MASSSSSSSIVE day in football news. The Eleven Devils Editorial Suite was abuzz with the ownership tangle at Arsenal—why must all Premiership takeover dramas involve either shadowy post-Soviet steel magnates or American plutocrats or both? why can't anyone nice ever chuck in a bid?—when the Execution of Jose flashed across the wires.
I'm hardly a Chelsea fan (no, that's my brother...one in every family, &c....), but it is sad that the Poshest have now lost their one asset guaranteed, week in and out, to entertain. Heavens know that the dreary grind of Drogbaball isn't keeping anyone riveted, but bless 'im, you could always count on Jose Mourniho. Many found the manager's trademark existential-Surrealist-magical-egotist style "annoying" or "grating". I guess it's just like caviar or certain pungent Gallic cheeses: an acquired taste.
We probably won't be long deprived. The geniuses on the email list shared by my futsal team, the Mighty Unicorns, already arrived at the perfect next mission for Mourinho: taking the helm of the Los Angeles BeckhamStars after this rancid season ends and Frank Yallop and Alexi Lalas receive their inevitable pink slips. Jose + Hollywood = Pure Potential. If MLS Commish Don Garber can take a moment from his next Chamber of Commerce luncheon in Omaha or Tuscaloosa or ______________, he should jump on his mobile. Tell Jose he will have friends here. He will be loved. We understand his kind...not really, but tell him that.
Meanwhile, let us leave Jose Mourinho with a piece of his own deep philosophy:
"So I know all about the ups and downs of football. I know that one day I will be sacked."
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