Open Letter to Jose Mourinho
Dear Special One,
Or, is it Mr. Special?
Excuse my error in salutation, if in fact I committed one. I wish to take a fleeting moment to put pen to paper and congratulate you on your recent 0-1 loss to current world “dominators” Barcelona FC. I’ve in fact never seen such an emphatic “jump for joy” the likes I witnessed Wednesday eve when the final whistle blew at Camp Nou. But Yes!, you’ve done it. Your ubiquitous presence has in fact paid off. Forget the negativity of the losing scoreline and focus only upon your victorious aggregate triumph. Hark, the world over now admires or abhors you that much more, for this, I remain astonished!
You’ve accomplished the not-so-impossible feat of slowing young Lionel over the course of two legs in the world’s most prestigious cup competition. For that, I salute you. Consider young (Lion)el tamed.
With an unabashed, handsome swagger, you strode onto the strip of green earth with a passion and gusto so furious that even your Carolina two step with Victor Valdes couldn’t keep you away from celebrating with your batty away support. For a second, it quite scared me, but a moment later, (before they turned the sprinklers on) I realized here stood a man who’s accomplished what no other man has done in 38 years. Of course, the feat, massive in stature and pure in nature, was taking Internazionale Milano to none other than the coveted Champions League Final.
Big Cup, Big Ears, Money Cup, TV Cup,…you get the situation.
Which brings me to the concept of this dispatch. Now on the agape lips of every English journo residing in Old Blighty, and once sung so intimately and true by the America Alt-Country artist Ryan Adams, “When, when will you come back home? (on second review, Adams also spoke, “I’ve got a halloweenhead – head full of tricks and treats“, so take his words for what you will). My thesis: If you tame Munich’s lions on 22 May, could a homecoming be imminent?
Tell me Jose, is it United’s history you seek? Or City’s riches you desire? Could the tradition of Liverpool’s Reds beckon? Can England’s Premier League ever trump the recently decreed “greatest moment of your career”? Your time in the vastly diverse, top-flight Premier League was fruitful at the best of times and abbreviated at the worst. Their media obsess over your charm and woo. I entreat you, come back and fulfill their richest desires. Save them from the likes of Allardyce, Pulis, McCarthy, and McLeish.
Your marriage to the media, supporters and lonely housewives of the United Kingdom may still yet be salvaged. A complete paring. No longer a Sid & Nancy, no more a Romeo & Juliet with depressed conclusions. The end this time won’t come prematurely, your place is here. I cajole you again Special One, come back to England and usurp your throne.
Until an offer is extended and accepted, until a decision is reached, and until a coveted Premier League spot opens, we view your progress Mr. Mourinho with a keen and animate eye. We salivate over the potential, we hallucinate the future and we devise the conclusion.
May we meet again soon on the brave fields of England.