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Yet more crap from Patrick Collins


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I already knew the Mail and Sunday Mail are a pair of anti-Chelsea rags not fit to wipe my arse, and that Patrick Collins is a prize twat of the first order, but even so this piece of nastiness came as a bit of a shock:


size=10]Patrick Collins - Sports Columnist of the Year - Mail on Sunday[/size]

Shed no tears for the smug and unpleasant Mourinho

19:42pm 22nd September 2007

Slack of jaw and dull of wit, the fans paraded their protests at the gates of Stamford Bridge.

Their numbers were small but their capers caught the eye of the television cameras, as they intended. One man, louder and dafter than the rest, described Jose Mourinho as The Messiah. Depressingly, nobody laughed.

Mourinho himself would have been delighted by their adulation, thrilled by the furore his departure had provoked. The Prime Minister, no less, declared him 'one of the great characters of the game'.

Hitherto sane pundits informed us that a shining light had disappeared from the sport. Air-headed matrons scribbled acres of lurid tosh about the tragic loss of football's sexiest man. And as a sombre nation plunged into a period of mourning, my own thoughts turned to the men and women of the South Central Ambulance Service. If a single incident could capture the essential Mourinho, then it was surely the way he behaved towards those dedicated public servants at the Madejski Stadium last October.

You may recall the details: Chelsea's goalkeeper Petr Cech suffered a severe head injury following a collision with a Reading player. The paramedics treated him briskly and skilfully, but Mourinho later announced that Cech was: 'Thirty minutes in the dressing room, waiting for an ambulance . . . if my goalkeeper dies in that dressing room, it is something English football has to think about.'

In fact, the ambulance had arrived within seven minutes and Cech was in hospital just 19 minutes later. In seeking to make a cheap and vengeful point against a football club, a man earning a total of around ?10 million per year was willing to smear scrupulously efficient public service workers who were earning a basic salary of ?19,166.

Now, some might think that despicable, others would be less indulgent.

But at a time when history is being rewritten, when we are being encouraged to lament the passing of a red-blooded character who lightened our lives with his chirpy chatter and gave not a fig for stale convention, we do well to remember the way he defamed those ambulance workers.

But then,Mourinho was well practised in casual defamation.You will remember April 2005,when he traduced a respected referee named Anders Frisk by effectively accusing him of accepting a bribe from the Barcelona coach, Frank Rijkaard, during a Champions League tie with Chelsea. It was wicked nonsense, of course. And later, much later,Mourinho conceded his error. But Frisk received death threats which forced him into premature retirement, while Mourinho was given a brief touchline ban and a wrist-slapping fine.

Nor should we forget his vile and calculated slander of Arsene Wenger,which provided the moronic mobs with abusive ammunition: 'I think he is one of these — how do you call it in English?

— voyeurs. He is someone who likes to watch other people.' He later added:'We have a file of quotes from Mr Wenger about Chelsea that is 120 pages.' So, not just foul-mouthed,but paranoid as well. The man simply reeked of class.

And his arrogance was unchecked.Just a few months ago,he accused Manchester United's Cristiano Ronaldo of showing him insufficient respect. This, he attributed to Ronaldo's 'difficult childhood', with 'no education'.

Mourinho is from a privileged background while his young fellow countryman was raised in harrowing poverty, but no compassion was shown. Sir Alex Ferguson's retort was withering: 'There are people from very poor backgrounds who have principles, whereas there are others who are educated but have no principles at all.

And that,without question, question, is the case here.' If all this suggests that I have little affection for Mourinho, then that impression is correct.

Of course, he has considerable ability; anybody who can win the Champions League with Porto is undeniably gifted.

Equally, anybody who cannot win the same prize after spending ?186m of his Chelsea employer's improbable fortune may have questions to answer.

Sadly, accountability is not Mourinho's strongest suit.Self-promotion is his forte. I recall the day that Chelsea won their second Premiership title in April 2006.

While the players were celebrating, Mourinho sought to steal the limelight with a series of stage-school pouts. He threw his winner's medal into the crowd.

'I have one from last season,' he explained. 'I cannot keep everything I have. The man who caught it will go home with a fantastic memory — or he will go to ebay and make a fortune.'

Within three crass sentences,he reduced a resounding triumph to a squalid boast.

Now, there are several reasons why Chelsea are so widely disliked, from the clumpingly inept machinations of their chief executive, Peter Kenyon, to the mirthless posturing of Roman Abramovich. (Incidentally, did you ever see anything so assiduously rehearsed as his recent walk-out at Aston Villa?)

And did you ever see anything quite so hilariously absurd as the press conference at which Kenyon revealed all the presentational skills of David Brent? When he pledged undying loyalty to Avram Grant, although declining to award him a contract, one half expected Guus Hiddink to come blundering through a nearby curtain inquiring: 'When do I start?'

But I suspect the principal reason for their deep unpopularity can be traced to the man who was once their manager.

For all the money at his disposal, Mourinho failed to produce beautiful or thrilling or even routinely watchable football teams. Instead, he turned out sides which were difficult to beat. It wasn't nearly enough.

Sure, we must give him credit for his virtues. He constructed effective strategies and persuaded impressionable players to play for him.He greatly improved footballers like Joe Cole and John Terry, and he brought out the badge-kissing best in Frank Lampard.

YET he wanted to be recognised for something more than football. He saw himself as an original thinker, a man of ideas. And as the tributes gush,much is made of his latest intellectual spasm; the embarrassingly convoluted allegory involving supermarkets and superior omelettes. I am reminded of Gordon Strachan's response to Eric Cantona's iconic outburst all those years ago: 'If a Frenchman goes on about seagulls,trawlers and sardines, he's called a philosopher. I'd just be called a wee Scottish bum talking crap.'

Cantona justly deserved the rebuke.

But while we are on the subject of just deserts,we must not overlook the men and women of the South Central Ambulance Service, who continue to wait for an apology from the Special One.

As he rides off into the sunset, smiling his smugness and waving his wad,I suspect they are far from his thoughts. But they know the real worth of Jose Mourinho. He's not The Messiah. He's a rather unpleasant little man.

Unpleasant did he say? Little did he say? Well Mr Collins, take a look in the mirror you twat, and take a look at just who the f**k is talking, you scummy little git.

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