, and enjoy Chelsea’s increasingly comic slide towards mid-table irrelevance. There’s also time for some title-race chat, Tottenham’s ongoing collapse, and a glance ahead to Brentford - but for now, United can feel that Europe’s top table is coming firmly into view.

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After a month of waiting, United came back looking like a side that had misplaced its thread. Leeds arrived sharper, louder and far more certain on the night, scored early, struck again, and left Old Trafford with a win that felt deserved.

We go into why it went wrong and why it felt so flat. Mainoo’s absence changed the entire shape of the midfield, and Ugarte and Casemiro are not capable of the kind of control we need. Carrick’s setup comes under proper scrutiny. We also a long look at Martinez’s red card, the recurring problem of careless defending, and a broader question hanging over half the back line.

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After an absurdly long break between matches, we’re back with a slightly rusty general chat: United’s time in Dublin, the weirdness of going so long without a game, and why too much rest might not be the blessing it’s made out to be.

We also get into the FA Cup quarter-finals, Liverpool being battered by City, Arsenal’s oddly flat title charge, Chelsea’s latest bit of chaos, and our guesses for who ends up winning what. Plus a bit on Salah leaving, Southampton’s cup run, and the usual tangents.

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