The world of advertising is a strange and nebulous place, where reality is refracted through the prism of marketing ambition until it barely resembles its original form. It’s a place where global corporations transform your relationship with a football club into something that can be squeezed into 90 seconds, set to a catchy soundtrack, and packaged for social media virality. The recent Adidas-Manchester United Originals ad is a testament to this phenomenon. But is it good? Sure, it’s visually captivating and stylish. But is it on brief?
Let’s start by dissecting what we’re dealing with here. The ad in question is a sleek, retro-styled montage that pays homage to the fabled past of Manchester United. It features Irish actor Barry Keoghan, known for his intense and often enigmatic roles in films like Dunkirk, wandering through the training grounds of “The Cliff,” the legendary but now defunct training ground where United’s golden generations were forged. All of this is set to the pulsating beat of Underworld’s “Born Slippy,” a track that, while iconic in its own right, has little to do with Manchester’s rich musical history.
On the surface, it’s an evocative celebration of United’s storied history. But dig a little deeper, and you start to wonder: What’s the actual connection between an Irish actor, a London rave anthem, and a Manchester football club? And why, when the ad ostensibly aims to tap into Manchester United’s deep-seated cultural roots, does it seem to sidestep the very heart of Manchester culture? Why, in short, does this ad feel like it’s trying to say something, but can’t quite figure out what that something is?
The Cliff: A Monument to What Once Was
First, let’s talk about The Cliff. To the uninitiated, The Cliff might just look like a generic old training ground, the kind of place you might see in a Sunday League match. But to United fans, it’s something else entirely. It’s where the Class of ’92 honed their craft. It’s where Sir Alex Ferguson first laid the foundations for his dynasty. It’s where the likes of David Beckham, Ryan Giggs, and Paul Scholes learned how to be winners. The Cliff isn’t just a place; it’s a symbol. Or at least it was.
You see, Manchester United hasn’t trained at The Cliff since the early 2000s. The club’s operations moved to the state-of-the-art Carrington training complex, a gleaming, modern facility that’s a world away from the gritty charm of The Cliff. Carrington represents the future, the high-tech, globalized, commercial juggernaut that Manchester United has become. The Cliff, on the other hand, represents the past—the working-class roots, the sweat and toil, the grit that once defined the club. So when Adidas chooses The Cliff as the centerpiece of its ad, it’s making a deliberate statement: This is the Manchester United we want you to remember.
But here’s the rub. The Cliff is no longer part of Manchester United’s present. It’s a museum piece, a relic of a time when football was less about global brand strategies and more about local pride. By focusing on The Cliff, the ad taps into a deep vein of nostalgia, but it also highlights just how far removed the modern club is from those roots. The ad wants to evoke a sense of authenticity, but in doing so, it inadvertently underscores the fact that the club it’s promoting has, in many ways, moved on from the very things it’s trying to celebrate.
Barry Keoghan: The Enigmatic Choice
And then there’s Barry Keoghan. Why Barry Keoghan? That’s the question that lingers long after the ad ends. It’s not that he doesn’t fit the vibe—he does. He’s got that brooding intensity, that everyman appeal that makes him an ideal candidate for a brand looking to evoke a certain kind of cool. In fact, it’s hard to shake the feeling that Keoghan was chosen not because of any inherent connection to the club, but because he’s a hot commodity right now, especially following his high-profile roles in critically acclaimed films. He’s the kind of face that makes people pay attention. And in the world of advertising, that’s often enough. But when you’re trying to tell a story about a club with as rich a history as Manchester United, shouldn’t there be more to it than that?
The choice of Keoghan seems to suggest that Adidas is more interested in tapping into a broader, more generalized sense of cool than in really digging into what makes Manchester United unique. It’s a calculated move, one that speaks to the way modern brands often prioritize style over substance. But in a campaign that’s ostensibly about authenticity it feels like a missed opportunity.
Born Slippy: A Soundtrack of Disconnection
And then there’s the music. “Born Slippy” by Underworld is an iconic track, forever etched into the cultural consciousness thanks to its association with the 1996 film Trainspotting. It’s a song that evokes a certain era, a certain kind of youthful, chaotic energy. But here’s the thing: Underworld are not from Manchester. They’re from Wales and heavily associated with Romford, Essex. “Born Slippy” is a classic of the UK rave scene, but it has no direct connection to Manchester’s music scene, which has produced its own array of legendary bands.
