PREMIER LEAGUE:David Moyes' appointment as manager at Old Trafford looks inevitable, writes ANDREW FIFIELD

TYPE “DAVID Moyes” and ‘uncomfortable silence’ into YouTube and you will be directed to one of the most painful pieces of video footage concerning a sportsman since Greg Louganis decided to test the bendiness of the diving board in Seoul’s Jamsil diving pool with his skull.

The Everton manager is taking questions at a news conference when a television reporter broaches the subject of Victor Anichebe, the striker sent home by Moyes a few days previously after what is known in the trade as a sensational training ground bust-up. After being told that Anichebe will not be in his next squad – “he is injured” – the reporter presses on.

“Do you think too much was made of the incident this week?” Moyes’ mouth drops a couple of centimetres and hangs there, as if it has been yanked open by a piece of string. The silence that follows is quite possibly the longest one-and-a-half minutes on the internet: it makes Tom Cruise’s sofa-jumping moment on Oprah look as if it has been filmed in fast-motion.

There is only one man present who does not want to crawl into the nearest hole: Moyes himself. The Scot is in his element: cold, clinical and controlled – a case study in contempt. And when Moyes decides to post off his job application to succeed Alex Ferguson at Manchester United, he should make sure the video is labelled “Exhibit A”.

I say “‘when” because, already, Moyes’ appointment at Old Trafford looks inevitable, and not simply because this piece of journalist baiting was an effort which Ferguson, a master of the art, would have been proud to call his own.

There are too many spooky parallels to ignore. The competitive instincts of both were forged in Glasgow’s footballing inferno – Ferguson in gritty Govan, Moyes in leafy Bearsden; as players, each dreamed of glory with the Old Firm only to be callously cast aside; as managers, inauspicious beginnings at the grimy coal-face – Ferguson at St Mirren, Moyes at Preston – served as the perfect springboard to jobs with fallen giants in England’s north-west and both Manchester United and Everton have been resuscitated under their inspirational leadership.

More than that, Moyes has mimicked Ferguson’s uncanny ability to tap into his clubs’ energy sources. At Aberdeen, Ferguson harnessed the resentment fostered by the Old Firm’s duopoly: Pittodrie became the powerbase for anti-Glasgow movement, with their groaning bank vaults and newspaper cheerleaders. At United, it was – as he put it – all about “knocking Liverpool off their f**king perch”.

Moyes, too, wanted to take Liverpool down a peg or two but, realising surpassing them was unrealistic, he subtly recalibrated expectations – rebranding Everton “The People’s Club” in his augural press conference, a slogan so popular it is now daubed on the side of Goodison Park’s Park End, and imbuing the club with the indefatigable spirit of the underdog. It has worked a treat.

There remains one key difference, of course: the absence of a splash of silver on Moyes’ CV. It took Ferguson four years to add a cup to Old Trafford’s cabinet, whereas Moyes has gone seven without one at Goodison.

With that in mind, yesterday’s painfully protracted victory over United at Wembley was perfectly timed, even if it did upset the Old Knight.

Besides, there are mitigating circumstances for Moyes’ barren streak. When Ferguson was starting at United, it was still possible for a side finishing 13th in the old First Division to win the cup, as he proved in 1990. In today’s age of the Big Four cartel, success is measured by other means: a knockout final appearance here, a top-five finish there.

Moyes’ lack of medals has not given him an inferiority complex. Last season, he was interviewed at Preston’s National Football Museum. There, under the gaze of Bill Shankly, whose image is picked out in seats on Deepdale’s Kop, he spoke of the great Scots who had traipsed down the M6 in search of immortality: Shankly, Busby, Ferguson.

There was reverence in his voice, but not fear. Rather than gazing, awestruck, at an untouchable tradition, he appeared to be placing himself within it, embracing his status as a worthy successor to the greats of seasons past. And while many could consider that presumptious, others – including, one suspects, Ferguson – would surely approve of such bullish self-belief.

Moyes will play down the notion of one day being Ferguson’s successor, not least because it appears a cursed tag-line: Mark Hughes, Bryan Robson and Roy Keane, all touted for the post, would testify to that.

But if Ferguson has appeared unusually relaxed at recent questions surrounding his likely departure date – a sure-fire way to raise his heckles in previous years – it might just be because his mind is already made up. After all, who could be a worthier heir to the hairdryer than Moyes?