The Old Mourinho In Winter
The old man was up to his usual tricks in El Classico. I couldn't help but smile.
It's hard to believe that it's been 22 years since Jose Mourinho introduced himself, properly, to the wider soccer world with his double-bird salute to Old Trafford, as his Porto side put Man United out, and pretty much ended Tim Howard's United career. What's even better is that he hasn't lost any of that swagger or snarl or attention-grabbing since. That has to be hard to maintain over two decades.
I, like many others scoffed when Mourinho returned to Real Madrid this past summer. He certainly didn't get there on any recent accomplishments. He won a Conference League with Roma, but never got them into the Champions League again, which they then immediately did accomplish just about as soon as he was out the door. His time at Fenerbache and Benfica didn't really turn heads, and his handling of one of his players racially abusing Vinicius Jr. last season was nothing short of sad and pathetic. A Madrid redux was completely built on nostalgia, and you know how I feel about nostalgia as a policy to run a team.
It seemed the modern way of the game had passed him by. Whereas the most successful managers now employ a ruckus-heavy high press or want to dominate the ball or both, Mourinho was still puttering along with his mid-to-deep blocks, counterattacking, and thoroughly annoying antics. Whatever ruckus Mourinho teams had, it was mostly contained to the sideline immediately around where he was standing. At times in recent years, it felt like Bjorn Borg coming out of retirement to still play with a wooden racket at Roland Garros in 1991.
And yet, there's something perfect about the marriage between Mourinho and Madrid, which is probably the nerve Florentino Perez was trying to touch with the hire. The biggest difference between Madrid and Barcelona is that the latter is always associated with a certain style. They don't just win, but the very name elicits a clear vision in fans of how that winning looks. It's the possession at all costs, the passing, the movement, the orchestra conducted.
That sort of ethos/personality has spread to the Premier League, too, though it came from Barca. Pep Guardiola defined what Man City look like (though that vision may get washed away in an avalanched of docked points). In response, Liverpool had a definitive look under Jurgen Klopp. Arsenal do now, and they did under Arsene Wenger, too. Even PSG now have a way that everyone can identify and describe.
Madrid have never bothered, or lowered, themselves to a particular ethos, under than just winning. The Ronaldo-and-Bale teams were different than the Vinicius-and-Bellingham team, which were different than Mourinho's first spell, and on and on. Madrid have never cared about the details, or the style, or the nuance, because for the most part, the only thing anyone remembers is who carried off the trophy and who didn't. Their style is the parade that follows.
That lack of care, the lack of decorum used to define Mourinho, too. He crashed the Champions League party with Porto, which was unheard of before and since. He ransacked the Premier League, the domain of Ferguson and Wenger with two fingers up and a barb for anyone listening. He won a treble with Inter just as Italian football was sinking into irrelevance. He pretty much waved his wang at Guardiola's Barcelona's revolution in his first stint as Madrid manager, crunching the space in every El Clasico to drown out the symphony they were trying to play.
The act doesn't work as well when he doesn't win of course, and the scorched Earth he left behind at United and Spurs would attest to that. But Mourinho was never around for long, but to burn brightly, but burn nonetheless.
I don't know that his second stint at Madrid will work, because Mourinho isn't any more equipped to solve the problems that Ancelotti or Xabi Alonso couldn't either. But last Saturday, facing the new hotness that this Barcelona is, popping more goals than a teenager has zits, basically rolling thunder wherever they go with their press, high line, and future legend in Lamine Yamal, Mourinho was truly in his element. Not having to be concerned with weaving any pretty patterns, or making attacking pieces fit that don't, or having to conjure much. All he had to do, all he had to get his team to do, was mold in his image of being a kidney stone, a construction site, the plug in the toilet. Keep this thing that everyone adores from doing its thing, and pinch what you need at the other end. Make it ugly, mar the art, win at the end, leave everyone but your team and your fans with a bad taste.
His team seemed to respond to the task, spurred on by their manager. So when Mourinho hit the knee-slide after Mbappe's winner, and spent the rest of the match glaring at Barca's bench in triumph, I couldn't help but smile. Maybe what Mourinho knows is what we all don't want to admit. We need him around. To remind us what really matters, and why the things that stand out do stand out. After all, Barca's football is only in such clear relief because of the contrast to what else is out there. We need the contrast.
Mourinho is that contrast, even more so now. This is probably it for him, on the biggest stage, so one last reminder of what it's good to have him around was welcome. Even when you're annoyed by him, which is most of the time, it's still necessary.