Now, there’s nothing inherently wrong with using “Born Slippy.” It’s a great track, and it certainly adds a pulsating, almost hypnotic energy to the ad. But when you’re making an ad that’s supposed to tap into the roots of one of the most iconic clubs in English football, it’s hard not to wonder why the soundtrack doesn’t feature, say, a band from Manchester. The city’s music scene is legendary. Joy Division. The Smiths. The Stone Roses (obviously Oasis are a non-runner). Any one of these bands could have provided a soundtrack that would have rooted the ad in a very specific time and place, a soundtrack that would have said, unequivocally, “This is Manchester.”
But instead, we get Underworld’s “Born Slippy.” Again, a great song. But its inclusion feels like a missed opportunity, a decision that was made more for aesthetic reasons than for any real connection to the club or the city. It’s as if Adidas wanted to nod to the cultural importance of Manchester without actually engaging with it. The result is an ad that feels a bit disconnected from the very culture it’s trying to celebrate.
The Diluted Trope: Passionate Football Monologues
What also stands out in this ad is its subtle nod to a well-worn trope in football marketing: the passionate, poetic monologue delivered by a gritty, working-class fan or an actor portraying one. This trope, popularized in no small part by Sean Bean in his iconic Sky Sports ads from the early 1990s, has become a staple of football advertising. Bean’s monologues were raw, authentic, and laced with the kind of Northern grit that made you believe every word he said. His voiceover wasn’t just narrating; it was performing a kind of verbal symphony that resonated with the intensity of a last-minute winner at Old Trafford.
In contrast, the Adidas ad, while visually evocative, offers a diluted version of this trope. There’s a sense that the monologue—if you can even call it that—serves more as an atmospheric backdrop than as a central element of the narrative. Keoghan’s presence, his quiet intensity, does much of the heavy lifting, but the ad doesn’t allow him to fully embrace the role of the emotionally charged narrator. The result is something that feels more like a whisper of passion rather than the full-throated roar we’ve come to expect from football ads that aim to connect with the soul of the sport.
This is not to say that the ad needed a direct imitation of Sean Bean’s style, but there’s a noticeable gap where that raw, unfiltered emotion should be. It’s as if the ad is afraid of being too much, too sentimental, and so it pulls back, opting instead for a kind of detached coolness that, while visually impressive, leaves you feeling somewhat cold. It’s a calculated move, perhaps designed to appeal to a broader, more global audience, but in doing so, it loses some of the authenticity that made those earlier football ads so powerful.
The Globalization of Manchester United: Losing Sight of the Roots
So what’s the takeaway here? Is the ad good? On a surface level, sure. It’s stylish, well-made, and evocative. It does what it’s supposed to do: It makes you feel something. But is it on brief? That’s where things get complicated.
The ad wants to tap into the roots of Manchester United, to remind fans of the club’s storied history and its deep connection to the working-class culture of Manchester. But in doing so, it highlights just how far the modern club has strayed from those roots. The use of The Cliff as a setting is a nod to a past that the club has largely moved on from. The casting of Barry Keoghan feels more like a nod to the actor’s current star power than to any genuine connection to the club or the city. And the choice of “Born Slippy” as the soundtrack, while aesthetically fitting, feels like a missed opportunity to engage with the rich musical heritage of Manchester.
In a way, the ad is a perfect encapsulation of the modern Manchester United: a club that’s still deeply connected to its history, but also one that’s increasingly defined by its global appeal and commercial ambitions. It’s a club that wants to remind you of its roots, but that also wants to appeal to a global audience. And in trying to do both, it ends up doing neither particularly well.
The ad is a reflection of a broader trend in football, where clubs are increasingly seen as global brands rather than local institutions. Manchester United is no longer just a football club; it’s a commercial entity, a global powerhouse with fans in every corner of the world. And in that context, the ad makes perfect sense. It’s not really about Manchester, or even about Manchester United. It’s about the idea of Manchester United, the brand, the myth, the legend.
But in trying to distill that myth into a 90-second ad, something gets lost. The ad wants to evoke the spirit of Manchester United, but it can’t quite capture it. It’s a good ad, sure. But it’s not on brief. It’s a reminder that no matter how well you package it, the past is a different country, and you can’t ever really go back.
So, is the ad successful? That depends on what you think it was trying to achieve. If the goal was to create something that looks and sounds cool, then yes, it’s a success. But if the goal was to create something that genuinely connects with the soul of Manchester United, then it falls short. It’s a glossy, well-produced tribute to a club that no longer exists in the form that the ad wants to celebrate. It’s a reminder that in the world of modern football, the past is always present, but it’s also always just out of reach.
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