I'm not so sure anymore where I stand on Rooney. Over the week I trotted out the same cliches many United fans did to friends and Twitter and anyone who asked: Fergie over Rooney every time; no single player is bigger than the club; and more succinctly, 'f**k him'. He's back now, so all is forgiven. But United supporters, myself included, are a painfully arrogant bunch, loyal to the point of North Korean, obnoxious to the point of Corkonian. If I wasn't one of them, I'd hate to be stuck in a room full of them.

In the midst of the mighty PR battle between Team Fergie and Team Rooney, some interesting perspectives emerged. While Ferguson is being portrayed as the bemused father figure, disappointed at his son's betrayal, Rooney is increasingly seen as a cantankerous, money-hungry thicko who hasn't performed on the pitch since March. This narrative is pretty easy to sell to United fans. It was the club every time. F**k him.

Fergie, unlike his defence on the pitch, held the line even at the hour of victory: "I said to the boy that the door is always open and I'm delighted Wayne has agreed to stay.

"Sometimes, when you're in a club, it can be hard to realise just how big it is and it takes something like the events of the last few days to make you understand. I think Wayne now understands what a great club Manchester United is."

But it's a lot more complicated than that constructed soap opera. Much of it is about how we judge people from different social classes. Rooney is the working-class kid done good, forever in debt to the strict guidance of Sir Alex who moulded a prodigious but wayward lump into a world-class player and global brand. So obviously, we think, Rooney is massively in debt to Sir Alex. That is the real battle, the thick upstart versus the smart tactician who 'made' him.

All of us have mentors we are grateful for: parents, teachers, bosses, people who guided us to better ourselves. But mentors are not infallible. There comes a time when the apprentice, upon proving themselves, is entitled to question the resolve of those above them.

Maybe, though, we didn't want to hear the questions Rooney was asking. Why couldn't United give "the boy" the assurances he needed that he would be playing alongside the best in the world? Of course, Rooney is being vilified for asking these business-like questions because we don't believe he has the capacity to come up with them on his own. They are seen as a distraction, an excuse, a smokescreen for the real reasons he threatened to leave – whatever those were. We have never viewed Rooney as a business-like being. He is the scally, Ferguson the Svengali. If a 'real' business person was asking these questions of their corporation, we would understand and admire their tenacity. United may have made Rooney, but does that really mean he can only continue on their terms?

Unfortunately, as events turned out, it seems so. Ferguson has told radio stations that Rooney apologised to him and to his team mates. He has told him to apologise to the fans.

What for? What was really wrong with a highly successful young professional evaluating whether the business he was contracted to was the right place for him to maximise his career options? When he spoke to United, he asked the same questions that every sports and business commentator, as well as United fan, has been asking for the past year. The difference was that his livelihood depended on the right answers.

And while his flagging form was indeed part of the problem, he was right about the uncertainty at the club.

Fans will always side with the club and vilify players who depart, daubing them disloyal. But what are football clubs anymore? If we're not supporting individual players, who are we actually supporting?

Football clubs are millionaire businessmen, Saudi Arabian sheiks, Russian oligarchs and bankers whose very wealth depends on scallies like Rooney.

Hold me...

It's getting slightly more difficult to deal with the increasing surreality of everyday living in Ireland. I think this more or less reached an apex last week when RTÉ news showed a video of someone simulating bestiality with a marsupial in a hotel disco in Dublin, followed by headlines wondering whether or not the kangaroo/wallaby had been fed ecstasy. There's only one internet acronym needed for all of this: WTF.

Thrill me...

If there's one modern tool I can't live without AT ALL, it's Google maps. Last night I lost my way back to my hotel in Paris. After walking around for about an hour and a half and ending up back at the Centre Pompidou six times (not joking) the miraculous-ness of Google maps on my phone eventually guided me home. An essential tool for someone as geographically dyslexic as myself.

Kiss me...

Over the next four Thursdays, four teams will be putting together unique one-off club nights at the Sycamore Club in Temple Bar, Dublin, called Halcyon Nights. The one I'm involved in takes place on 4 November and is titled 'Emergency'. All of the money generated will go to Dublin Youth Theatre which continues brilliantly to push the boundaries of creative theatre. I shall see you there.

Kill me...

The downside of being out of the country for a few days was missing the excellent Warpaint play in Crawdaddy in Dublin on Thursday night. While I try to block out the enthusiastic chorus from all who attended, you go and download their song 'Undertow', which is possibly the release of the year.

umullally@tribune.ie