Those inclined to buck a logical trend by deriding the notion that fame is a transient thing should, perhaps, pop into the Theatre of Dreams when the opportunity next arises. During the long summer months the callow youth of the less affluent Manchester suburbs, still the emotional bedrock of a sport now embraced by the chattering classes, fretted endlessly about a future darkened by the departure of Eric Cantona.
Impetuous, reckless and embarrassingly pretentious though Cantona proved himself to be, he could never be described as foolish, and by retiring gracefully before his waning powers tarnished the legend, he displayed wisdom beyond that normally expected of mere footballers.
They still talk of Cantona on match days, even if his attempts to extend his working relationship with United's bank balance has rather sullied his image as someone who had no need of material things.
The growing belief that his ghost has now been laid will probably disturb the Frenchman but, as an advert for Old Trafford's museum in the match programme declared: "Cantona is history".
The rather painful truth for those who like to denigrate United's achievements by proclaiming them to be merely a rosy apple in a barrel of bruised fruit is that they are a joy to watch when the mood takes them.
Last Wednesday night's performance against Everton on Merseyside, for instance, rubbed shoulders with perfection and when Howard Kendall talked of United featuring prominently in a one-horse title race, he was simply being brutally frank rather than seeking to deflect attention from his side's miserable contribution.
On Saturday, though, United were pretty awful and yet won by a distance. "The scoreline flattered us," conceded Alex Ferguson, in a rare display of humility.
By removing both Paul Scholes and Denis Irwin from the side which had played in midweek, Ferguson not only changed a winning line-up but one which had performed with such brilliance.
Tinkering is a manager's prerogative but Ferguson's decision to pair Andy Cole and Teddy Sheringham in attack was to reduce this game's appeal, for the fluency United had enjoyed at Goodison Park was due in no small part to the contribution of Ryan Giggs in a striking role.
Marooned on the left wing on Saturday, albeit with licence to roam inside, Giggs was a peripheral figure, largely content to glare accusingly as others mucked things up to his right.
Coventry City remain English football's great survivors and it is this inbred instinct for successfully clinging to rapidly fraying threads which so infuriates those who find their continued presence among the elite something of an annoyance.
Just as last season their fate may ultimately hinge on the deeds of two men. If Dion Dublin, marvellous on Saturday, can score regularly and if Gary McAllister, missing on Saturday, can continue to draw good performances out of those average players around him, they may do it again.
Certainly, in Gordon Strachan they have a manager who is never ambivalent about his objectives. Refusing to sit and reluctant to take questions, he said his piece before bolting back to the dressing room. "I want to be with my players right now," he said.
There was no need for Strachan to elaborate nor labour any individual point because his brief assessment was perfect: "People will see the scoreline and think it was the usual Coventry performance, but nothing could be further from the truth." How right he was.
Cole's second-minute goal was a wicked deflection off the boot of Paul Williams and there was more than a hint of good fortune about the Roy Keane goal which was to end all arguments 18 minutes from time.
For Karel Poborsky to come off the bench to claim a fine third with the last kick was cruel in the extreme and, as Strachan said, sufficient to make the margin of victory a nonsense.
