From treble winners to a season without a trophy, what exactly had Manchester United lost?
The Glazer takeover became the obvious explanation.
Manchester United's dynasty had not collapsed overnight, but to many supporters the acquisition felt like the spark that had set everything alight.
The newspapers had no shortage of dramatic headlines the following morning.
"Manchester United Is Dead."
"Rest in Peace, Red Devils."
"If You Have Something to Say, Burn It With the Coffin."
The language was deliberately provocative, and almost every front page carried images from the Millennium Stadium. Rows of supporters dressed in black stared back from the photographs, some angry, some tearful, others simply numb.
New Manchester United's victory was quickly given a meaning that went far beyond football.
To many commentators, it represented a club built around supporters defeating one increasingly defined by finance, leverage and corporate ownership.
That interpretation was simplistic, but it was powerful.
Football clubs had split before.
Liverpool themselves had originally emerged from a dispute involving Everton more than a century earlier.
But New Manchester United's story was different because it had happened only seven years ago.
Supporters still remembered the arguments.
They remembered the meetings.
They remembered the moment a group of people decided they would rather build something of their own than accept what Manchester United was becoming.
Seven years later, the contrast was extraordinary.
Manchester United, once the dominant force in English football, had finished fourth, carried enormous new financial uncertainty and narrowly avoided missing out on the Champions League.
New Manchester United had risen from the tenth tier of English football to become Premier League champions, repeated UEFA Cup winners and now Champions League finalists.
For supporters who had watched the entire story unfold, the comparison was unavoidable.
What should a football club actually be?
That question appeared everywhere.
Manchester United were often presented as the ultimate example of successful commercialisation.
They had built one of the strongest sporting brands in the world.
But critics argued that the same commercial instincts had also made the club cold.
When Beckham still possessed enormous transfer value, Manchester United had been willing to sell him.
To those critics, the player was treated less like an icon of the club and more like an asset with a price attached.
Now the same concerns surrounded the older generation.
Keane.
Giggs.
Scholes.
Players who had defined an era.
The first major policy associated with the new ownership was that players over thirty would generally receive only one-year contracts.
Even Keane, the emotional centre of Ferguson's great side, fell under that principle.
New Manchester United handled ageing players differently.
Beckham, approaching thirty, had recently been offered a new four-year contract.
His basic salary was not dramatically increased, but maintaining his existing level at that age was already significant, and the package included revised bonuses and a greater share of commercial and image-related income.
Then there was Fernando Redondo.
The Argentine had retired from playing, but his influence inside Newton Heath had only grown.
Over the previous three years he had worked extensively with New Manchester United's midfielders, particularly the younger ones.
Fàbregas had learned from him.
Michael Johnson had learned from him.
Mikel had learned from him.
Beckham, Essien and De Rossi had all spoken publicly about how much Redondo had helped them understand the rhythm of midfield play, spatial control and the management of matches.
Even Yaya Touré, after leaving for Manchester City, had credited Redondo with improving his game.
Unsurprisingly, coaching offers had followed.
Several clubs had approached him.
AC Milan had even sounded him out.
Redondo repeatedly said no.
He had no immediate interest in becoming a head coach.
He preferred staying at Newton Heath.
"What I get here is worth more than money," he once said.
"It is more than a job."
"It is something I will carry for the rest of my life."
Nobody was quite sure exactly what he meant.
That only added to the fascination surrounding the club.
New Manchester United had somehow become one of the most attractive destinations in European football, despite lacking the history of Real Madrid, Barcelona, Milan or Manchester United.
Players wanted to join.
Players already there often wanted to stay.
Even the University of Manchester had studied the phenomenon.
Researchers examined supporter culture, organisational identity, ownership structure, community engagement and the club's unusually strong relationship with its players.
Their conclusions varied, but one idea appeared repeatedly.
New Manchester United made people feel that football still belonged to them.
That sense of belonging was difficult to quantify.
It was also becoming one of the club's greatest strengths.
Meanwhile, the Glazers continued reshaping Manchester United.
Shortly after the FA Cup final, they announced that the club would be formally delisted from the stock exchange.
Minority shareholders were given a limited window in which to sell.
Many refused.
Some supporters who held tiny parcels of Manchester United shares said publicly that they would rather watch those shares become worthless than hand them over to the Glazer family.
It was emotional rather than rational.
That was precisely the point.
Football support had never been entirely rational.
At the same time, early season-ticket sales for the following campaign were reportedly down sharply, in some estimates by more than sixty per cent compared with the same period a year earlier.
That created another problem for the new owners.
Matchday income mattered enormously to a leveraged takeover.
If ticket revenue fell, debt servicing became more difficult.
Ethan was not convinced the damage would be permanent.
Traditional supporters might stay away.
Others would replace them.
Manchester United's global brand remained enormous.
Tourists, casual supporters, corporate guests and fans drawn more by the occasion than by family tradition would still want to visit Old Trafford.
The problem was not necessarily empty seats.
It was atmosphere.
The people leaving were often the ones who sang.
The ones who stood.
The ones who knew every chant.
The ones who treated defeat as personal.
The supporters replacing them might spend more money inside the stadium, but they would not necessarily create the same home advantage.
That trend was not unique to Manchester United.
As Premier League clubs became more commercial, many traditional grounds were gradually filling with supporters who consumed football as an experience rather than lived it as an identity.
Higher revenue did not always mean a better atmosphere.
When journalists asked Ethan to comment on the Glazer situation, he refused.
Manchester United were rivals.
Anything he said would be interpreted as gloating.
He had no interest in feeding that.
His attention was on Istanbul.
Beckham took the same approach.
