Hugh McIlvanney: Specious One losing the plot
The voice of sport
With the wearing banality of muzak, the complaints and conspiracy theories of Jose Mourinho thrum in our ears every time the realities of football deviate from what he sees as the irresistible destiny of his talents. Whether his consistently one-eyed view of events is the result of a genuine taint of paranoia or of calculated use of misinterpretation as a weapon, the effects are bound to be equally tiresome. Hypocrisy is a creature that no amount of meretricious dressing-up can make attractive.
As Mourinho repeatedly excuses, tacitly or volubly, egregious offences by his players while unleashing a torrent of condemnation on the (often lesser) transgressions of others, as he twists facts mercilessly to suggest that rare unfavourable scorelines for Chelsea aren’t actually defeats, only injustices, his arguments are laughably self-serving. In his reaction to Barcelona’s Champions League victory at Stamford Bridge last Wednesday night, a win marred by controversy but certainly not undeserved, he demonstrated yet again that he has become the Specious One. And he is in danger of becoming something worse: a graceless bore.
Whereas once his mischief came across as the sophisticated games-playing of a cunning, worldly provocateur, amusing us with observations marinaded in irony and jokes tipped with venom that did no more than sting, steadily his methods of seeking to undermine anybody he perceives as an obstacle to his ambitions have coarsened into unacceptable offensiveness. His efforts to portray himself and his team as righteous purveyors of excellence assailed from all sides by envy, cynicism and devious plots sometimes relate so strangely to his own manipulative ways that they teeter on the edge of farce.
How much brazenness does it take persistently to accuse Liverpool of robbing Chelsea by progressing at their expense into last May’s Champions League final on the strength of a goal that wasn’t a goal? Mourinho had a strong case for questioning whether Luis Garcia’s contact with the ball early on that night at Anfield sent all of it over the line. But where the blinding audacity shows is in the appropriation of the incident as a permanent, festering grievance without the faintest recognition that in the same passage of play Petr Cech, the Chelsea goalkeeper, ploughed into Milan Baros with a severity that would have warranted a penalty and a sending-off had the referee not, presumably, applied the advantage principle. Anyway, it was impossible to listen to Mourinho’s moaning about the outcome without gagging at the memory of how, at an earlier knockout stage of the tournament, his men had dismissed Barcelona by means of a goal that was not merely illegal but the fruit of premeditated skulduggery (the foul with which Ricardo Carvalho neutralised the opposition goalkeeper could not be seen in any other light).
It says much for the professionalism and personal restraint of Frank Rijkaard, the Barcelona manager, that he never chose to dwell publicly on the galling experience he endured in west London in March 2005, or indeed on the ugliness surrounding the first leg of the tie a fortnight before at the Nou Camp, when Mourinho alleged the Dutchman colluded with the match referee, Anders Frisk, who responded to subsequent hounding and threats by heading into retirement. Happenings in Catalonia a year ago were so unsavoury (having said he saw Rijkaard and Frisk together in compromising circumstances when he had seen nothing of the kind, Mourinho was branded an “enemy of football” and eventually fined and given a two-match touchline ban) that their main orchestrator might have been expected to try to dilute the bad blood when the clubs were drawn to collide again in this season’s competition.
Instead, characteristically, Mourinho appeared intent on adding transfusions of bitterness at every opportunity as Wednesday’s game approached. So, when an occasion for dispute emerged in the midst of the action, he was primed to apply his repertoire of resentful special pleading. His principal technique in this instance was to invite the world to acknowledge how unjustly Asier del Horno had been sent off for a foul on Lionel Messi after 37 minutes. I could not join the ranks of vehement objectors to the expulsion. If Del Horno merited sympathy, it was only because of the extreme torment inflicted on him by Messi’s bewildering elusiveness. The ball-control of one man annihilated the self-control of the other. Utterly disregarding the whereabouts of the ball, Del Horno hurled himself at the Argentine winger with such violent recklessness (it was not a tackle but an assault) that bad injury must have been a possibility if the target’s unnatural speed of thought had not enabled him to jump and brace himself for impact.
Those who tell us a red card was outrageous should remember that the offender had already visited sufficient mayhem on the 18-year-old Messi — whose slight figure was the most magnetic, dazzlingly effective presence on the field — to make the escaping of an earlier caution remarkable or, rather, simply wrong. Messi’s theatrical rolling on the ground was superfluous proof that even divinely talented prodigies are not immune to the distasteful excesses of the age. But when Mourinho railed against cheating-by-acting he was merely confirming that effrontery is as natural to him as breathing. The recent Grand Guignol performance of Arjen Robben apparently did not impinge on his thinking.
Nor did his comments accommodate the basic truth that the vast bulk of the quality football produced in midweek, before and after Del Horno’s removal, came from Barcelona. When outnumbered, Chelsea were heroically defiant. Yet even if they had stayed at full strength the odds would have been against overcoming the limitations of their play (their manager’s brilliantly successful record is based on favouring well-oiled pragmatism over expansive creativity, and more may be needed to beat Barca). Making the Nou Camp a gateway to the quarter-finals would be something of a miracle for Jose Mourinho. It is sad to reflect about such a prodigiously gifted individual that losing gracefully might be just as much of a stretch.
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Sums up for me everything that is wrong with this overblown, pompous, short-sighted prat.