It stinks of robotics but Jose still programmes winners

I’M really bored of Jose Mourinho.

I’m sure the media still adore him. I’m sure that his soundbites get the assembled hacks as moist as they ever did, and certainly, after yesterday’s 1-0 win over Tottenham, the press must have been reaching for the Kleenex when the Portuguese had a pop at the United fans for “not offering their support” to striker, Romelu Lukaku.

It was a dangerous accusation. While it’s true that Lukaku had little in the way of support on Saturday, Mourinho’s tactics were the cause. Isolated and out of touch with his teammates, Lukaku was forced to feed off less than scraps, chasing down balls against three exceptional centre-halves, in the hope of winning a throw-in towards the final third.

Mourinho’s real grievance, of course, has less to do with the lack of support from the fans for Lukaku and more to do with the fact that the fans couldn’t see his tactical ‘genius’. He sulked in his post-match interview, and, immediately after the final whistle, he moved his finger over his mouth, directly in front of the nearest TV camera. He was telling everybody inside the stadium, and the millions at home who probably shared the frustration of the sellout crowd, that the king of soulless football should never be doubted.

They say that traumatic events rooted in childhood are the cause of most obsessions in later life. Mourinho had to wait a little longer for his life-changing moment.

If only Barcelona hadn’t rejected him as a coach, and, in the process, created a living golem. We could have witnessed one of the great masterminds of the modern game sweeping every team before him with dazzling displays of attacking prowess. But, then, Jose Mourinho would have had to share the limelight with his team, and the applause, too.

Instead, spurned by Barcelona, he set out to become the anti-Christ to their tiki-taka style of football and he left no stone unturned in his quest to topple them.

Recently, I was offered the job of manager of a non-league football team. I say recently, but it was the start of the season. My wife encouraged me to take it: ‘it’ll be fun’, she had said. And that’s when I knew that I wouldn’t be taking the job. A manager’s job is only fun if he picks a team that wins every week, despite his having done zero preparation or tactical analysis on the other team and no training with his own. And that manager does not exist. Reams of information is presented to the manager, who then works out where his team are vulnerable and how they can get the result they want. To maximise the chances of that happening, the manager must wring out every last advantage that he can identify in every waking minute up until the kick-off. I just don’t have it in me. I don’t have the money to equip myself with enough time to be as successful as I’d like.

With Mourinho, it’s a full-time job. It is easy to see the work that has gone into a Manchester United performance. The analysis, the shape-play on the training ground, the relationships between the players, the identification of strengths and weaknesses. It’s all there. His teams stink of robotics, but they win nonetheless, and whether you’re in his camp or you are a purist that will die trying to play the ‘right way’, Jose Mourinho has to be respected.

The frustration for the neutrals is that we know this United is capable of dominating teams. Already this season, they have hit six teams for four. This team is more than capable. But just as a team threatened with relegation desperately needs to beat the teams around it, so a team that is challenging for the title needs to beat its rivals.

Yes, Manchester United beat Spurs on Saturday, but it could just have easily been 1-0 the other way. When a manager works on margins of victory that are so slim, then the likelihood of prevailing every time becomes a very big ask.

The ‘don’t get beat’ attitude of Mourinho is understandable, but it’s a headache for the fans, and I dare say for the Premier League, which needs the big games to deliver big moments to huge audiences. United’s 0-0 draw with Liverpool did nothing for Anglo-global relations and Saturday’s match with Spurs fared little better.

Next Sunday is bonfire night. United will travel to Stamford Bridge, to face Chelsea. Mourinho will be desperate not to lose. I’m already making plans to go and watch some real fireworks, instead.

Our man inside the game has grudging respect for Mourinho’s joyless anti-football