Parkinson. Take That. Liverpool in Istanbul. Peter Mandelson. Our proud nation has seen many great comebacks in its time. This week, Roman Abramovic will be sacrificing a fatted calf to celebrate the return of his prodigal son. Jose is back!
I’m flinging journalistic impartiality out of the window here and now. I think Jose Mourinho is fantastic. Ever since the young Porto manager went tearing down the touchline to celebrate a two-legged winner at Old Trafford, the Special One has had a special place in my heart. Mourinho appearing on screen is like watching Gollum in Lord of the Rings; he’s the only bit worth paying attention to. Housewives up and down the country won’t be the only ones going weak at the knees on his return. Players, fans, journalists, other managers – Mourinho pretty much groomed the nation last time he was here.
Too Good has expressed its admiration for Jose’s managerial record before. He’s the top dog. The man from Setúbal had every right to call himself “a special one” (he never actually said “the special one”, but indefinite articles don’t carry quite the same quotability…). Mourinho is a big game hunter and he has a glittering trophy cabinet. Chelsea are the clear winners in the managerial merry-go-round.
Not dissimilar to goats being able to predict an earthquake, bookmakers usually have a feel for the seismic impact of an arrival at a football club. Mourinho’s announcement has positioned Chelsea as near enough joint favourites for next year’s premiership (Chelsea are at 31%, United at 33% and City, remarkably, have their noses in front at 35%). You wouldn’t want to bet against Jose repeating his previous trick of winning the league in his first year. Don’t forget Chelsea are already a team that, aside from a horror show of 4 points in seven games in late autumn, were posting title-contending numbers for the majority of last season.
Are there any flies in the West London ointment? Most worriment focuses on Mourinho’s longevity. The accusation goes that Jose has all the matrimonial sticking power of Liz Taylor. I think Mourinho’s reputation as a jilter is a bit unkind. If anything, it would be fairer to characterise him as having a penchant for choosing to work with despotic lunatics. Roman Abramovic and Florentino Pérez are to sound minds what I am to high fashion. Neither of them have shown the ability to nurture a manager any longer than Lenny in Of Mice and Men was able to hold a mouse. Only at Porto and Inter, where Mourhino was clearly getting a promotion of sorts (to Chelsea and Real Madrid, respectively), could he be said to be leaving clubs entirely of his own volition
I suspect Mourinho’s tenure will surprise people in its length. Jose has made no secret of his desire to coach Portugal one day but this shouldn’t worry Chelsea fans. National teams are the preserve of managerial dinosaurs these days. A way of keeping your toe in once the demands of 38 games a season at the coal-face are no longer bearable. A mere pup aged 50, Mourinho is at least a decade away from being at the helm of the Seleção.
As for club teams likely to tempt him away, I’m not sure where else he would now go. Manchester United don’t seem to want him, despite his gushing post-match press interview at Old Trafford in March (behaviour that was every inch him making eyes across the dance floor). He hates Barcelona and he was practically chased out of Italy. He’s running out of options at the top-table.
Mourinho’s second reign will more likely depend on whether Abramovic can resist the urge to meddle. The temptation is completely understandable, if unwise. Roman has bought the chess set, so he wants to move the pieces. But Jose will not take kindly to being lumbered with another Shevchenko. If the restless Russian starts to rock the marital boat, Jose isn’t one to stick it out for the good of the children.
What should be of greater concern is whether Mourinho can recreate the same magic of his first visit. Sequels are rarely as good as the original. And, outside of a Champions League win, it’s hard to see how he can top his first visit. Now’s the time for the job, though. Between them, Villas Boas and Benitez have performed the gritty but necessary transition from the old guard. Gone is the reliance on Drogba, Essien, Terry and Lampard. Those that remain from Mourinho Mark One know they are no longer guaranteed starters. At Jose’s disposal is a young, talented crop of players crying out to be steered to greatness. In Mata, Oscar and Hazard, Chelsea have one of the finest attacking midfield trios in world football.
Mourinho likes a war chest and Abramovich will indulge him. He has presumably been assured he can buy at least one top-class striker, unless he’s bringing with him a defibrillator to use on Fernando Torres. In the long haul, Lukaku shows a lot of promise (and physical strikers are often late developers). You would think, though, that Roman will want to gift Jose with a welcome home present. A fatted calf is one thing but someone who will snaffle 20-25 goals could easily make the difference in a tilt for the title. Robin van Persie showed that. If Chelsea can come up with some bona fide penalty box ammunition over the summer, Honest Too Good’s Unofficial Gambling Consultancy will be advising a crisp fiver on the title ending up at Stamford Bridge next year.
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“You know, Jose, I’ve always been a big fan of Raul…”
Too Good for the English Game 