In his first show as Manchester United manager, a draw at Ipswich Town, Ruben Amorim didn’t shed too many emotions. He smiled faintly when United scored just 82 seconds into the game, a goal that owed to his tactical rejig. With brown brooding eyes he watched his team fluctuate between energetic and erratic, bouts of purposeless possession dotted with spells of confusion. His reactions on the touchline were mild, no frantic gesturing, no guttural carnage of instructions, no pacing up and down the technical area, or no busy jot-notes. How long the facade of calm would last, or how long before his nerves begin to snap has to be seen. The reeling, flailing club could make Mahatma Gandhi take up arms; or Mother Teresa lose her patience. Even before joining the club, he would have realised the extent of his task, the burden he has embraced. He would have sized up his team’s defects in the training sessions during the international break and by talking to the support staff, but watching them in a full, …