The End of Mourinho?

A Robbo Robson Exclusive

Reports coming in from UEFA are suggesting that special operatives from UEFA have, following extensive and meticulous covert surveillance, found and killed Josama bin Mourinho.

Mourinho, whose whereabouts was not shared with Castillian secret intelligence for fear of a leak, was found cowering behind his pizza margherita with extra jalapenos in a hotel room not far from Las Ramblas in Barcelona’s city centre.

'Don't look at the eyes, boys, don't look at the eyes!'

He was unarmed but officers were obliged to avoid the monster’s glare and wear protective earpieces should his sultry sneers for mercy convert them instantly into Special Ambassadors for his mission.

For a long time now UEFA (Upholders of European Football Artistry) have waged a clandestine war on the one they call The Special One. He has been the Beautiful Game’s Public Enemy Number One, Football’s Most Wanted and Least Loved, a man who is the ultimate in Ends Justifying The Means.

Mourinho’s ability to escape capture has been one of the great mysteries of modern sport. He is rumoured to have traversed great distances in any number of modes, and once passed through several banks of security in a laundry basket. (Admittedly the baskets at Chelsea need to be enormous given the amount of dirty laundry they get through each week). It is said that Mourinho once travelled from London to Milan in a flight powered entirely by his own ego.

While much of the evidence of Mourinho’s misdemeanours is anecdotal at best, there are many who put down their demise to the overweaning influence of the Portuguese-born translator. Referees have felt compelled to retire, and voyeurs have fervently felt the need to defend themselves.

Members of FC Barcelona have also been victimised. Sergio Busquets has been so manipulated by Jose’s Special Forces that he seems to feel every scratch, tug and nudge by an opposition player through his face. It is thought that this condition has led to cerebral damage that may have turned him into a racist shit. (Certainly Emmanuel Adebayor, a Mourinho aide, seemed to think so when he was sent on an assassin’s mission last night. Personally I was on his side although having said that, it’s not as if the Madrilenos aren’t averse to the odd monkey chant when it suits them.)

Then there’s Javier Mascherano, a fearsome man renowned for his power and malice that a Mourinho operative reduced to the role of writhing soap queen yesterday evening. Rumours are that the Masch spent the evening on Monserrat Caballe’s washing line though he rejects the idea that he is that big a girl’s blouse.

Image from a grim pro-Josama website

Mourinho has maintained that the Catalan capacity for fakery is not of his making. Indeed sources at Real Madrid are said to be pushing for an investigation into the whole structure of FC Barcelona. They have recommended that a special commission be headed up by Lord Scarman in the full expectation that he will find the Masters of Magical Footy guilty of ‘institutional simulation’.

While few share Moaninho’s beliefs, he has insisted that his failure to win every European competition he has ever entered is down to a conspiracy. When UEFA has been unable to defeat him, they have invented victories from goals of a paranormal nature, made members of his crack squad ‘disappear’ early in proceedings to face the water torture of the ‘early bath’ or forced him to squeeze into uncomfortable corners from whence he has had to communicate in more inventive ways.

Even then, UEFA have been powerless to prevent him from using such cutting-edge technology as the I-pad, the mobile telephone and even, fiendishly, a notepad and pen.

There are some mainstream sympathisers with the arch criminal’s view that diving divas need to be punished. If UEFA really wanted to deal with this they could view video evidence and start suspending the pimping plungers here and now. To the average man in the street – and I’m nothing if not that – it seems such an obvious and fair policy that even Nick Clegg would have difficulty reneging on it.

Central to the mission to destroy Mourinho has of course been the match they call El Crappico. El Naffico is a long-held tribal dispute somewhere in the fictional confederacy of states known as ‘Spain’. It is Moronho’s belief that the forces of evil are reined to the cause of the Catalans.

In particular he has sought to blame the organisation known as Unicef, which as everyone now knows, stands for the Unfeasibly Naughty Institute for Cheating Embryonic Footballers. There is circumstantial evidence that for years now Barcelona has been flooding its training camps with tiny schoolboys who for the first year are trained in dodgy play-acting and the second year learn how to do a triple twist with pike and tuck. Even the stadium’s name ‘Nou Camp’ translates as the ‘New Theatrical’.

Mourinho attempts to lure a young boy away from the Camp Nou

Of course Maureenio’s contempt for Barca may also derive from the first time he ever translated Bobby Robson at the Nou Camp. (And, bless Sir Bob, but it’d been nice if Jose had worked as a translator for the old fella when he was England gaffer too.)

Whatever the source of his malice and menace there seems to be little international outcry at Jose’s demise. UEFA have however been unforthcoming with photographic evidence of the end of the Special One and counter-conspiracy theorists are even now suggesting that the dark lord will rise again. Indeed to my certain knowledge he’s been seen driving a cab in Stockton-on-Tees.

In the meantime Barcelona officials have distanced themselves from exuberant celebrations on the streets of Barcelona. They have insisted that allegations of improper conduct by their representatives are completely unfounded and - well, it’s thought unlikely that we will witness any more third-rate Hollyoaks style tizzy fits from them in the final. Especially if Scholes plays as the Ginger Ninja always leaves plenty of evidence on the thigh of an opponent to make play-acting unnecessary.

Me? Were it not for Messi and Iniesta (another serial diver, mind) I wouldn’t care too much for Barca at the mo. Still they’ll be up against United. And they’ll beat ‘em. As for the Moochinho? Beware the second coming.