He admitted that he would always love the Manchester United he had grown up with, but he was now captain of New Manchester United.
If the two clubs met again, he would play to win.
That was the only professional answer possible.
Whatever emotional links had once softened the rivalry were already fading.
Ferguson was still there.
Keane, Giggs and Scholes were still there.
But that generation would not last forever.
As they disappeared, the Red Devil derby would become less complicated and probably more hostile.
The FA Cup final had accelerated that process.
Now there was only one match that mattered.
May 25.
The Champions League final.
AC Milan.
Four days separated the FA Cup final from Istanbul.
The Premier League season was over, so Mourinho finally had the luxury of preparing without another domestic fixture interrupting the week.
Every available player could now focus on Milan.
For New Manchester United, this would be their first European Cup final.
For AC Milan, it was familiar territory.
Maldini had lived through nights like this.
Cafu had played at the highest level for years.
Nesta knew pressure.
Inzaghi knew pressure.
The squad was full of players who understood exactly what a Champions League final felt like.
That experience was perhaps Milan's greatest advantage.
Wenger was asked to assess the final and gave a surprisingly detailed answer.
"Milan have more experience," he said. "That is obvious."
"But they are also an older team, and I think fatigue is beginning to show."
Their domestic results supported the argument.
Milan had lost at home to Juventus two weeks earlier.
Then they dropped points against Lecce.
Then Palermo.
The sequence effectively ended their Serie A title challenge and allowed Juventus to take the championship.
"That tells me Milan are tired," Wenger said.
New Manchester United, in contrast, had finished the English season strongly despite missing out on the title.
They had beaten major opponents.
They had eliminated Juventus and Real Madrid in Europe.
They had just beaten Manchester United in the FA Cup final.
Their attacking players were in excellent form.
Wenger highlighted Kaká in particular.
The Brazilian had scored 23 Premier League goals from midfield.
That total would have been impressive for a striker.
For an attacking midfielder, it was exceptional.
Drogba, Ronaldo and Villa had all reached double figures as well.
Messi's influence had grown dramatically during the second half of the season.
Wenger believed Mourinho had gradually found the right balance among them.
"The attacking quality is extraordinary," he said.
"Perhaps the best in Europe at this moment."
Milan's preferred style this season had been more reactive.
They were comfortable defending and counterattacking.
But Wenger wondered whether an ageing back line could cope with New Manchester United's speed for ninety minutes.
Maldini was still brilliant.
Cafu was still dangerous.
Nesta remained elite.
But none of them were getting younger.
Then there was Palacio.
The former New Manchester United forward had been outstanding since moving to Milan and had already scored decisive goals in Europe.
But Mourinho knew him extremely well.
He understood his movement.
His habits.
His preferred runs.
His finishing patterns.
"If Mourinho knew how to use Palacio," Wenger said, "then he also knows how to make life difficult for him."
For all those reasons, Wenger gave New Manchester United the slight edge.
Ferguson offered a similar assessment, though in more playful fashion.
"Milan's best period this season may already have passed," he said.
"They were excellent against us, especially across the two legs, but their level has dropped since then."
"If I were putting money on it?"
Ferguson smiled.
"I'd probably back New Manchester United."
A reporter asked why.
"Because Ethan's my friend."
The room laughed.
Ancelotti, unsurprisingly, backed Milan.
More specifically, he backed Mauro Tassotti.
"Mauro was an excellent player and he has become an excellent coach," Ancelotti said.
"He understands Milan."
"He understands the players."
"He has brought energy back into experienced men who have already won almost everything."
The resurgence of Maldini, Cafu and Costacurta reflected that.
So did the form of Inzaghi and Palacio.
Tassotti had placed enormous trust in both strikers, and they had rewarded him.
"I believe Milan are ready," Ancelotti concluded.
"They deserve to be in the final, and I believe they can win it."
The bookmakers were almost equally divided.
New Manchester United had form.
Milan had experience.
Mourinho had built a reputation as Europe's most intense young elite coach.
Tassotti had the trust of a dressing room filled with champions.
There was no obvious favourite.
That was what made the final so difficult to predict.
In a league campaign, squad depth and consistency usually told over thirty-eight matches.
A final was different.
One evening.
One tactical mistake.
One moment of inspiration.
One set piece.
One goalkeeper error.
One injury.
That could decide everything.
The match would ultimately come down to the managers' preparation and the players' ability to execute under pressure.
By then, every major European league champion had been decided.
Only one true centrepiece remained.
Istanbul.
Supporters flooded towards Turkey from across Europe.
Flights were booked solid.
Hotels filled.
Ticket prices rose.
New Manchester United supporters travelled in numbers nobody would have imagined possible when the club was founded.
Milan supporters came expecting another European coronation.
One side was chasing a seventh European Cup.
The other was trying to win its first Champions League in its first attempt.
The contrast gave the final an almost perfect narrative.
There were commercial consequences too.
Mark Davey was delighted.
New Manchester United and AC Milan were both scheduled to participate in the following summer's Audi-backed American tournament.
Having two Champions League finalists involved would transform the event's profile in the United States.
If New Manchester United won, the effect would be even greater.
A European Cup would elevate the club commercially almost overnight.
Recognition that had already grown rapidly would move into another category.
Milan understood the stakes just as well.
Their delegation arrived in Istanbul under enormous scrutiny.
Adriano Galliani discovered that immediately.
At the airport, reporters surrounded him.
Most questions were predictable.
Maldini's fitness.
Palacio's form.
Tassotti's selection.
Mourinho's tactics.
Then one journalist asked about something else.
The Pope's curse.
Galliani's expression changed instantly.
(To be continued.)
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