Wayne Rooney does not appear to be a happy man. There he is, with his face on and his talent absent, running about at half-pace. He shoots, it goes wide. He passes, it goes to anybody but the player he was aiming at. He shouts, and instead of inspiring, he just looks like a man trying to shift the blame.
He has been utterly rubbish for almost all of the last two years, a victim of his own reckless attitude to pork pies and professionalism. Banned at Christmas by Alex Ferguson for mince pie abuse and partying, it seems like you can compare his physique to Cristiano Ronaldo's, and work out just why Rooney has fallen off so dramatically.
The thing is, it finally seems like Rooney worked that out. He knows he's being usurped, and he knows that for all Ferguson's dealings with him, and the advice from the wonderful Paul Stretford, that he only has himself to blame. Here's Rooney's song: