I can think of several coaches deserving a noble place in Spanish football history, but Jose Mourinho is not one of them.
Cowardice dictated his red card in the King’s Cup final, his verbal outburst the cheap shot of a bad loser. He had promised more than he could deliver and knew it but rather than stick around and fight to the end with his players, he chose escape.
It was a game in which Simeone’s street bruisers had found their perfect counterpart in Mourinho, and beat him at his own game. With Mourinho expelled, it was left to Casillas to try and rally the troops from the touchline-an act of chivalry belatedly restored at the Bernabeu.
Previously Casillas, a decent guy much loved by club and national team colleagues, had found himself sidelined, simply to fuel Mourinho’s ego. Such treatment came lose to wrecking Real Madrid’s sense of its own identity. Mourinho enjoyed the support of the Ultras Surs , much as a dictator rallies his storm troopers. They mirrored each other in their thuggery.
Ultras Surs waved the Spanish flag and in so doing made a mockery of true patriotism. Their hero Mourinho tried his best to drive a wedge in the solidarity of the Spanish national team, fuelling club rivalries, turning friends against each other, a veritable agent provocateur. Neither Guardiola nor Del Bosque owe him any favours, and Tito Vilanova should never forget that poke in the eye. Mourinho was not so special when it came to Spain.
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