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A few years ago, I got into a lift with a former colleague I knew a little but wouldn’t exactly describe as a close friend. In the way that we all have done hundreds of times, I asked how he was, expecting a variant of the standard response: “Yeah, not bad thanks, mate. How are you?”
Instead, this colleague said flatly: “My wife wants a divorce.”
I’ve always been someone who is taking the nice answer, not the brutal one. I certainly wasn’t expecting that. My colleague was merely saying what was on his mind, speaking his truth, but the lack of social filter, the brutal honesty of the interaction was too much and threw me entirely off-kilter.
Honesty is good. You shouldn’t lie. In most circumstances, it would be better if we all told the truth. In most circumstances. Not always.
A lot to be said for the harmless lie, the artfully concealed truth, the slight diversion from your true feelings when it would be much better for all concerned just to hold back a little bit. Which brings us to Ruben Amorim.
Manchester United’s head coach is a very honest man. Incredibly honest. In fact, he’s far too honest, seemingly a man incapable of hiding his true feelings when faced with questions from the media.
The manager has always been like this. Some of his former players told The Athletic in January that honesty and clear communication are among his strengths. “We prefer the truth,” one of them said.
But while the managerial straight shooter can be useful, constructive even, there must be a point where it becomes counterproductive. His public self-flagellation won’t necessarily tally with what he says in the dressing room, but you feel it’s unlikely that his players would have been fired up after he declared them the worst team in United’s history — even if he did clarify a few days later that he was referring to himself more than his squad.
It sometimes feels like we, the public, are participating in a mass therapy session, that Amorim is unburdening his soul at every possible opportunity. Maybe that’s good, maybe it feels cathartic, maybe it’s better than bottling it all up.
Imagine if you were his friend and he was constantly telling you stuff like this, though. You’d do your best to help him but there must be a point where you’d say: “Come on, mate… give it a bit of a rest.” He’d be the guy at a party bumming everyone out if he happened to have a bad day.
I’m not suggesting that Amorim should be dishonest or pretend to be something he’s not, but maybe, just maybe, he should try to find a balance between his brutal honesty and a bit of spin. Not everyone can be as brutally honest as he is, and maybe it’s okay to be unsure, to not have all the answers, to not be able to solve every problem.
But then, perhaps that’s just my posh liberal guilt talking.
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