THE PROSPECT of a season which has held both extraordinary commitment and sustained excellence being undone, not so much by the deeds of others but by simple fatigue, is beginning to drain Alex Ferguson's already shallow pool of patience.
Ferguson offered up the traditional managerial slant on a familiar argument on Saturday before slipping quietly away into the midst of a Merseyside public which had astonishingly afforded his side a prolonged ovation at the final whistle.
Quite understandably, Ferguson wishes to see Manchester United's campaign extended by the few days which may, ultimately, prove to be the difference between glorious triumph and mere success.
"It is totally unfair that we may be asked to play four games in eight days in May; it's ridiculous, really," he said.
His concern is possibly misplaced. United's fourth title in five years will probably be confirmed before the end of April. In the unlikely event that his plea should fall on sympathetic ears, Ferguson may find it difficult to resist the temptation to ask, in addition, if his club could be pitted against Everton every week.
Within, the next three years, Everton will up sticks and head for the green and pleasant lands of Kirkby some eight miles from their current home.
There will be consultation, there will be a referendum, the voice of the people will be heard - but it will happen. The new stadium will house 60,000 and chairman Peter Johnson has vowed to fill it.
But with what precisely? A heady cocktail of the naively optimistic, the unswervingly loyal and the ghosts of yesteryear, presumably. Everton will do well to avoid relegation this season.
To describe them as a poor team is to understate things. The rapturous ovation which echoed around the old place at half time when it was announced that veteran forward Paul Rideout was to replace the utterly wretched Claus Thomsen was a measure of just how desperate the Goodison Park faithful are.
Talked about being damned by faint praise. Not so long ago, when the words fixture and defeat were joined at the hip, their football was burdened downs by the irritating, irrelevant contributions of players who mistakenly saw themselves as entertainers.
Now it's all rudimentary and neanderthal dreadful stuff which has an uncomfortable agricultural feel to it. United, actually, did their level best id accommodate Everton and their Sunday morning ale house tactic of knocking it long and hoping it struck the head of Duncan Ferguson.
Despite the tireless running of Keane and Giggs, United, as they often do in the wake of a European excursion, played poorly and without enthusiasm, impressing only when the invitation to skip through the gaping holes in the Everton defence proved irresistible.
It was Everton manager Joe Royle's unfathomable decision to replace trusted goalkeeper Neville Southall with Paul Gerrard which cost his side the game. Gerrard was at fault - badly so - for both goals, allowing Ole Gunnar Solskjaer's shot to roll through his fingers and then presenting Eric Cantona with the decisive second after failing miserably to intercept David Beckham's cross.
United's passage to a win, which extended their advantage at the top of the premiership to six points, would have been even smoother had referee Dermot Gallagher done what he should have done and dismissed Ferguson for elbowing David May in the throat midway through the opening half.
By only cautioning the Everton forward, Gallagher unwittingly confirmed that either he had not seen the incident and had been cajoled into action by the crowd's reaction, or that he is simply not conversant with the rule book.
Either way, the decision was an absolute nonsense, a piece of ham fisted administration which served only to further undermine the credibility of an already tainted profession.
