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 can’t really remember how the rest of the conversation went in the short but excruciating journey to our floor, so paralysed by awkwardness was I. Did I offer sympathy, constructive advice, compassion? I hope so, but I can’t guarantee it. 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.

There’s 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.

The Manchester United 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.

Here are a few examples of the extremely honest things he has said in public, since arriving at Old Trafford in November.

“I am not helping my players in the moment.”

“David Moyes is doing a better job than me, it’s simple.”

“I have to sell my idea, I don’t have another one.”

“Imagine what this is for a fan of Manchester United. Imagine what this is for me. We are getting a new coach who is losing more than the last coach.”

“We are the worst team maybe in the history of Manchester United.”

“This club needs a shock.”

“That is really clear (that United could get relegated), so we have to fight.”

Amorim 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.

Amorim has overseen 10 wins from his 23 games in charge of United (Carl Recine/Getty Images)

And there have been a lot of bad days at United so far. It’s impossible not to have some sympathy for Amorim; a young coach who had already achieved plenty but who was coming to the end of a cycle at Sporting CP and was given an opportunity he didn’t feel he could say no to.

He wanted to wait until the summer, as was sensible, but United insisted that he take the job there and then, as was very not sensible. Perhaps he should have held his nerve, trusted that he could finish the season in Portugal and still get a bigger job, and avoid the swirling mess of Manchester United altogether.

But there he is, looking increasingly beleaguered on the touchline and then, once he’s facing the cameras and the microphones, shows the world his truth.

All of this would be very different if things were going better on the pitch. If United were winning, then this column might have been about how refreshing his honesty is, how it’s surely a virtue that has helped relate to his players. But like most other things in football, everything is viewed through the prism of results.

He doesn’t seem to be playing a character or presenting a persona, as managers sometimes do in order to create some distance between their actual self and their public-facing self.

Which, for those outside of United, particularly the media, is great. Having a manager bare his soul rather than stare blankly down the camera and offer a set of interchangeable platitudes is entertaining, an interesting diversion from the norm, grimly fascinating even.

Amorim is an engaging speaker… but not one for sugarcoating (Alex Livesey/Getty Images)

For his sake though, it can’t be a good thing. Apart from the debatable benefits of public self-abasement, many of his statements only serve to emphasise the negativity around United — which doesn’t need much emphasising — and create more debate and fevered coverage.

Would anyone seriously be talking about the prospect of United being relegated, given the state of the bottom three, if he hadn’t mentioned it? What is the benefit of comparing himself negatively to Erik ten Hag or Moyes? These are the sort of things that might be true but you don’t need to actually say them.

Apart from anything else, from a self-preservation point of view, there must come a point where his employers think that he’s far too honest, that he is attracting more negativity to United than they can stomach.

Perhaps there was some evidence that the United boss can play the game when he downplayed Alejandro Garnacho’s reaction to being substituted against Ipswich Town in his latest press conference on Friday, saying that the 20-year-old will pay for a team dinner after disappearing down the tunnel rather than taking a spot on the substitutes’ bench.

Still, the advice to Amorim is just to dial it back a little. Everyone will understand if you try a little positive spin on things occasionally. Nobody will blame you for a little fib every now and then.

And if you get into a lift and someone asks how things are going, just say: “Yeah, not bad thanks, mate. How are you?”

(Top photo: Oli Scarff/AFP via Getty Images)