The last great strategic task of Ferguson's career may be to plot a dignified retreat

Joyless United are mired with a manager losing his touch with the team and the supporters

The builders are filling in the corners at Old Trafford, but the crowds are no longer inclined to raise the roof. Even when the capacity reaches 75,000 the stadium will still feel like a lonely place to Sir Alex Ferguson. Having become estranged from trophy-winning, the manager is more isolated than he has been since the "Ta Ra Fergie" days of 1989 when he seemed sure to be sacked.

There was a backlash against the booing of him at the end of this season's defeat by Blackburn, but there is a chillier type of disaffection that may prove even more menacing. Yesterday on the streets of Paris, where fans ministered to their hangovers after the previous night's loss to Lille, there were to be found many people who have become estranged from Ferguson, and not only because of bad results.

One was revolted by his decision to spend around £200,000 last month on a son of the racehorse Rock of Gibraltar. Ferguson was thereby putting money into the pockets of John Magnier, despite the fact that he and JP McManus had made the widely reviled takeover of United possible when they sold their stake to Malcolm Glazer.

The manager thought he had behaved in an adult manner by dealing with people who had recently been his enemies. If Ferguson was "moving on", though, he failed to notice that he was also leaving many admirers behind. Having gone wrong in his signings and tactics, the manager has lost his touch, too, in nursing the relationship with United's followers.

The needless arguments with fans at the airport during the trip for the Champions League qualifier with Debrecen were inflamed by a person who could once deal deftly with others. When challenged about his allegiance to the Glazers, a surprised Ferguson talked stupidly about protecting the jobs of a retinue of backroom staff, leaving himself vulnerable to the accusation that the interests of supporters had dropped off his list of priorities entirely.

As soon as he tried to make a routine comment about the high cost of watching other clubs, Ferguson expressed himself so poorly that he gave the false impression that he was actually telling the critics to go and watch Chelsea if they were not happy with United. These would be comparatively trivial disputes were it not for the impression they give of a manager who is suddenly and calamitously maladroit.

It might be rash to underestimate his powers of regeneration, but he himself did not communicate real emotion in his comments after the Lille match. Ironically, he was in the same sort of glassy-eyed misery as the fans who now feel they have so little in common with him. All of them will wonder how it ever came to this.

An intervention or two from Wayne Rooney could conceivably defeat Chelsea on Sunday, but most spectators would still treat it as a happy interlude in the sorrowful decline. These people, having swallowed a blank season and suppressed feelings of self-loathing sufficiently to renew their season tickets under the Glazer regime, realise that they will not be rewarded with a little innocent joy on the field.

United, apart from being successful, used to be such fun. The attacking was so imprudently passionate that you could not help but beam at the sight of it, despite the price that occasionally had to be paid in the calculating environment of the Champions League. There is no mystery over its disappearance.

Faced with the unavoidable task of replacing a team with a terrific home-grown component, Ferguson has made too many mistakes in the transfer market. Just as in his dealings with supporters or MUTV, Ferguson has gone out of tune. The consequences are seen particularly in a hapless midfield that is meant to link defence to attack but merely undermines both departments.

At the age of 63, Ferguson will be right to ask himself whether he has the time or the stamina to put it right. This is a crisis like no other he has faced. He can look back on the early days and reflect on how solid the structure around him was. Though he and Martin Edwards bickered, they worked well together for 10 years until the mid-1990s, and the alleged parsimony of the chief executive still produced enough money to create superb teams.

The rise in funds has been in inverse proportion to effectiveness, as the fruitless signings of men such as Juan Sebastián Verón and Kleberson shows. It once amused Ferguson that the results he produced on the field ensured a soaring share price that made a fortune for the supposed cheapskate Edwards.

This is no joking matter now that the new owners demand a return on their investment. The Glazers, to protect their £790m investment, will have to stump up for new players to improve the side, but they are bound now to ask themselves how wise it will be to let Ferguson identify those signings.

Confronted by rivals in Chelsea of unapproachable means, Ferguson himself might doubt if he still belongs at a ground where the players no longer seem to respond, where the Glazers run an appraising eye over him and the once euphoric fans turn their backs. The last great strategic task of his managerial career may be to plot a dignified departure from the club to which he has brought such glory.

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