Mourinho 2.0... why we're ready to fall for the Chelsea manager all over again

Heaven knows we did our best to develop a crush on Roberto Mancini and it started well: that twinkly smile, that artfully knotted scarf, those wavy locks. But life at Manchester City took its toll, and the boyish Italian soon began to look a little frayed around the edges. We promptly turned our attention to Spurs boss André Villas-Boas, but his peculiar habit of squatting on the touchline stopped things before they’d even started. But more to the point, neither of these dashing chaps was Someone Else. That Someone Else was José Mourinho and he was somewhere else, enjoying a new life, with other people. All we could do was try to carry on without him and learn to love again. But in our heart of hearts, we knew it would never be the same.

Now we don’t have to pretend any more — Mourinho is back back back. We no longer have to squint at Match of the Day and try to pretend that Everton manager Roberto Martinez, lovely chap though he is, can rival the self-styled Special One’s deadpan post-match analysis. Like a conquistador of yore, he is returning from foreign lands, Spanish and Italian silverware under his arm. He’s a tad battle-scarred, a little older, even a touch weary, and yet somehow Mourinho 2.0 is even more charismatic. The classically restrained wardrobe, the mute palette of navy and grey, the drawls and the shrugs — they’re all still there, but somehow the years have only intensified the appeal of the Portuguese pin-up.

The football fans of Continental Europe may find him arrogant, divisive and narcissistic. Barcelona playmaker Andrés Iniesta told El País newspaper ‘he damaged Spanish football, in general he did more harm than good’. Yet something about Mourinho has got us hooked. Perhaps we’re just a bit more impressionable than the supporters of Inter Milan and Real Madrid, where he’s spent the past six years; after all, they’ve seen a manclutch before. When Mourinho first turned up here with a sharply cut suit and a haircut that hadn’t cost a fiver, we quivered as though he were Cary Grant.

But there was also something about Mourinho’s personal psychology that attracted us, perhaps because it was in such marked contrast to our national character. He is confident to the point of foolhardiness (who else would drop Madrid’s legendary goalkeeper Iker Casillas?), combative to the point of extreme opacity (remember his somewhat tortured analogy between the quality of supermarket eggs and top-flight footballers? No, thought not), and self-assured to the point at which assertiveness trainers are asking him for advice. Take a long look at yourself in the mirror: are you like that? Look at your friends, your family, your colleagues: with the exception of your bonkers brother-in-law and the office diva, are they? They are not. It is simply not the way we are built.

Or, at least, we weren’t. Now, post London 2012, two Tour de France yellow jerseys, a victorious Lions tour and a Wimbledon champion, we are a nation of winners and Mourinho’s bellicose schtick, his ability to inspire his troops and lead them over the top to glory may seem less of an oddity and more the shape of things to come.

And then there’s the matter of history. It may not be the hottest topic of conversation around the pub table, but our alliance with Portugal dates back to the 14th century. There’s more going on, in other words, than a nice custard tart. Visit Porto, for example, and you will see the names of grand old British families — Taylor’s, Dow’s, Graham’s — adorning historic wineries along the Douro river. Plus we’ve both spent centuries squabbling with the Spanish.

Mourinho tangled with one of the world’s richest men, Chelsea’s owner Roman Abramovich, held on to his dignity and is back for round two: in the process, he’s set new standards for prodigality and written the manual for rebuilding slightly smouldering bridges (steer clear of out-and-out denunciation; thrive elsewhere; hint gnomically that there is unfinished business). And not only is he rekindling his relationship with Abramovich, but he’s reuniting the old team for one more heist, er, season. Didier Drogba may have departed for pastures new, but Mourinho won’t have to do much of a meet-and-greet with Petr Cech, JT, Lamps or Ashley Cole, who has already declared his determination to improve on his previous performances under the manager.

Mourinho rejoins Chelsea at a time when all is to play for. With the Premier League title going to Manchester United in Alex Ferguson’s last season, the FA Cup going to Wigan and the League Cup captured by Swansea, the domestic silverware cabinet at Stamford Bridge remained sadly empty. The pressure is on for Mourinho to turn things around — and, with an astonishing eight managers having taken his place in the dugout since his departure, he’s no doubt well aware that his boss is not afraid of the ejector seat. Perhaps that’s why he’s allowed his hair to turn that distinguished silvery shade before the season kicks off. If he’s rattled, there’s no way this master of charisma is going to let it show.

But human beings are not that simple. We yearned for him, of course, but he left us. Can we bear to put ourselves through the emotional wringer once again? Sim!