The heavy rain pounding against the glass of the executive suite mirrored the turmoil engulfing Manchester United.
Below, the glowing scoreboard displayed a ruthless 0–2 deficit, a stark reminder not only of the score but of how comprehensively Brighton had exposed United’s weaknesses.
At the center of the collapse was Diogo Dalot—a player once promoted as the long-term solution in United’s defense—now being relentlessly targeted and outplayed by Brighton’s wide men.
High above the pitch, tension boiled over in the directors’ box. Sir Jim Ratcliffe had seen enough. There was no patience for halftime pleasantries, no tolerance for corporate niceties.
Ignoring the usual rituals of matchday hospitality, he picked up his secure phone and placed a direct call to Darren Fletcher, who was stationed near the dugout.
Fletcher answered from the dim tunnel area, where the anger and disappointment of the Old Trafford crowd echoed faintly but constantly in the background.
“Darren,” Ratcliffe said sharply, his tone cutting through the noise. “I’m watching the live metrics. I see the tracking numbers, the reactions, the posture.
What I’m seeing is a player who believes he’s immune to consequences because he’s survived since the Mourinho era.”
Fletcher attempted to explain, pointing toward Dalot’s struggles with Brighton’s overlapping runs and defensive overloads.
But Ratcliffe cut him off without hesitation.
“I’m not interested in his reputation or his résumé,” Ratcliffe snapped, dismissing references to Dalot’s past success abroad and his experience at elite European clubs.
“What I’m seeing tonight is unacceptable. After that performance against Brighton, tell him his time here is over. He can be gone by tomorrow morning.”
This outburst was not impulsive. Within the INEOS leadership, Dalot had increasingly become a symbol of everything they wanted to eliminate—a culture where underperformance carried no real consequences.
Despite his seniority and past silverware, his display in the first half was riddled with costly mistakes. For Brighton’s opener, he lost concentration, allowing Brajan Gruda to drift into space behind him unnoticed.
For the second goal, his weak challenge down the flank gave Brighton the freedom to deliver the cross that Danny Welbeck converted with ease.
Even worse was the body language—after losing yet another one-on-one duel, Dalot visibly shrugged toward the bench, a gesture that spoke volumes.
When the halftime whistle finally sounded, Dalot made his way toward the tunnel, pulling off his jersey, likely bracing himself for a tactical correction or stern lecture.
Instead, he was met by Fletcher at the entrance to the dressing room, phone still clutched tightly in his hand.
Fletcher stopped him before he could take another step. His voice wavered, fueled by anger and disbelief. “Don’t sit down, Diogo,” he said bluntly. “Sir Jim just called. He watched everything. Forty-five minutes of Brighton walking through us was enough.”
Dalot tried to respond, gesturing back toward the pitch, but Fletcher moved closer, ending the discussion.
“You’re not going back out there. He said you can leave tomorrow morning. Hand the shirt to someone who actually wants to fight for it.”
As teammates filed past, stunned and silent, Dalot was left alone in the corridor.
The defender once expected to anchor United’s backline saw his Old Trafford career come to an abrupt, hollow end not with applause or medals, but with the cold finality of a disconnected call.
