OLIVER HOLT: Bruno Fernandes is king of the WHINGERS. A symbol of all that is WRONG at Manchester United. He's PATHETIC. The opposite to what a leader should be

It was in the 72nd minute of Manchester United's humiliating 7-0 defeat to Liverpool at Anfield last March that Ibrahima Konate's arm brushed Bruno Fernandes on the chest. Fernandes fell to the floor as if he had been shot and covered his face with both hands, the better to inform us where the bullet had struck him down.

Fernandes' cheating did not achieve the desired effect of getting Konate sent off but it did bring him to the attention of Sir Jim Ratcliffe, who, slightly inconveniently for the United skipper, is about to seal the purchase of a minority share in the club and assume some responsibility for footballing matters at Old Trafford.

In a new book Ratcliffe contributed a chapter to, Grit, Rigour & Humour: The Ineos Story, he used the incident as an example to illustrate the very opposite of the qualities he admired in sportsmen. He recalled 'Bruno Fernandes clutching his untouched face in the Liverpool debacle recently' as a counterpoint to some particularly unyielding rugby action he had witnessed.

For some time now, Fernandes has become a symbol of everything that is wrong at Old Trafford. He is the United captain but he is, quite patently, not a leader. He is a fine footballer but he was a spectacularly bad appointment as the club skipper. He is not a man who leads. He is a man who lets you down. He may yet be the player who gets Erik ten Hag the sack.

The latest, and perhaps most egregious, example of his failings as captain of a ship that is listing dangerously again under Ten Hag, came against Bournemouth on Saturday when he was booked late on in his club's 3-0 home defeat by referee Peter Bankes for yet another display of petulance and dissent.

The game was already lost when Fernandes got his name taken. He has a reputation among referees as the King of the Whingers in the English top flight. There is no good will towards him, no affection for him and little respect for him. He is the opposite of what a club figurehead should be.

Anyway, that booking, that pointless booking, that booking which served no purpose other than to indulge another puerile, selfish tantrum, meant that Fernandes will now miss United's return to Anfield next weekend, so reducing their chances of avenging last season's humbling and reviving their fading hopes of making the top four.

Some have suggested Fernandes may have got himself booked deliberately to avoid the Liverpool game because he does not have the stomach for it. There is no evidence for that. It is a step too far. But it is fair to say this: a real leader would have been determined to play for United in that match at Anfield next Sunday.

A real leader would have given anything to try to atone for his own desperately poor performance last March in Liverpool. A real leader would never have got booked late on in a game that was already lost and left his team in the lurch against the league-leaders next Sunday when yet another season of disappointment and under-achievement is beckoning.

But that is what Fernandes did and that, sadly, is what he has become. He is a fine footballer whose pathetic antics have allowed him to become a symbol of everything that is wrong at Old Trafford. 

He is a fine footballer whose appointment as skipper by Ten Hag has been a disaster that has asked awkward questions of the manager's judgment. 

United are staring down the barrel of elimination from the Champions League when they go into Tuesday evening's home game with Bayern Munich needing FC Copenhagen and Galatasaray to draw in Denmark to have any chance of progressing to the knock-out stage of the competition.

It is Ten Hag who will feel the heat if United do not make it through and it is Ten Hag who will feel the heat if they lose to their fiercest rivals at the other end of the East Lancs Road on Sunday.

Most accept that United are a club that is rotten from top to bottom. Most accept that Ten Hag is the manager of a group of players who have created a toxic, spoiled, over-entitled, under-achieving dressing room.

The manager needs a captain who can shake that up. He needs someone who can set an example of fortitude and determination and courage and indomitability. Instead of which, he is stuck with Bruno Fernandes.

HOWE BUFFING HIS IMAGE 

At the Tottenham Hotspur Stadium on Sunday afternoon, Eddie Howe put two goalkeepers on the bench, knowing it was highly unlikely he would even use one of them. 

Other managers do it, too, I know, so this is not just about Newcastle but given that Newcastle are the self-proclaimed richest club in the world, it seems particularly performative and, frankly, pathetic for Howe to persist with this brand of gesture politics. 

Look at us, he's saying, we've got so many injured players we're forced to stick two keepers among the subs. We all know what it really is: it's a cop-out. It's a plea for sympathy. It's an attempt to excuse bad results. 

If you're Luton Town and in you're in the midst of an injury crisis, fair enough. If you're the richest club in the world, pleas for sympathy are going to fall on deaf ears.

If you're short of players, give another of the lads from the age-group teams a chance. Even if you don't think he's ready to play, it'd give him some experience of being involved with the match-day squad. 

Putting a second keeper on the bench is just a sign of a manager who's all about buffing up his own image. 

CUT OUT DINOSAUR LAD BANTER

Football broadcasting in England is an increasingly broad church and all the better for it. I've got a long list of commentators I love to listen to and most of my favourites operate on the radio. 

I'd put John Murray, Ian Dennis, Alistair Bruce-Ball, Ally McCoist, Chris Sutton and Jacqui Oatley at the top of the tree. Gary Lineker, Alan Shearer and Ian Wright are superb on Match of the Day. 

Gary Neville and Jamie Carragher continue to set the standard on Sky. Jim White and Simon Jordan are brilliant on talkSport, Jim Rosenthal is as good as he ever was on Amazon. 

Jason Cundy and Jamie O'Hara on Talk's The Sport's Bar are a late-night treat. Darren Lewis is as smart and trenchant as they come. I love newer, clever voices like Nedum Onuoha and Izzy Christiansen. There are things that make me want to switch off, too. 

I look for impartiality in analysis so I dislike the performative celebrations of ex-footballer-pundits, which seem to be encouraged and enthusiastically recorded by all broadcasters these days. It goes against everything I want and value in broadcast coverage. 

I dislike presenters who seem to think they are comedians and laugh at their own inanities for all they are worth. I dislike presenters who appear desperate to be mates with the ex-footballers on their show. 

All the presenters in those latter categories, it so happens, are men. Everyone has their preferences. Everyone has things they would like to banish and trends they distrust. 

If we could root out some of the lad-banter guffawing that is taking us back to a dinosaur time, broadcast coverage of football in this country would improve immeasurably. 

BATTLING THE ELEMENTS 

I like lists so in addition to racking up my 86th league ground out of the 92 with a visit to Morecambe's Mazuma Stadium on Saturday, the match also went straight in at number one in another category. 

Well before kick-off of the League Two clash with Stockport County, the wind started howling in off the Irish Sea and the rain blew in horizontal sheets across the pitch. 

The referee's assistants were sodden and bedraggled and one of the corner flags was buffeted so badly by the gale that it spent most of the match bowed almost level with the grass. 

It was remarkable that the teams managed to play the game at all, let alone share a 1-1 draw. It went straight in at number one in my list of experiences of Worst Weather at a Football Match.