Sure the title reads like it was written by an unimaginative hack halfway through a correspondence course on tabloid headline writing (it's harder than you'd think, ok), and it's undeniable that the attempted pun trips over itself as clumsily as Boris Johnson stumbles over inconvenient truths and into his mistress' bed, but for the very fact that it is still so plainly (not to mention painfully) a work in progress it just so happens to serve as the perfect segue to discuss Manchester Utd under Ole Gunnar Solskjaer.

Prior to the Parisian poster boys for creative accounting turning up to hand out lashings of perspective via the platter of Veratti's silver service passing, Ole had skipped through the minefield of Mourinho's legacy with the infectious breeziness of one of Santa's elves on Christmas Eve. With Old Trafford brimful of Angel Delight, smiles turned into victories, victories grew into optimism, and optimism ballooned into expectation. The frigid inertia of Mourinho's tenure turned into a runaway train of footballing momentum which seemed to crash through the bounds of Newtonian physics with the swaggering look-at-me impertinence of a gravity-defying Granny Smith floating down a Milanese catwalk. 10 wins from 11 games propelled the Utd juggernaut not only back into the top 4 but sent it careening through common sense to make them favourites to see off PSG.

Then, like a hackneyed plot twist come to spoil the party, reality derailed the Haribo train. Chief spoilsport was Thomas Tuchel whose angular, preying mantis-like limbs orchestrated a reappraisal of Solskjaer's tactical nous so damaging that the Norwegian was unflatteringly recast as a pound-shop populist being kept afloat by a volatile mix of hot air and credulity. While that response was exaggerated, it remains inescapable that under the white heat of the Champions League spotlight Solskjaer's tactics shrivelled somewhat; he failed to compensate for Mata's lack of mobility, didn't move to disrupt Veratti's metronomic influence, and was tripped up by Marquinhos' negation of Pogba to bystander status. Moreover, while the injuries to Martial and Lingard have been held up in some quarters as mitigating factors, in truth, they can only serve as such to the degree that a manager is not expected to adapt to unforeseen circumstances. As Manchester Utd manager there are no excuses, as Manchester Utd manager it is imperative to adapt.

The question, therefore, must be, whether Solskjaer has displayed this prerequisite ability to adapt. Well, yes and no. Going on what we've seen so far Solskjaer has demonstrated an admirable intuition for sketching tactical blueprints in the spaces between games, but little in the way of transformative off-the-hoof thinking during them. For example, despite initially trumping Pochettino tactically against Tottenham, Solskjaer was caught so flat-footed by the Argentine's riposte that Utd degenerated thereafter into a rabble of such last-ditch desperation, as to resemble what I believe in Britain are known as Tories. At least in this instance, unlike in the PSG match where after the soft shoe shuffle of the first half's shadow dancing, Solskjaer stepped on his own toes to allow Tuchel to take the lead, the damage wasn't self-inflicted. The suspicion, therefore, is that in the heat of the moment Solskjaer may be a little one-note tactically, preferring to tread water rather than risk anything rash or unplanned.

Equally as worrying has been his inability to thwart opposing teams in their efforts to man-mark Pogba. Although originally signposted by Rafa Benitez as an effective means to disrupt Utd's attacking fluency, and since imitated by the likes of Claudio Ranieri with mixed-results, the high stakes efficacy of Marquinhos' match-long stalking could precipitate more widespread adoption of the tactic. While the athletic prerequisites demanded by the role are sufficiently sinew-stretching as to guard against the Pogba-ploy becoming quite the low hanging tactical fruit that man-marking Jorginho, for example, has become, there was enough in Marquinhos' performance to provide both Solskjaer and opposing managers with pause for thought.

Of further concern to Solskjaer will be Utd's tendency, when faced with any halfway decent opposition, to fade across the course of 90 minutes. Bursting out of the traps like scalded greyhounds is one thing, collapsing into a wheezing asthmatic heap after 35 minutes is quite another. On one hand, Utd's ability to translate early sprightliness into goals marks a strikingly assertive pitch for dominance, but on the other hand, it distracts from a propensity to lapse into stroppy Mourinho-like habits in the closing stages of the biggest games. Often excused on the grounds of tactical expediency, the sheepish retreat into two banks of four, may be better considered as a concession to jelly-legged fatigue or as a performative admission that the squad lack a baton-twirling conductor capable of dictating the tempo of play. While Solskjaer's hands are tied in terms of squad depth, the same constraint doesn't apply to Utd's style of play and in this regard, it does seem that he has yet to strike the Klopp-ian equilibrium between energy expenditure and reward. Given that PSG put Utd to the sword in the second half and that only Tottenham's panicked profligacy prevented them from doing likewise, one wonders whether in future contests coaches will begin to play rope-a-dope and let Utd's free-swinging attack punch themselves out.

That said, it would be churlish, to consider Solskjaer's tenure as anything other than revelatory, to the extent that if one considers football to be a spiritual experience then he must be considered as Utd's Damascene conversion. Since the ignominious defeat at Anfield, a broken, invertebrate, and dispirited side has coalesced into a confident and vibrant outfit, revelling in the liberation of playing to their strengths. Even if the formidable aura of old is yet to be fully restored, Utd, after years of blindly fumbling through their own headspace, have finally reopened their eyes to their true identity.

On the back of a string of fizzing effervescent performances and near impeccable results, elements of the media have spun the upcoming clash against Liverpool into a catch-all narrative web. Rendered as parts Walter Mitty style escapism and earnest realism, redemptive arc and zero-sum game, coronation and tactical assassination, the future-proofed story-telling see-saws giddily between binary absolutes; between Liverpool and Manchester Utd, between glorious victory and bitter defeat, between yes and no. Such absolutism while beguilingly consumable lacks analytical heft and only serves to reduce the role of Sunday's match in evaluating Solskjaer's prospects to that of a tumbleweed cartwheeling through a rhetorical desert in which only formulaic hype can flower.

A Utd victory which rides the coattails of such disposable opinion risks Solskjaer's candidacy becoming indistinguishable from the surrounding public clamour. As a consequence, Utd's hierarchy would be well advised to avoid surfing along the popular crest of Ole's good-time vibes for the very simple reason that there is a world of difference between acting as a glorified stop gap and being entrusted with the long-term future of a global sporting institution. Yes, Solskjaer has proved adept at fulfilling short term objectives and that shouldn't be forgotten, but nevertheless, can such transitory goals be the only criteria by which his suitability for the permanent position can be judged? It would seem at once myopic to consider that they should be, and yet somehow implausible, given Utd's recent propensity for cack-handed mismanagement, to think that they won't.