Agony Aunt needed

[El Gordo]

From The Sunday Times March 26, 2006


Rod Liddle: Enjoying fear and loathing in west London

[INDENT]IF THE Football Association wanted to cheer everybody up, they would deduct six points from Chelsea for their fans’ behaviour at Craven Cottage last week. And then another three for the team’s performance on the pitch. I’m not saying that this would be a correct decision, merely that it would make most of the country very happy indeed.

There is no greater fun to be had than in confirming a paranoiac’s conviction that we’re out to get him. Until a month or two ago, Jose Mourinho would conduct post-match television interviews wreathed in Armani and infallibility, a wry smirk playing about the lips. These days, if he deigns to appear at all, the smirk has disappeared and he has begun to resemble Patrick McGoohan during those later, claustrophobic episodes of The Prisoner. Where once there were sweetly turned insights, now there are swivel-eyed rants at referees, the opposition and perpetual, dark allusions to shadowy, unnamed authorities. Which is so much more enjoyable for the rest of us.


This is what comes, Jose, of having unrestrainedly lapped up the earlier praise, regardless of whether it was deserved. Now, when the defeats come, there must be some other, external, cause. But Jose has never been one to allow for the intrusion of good luck when his team has won. There is not the slightest doubt that Chelsea’s win over Barcelona in the Champions League last season was far more fortuitous than Barcelona’s victory this time around. But Jose swallowed the praise for the good fortune of a referee missing a blatant foul.

With this recently acquired benefit of spiteful hindsight, we might venture to suggest that Mourinho’s tactics in last year’s semi-final against Liverpool at Stamford Bridge were every bit as remiss as Claudio Ranieri’s at Monaco the year before. And nor was this year’s capitulation at the Nou Camp a tactical triumph; playing Robert Huth at centre-forward is just one step away from having David James come up for corners in the last minute. It is often said that we love to see the mighty fallen; but better still to reappraise the mighty and find them pretty ordinary. Hell, even that grey coat is looking a bit 2004-ish.

It is not just Jose we’re reappraising, but the Chelsea team, too. That win over Barcelona last season was also the last time they played memorable, thrilling football. This year they have been obdurate and consistent — but also anaemic and, from time to time, witless. They are still capable of grinding out one-nil wins, but now they do so with a pantomime of cheating, flouncing and whining.

I write all this out of jealousy, of course. But it is not Chelsea’s undoubted success that irks me, rather their attempt to wrest from my team, Millwall, our cherished title of Britain’s most reviled club — and we’ve worked long and hard to secure that title.

But these days, ask around and you’ll find Chelsea are truly loathed in a way that exceeds even the animus directed at Manchester United in their pomp. Partly it is down to Mourinho’s wearying antics and incessant moaning, partly it is the fact that their games are sometimes very, very boring and partly it is that vast legion of arriviste supporters, for whom the names of Cooke, Mulligan, Dixon and Bumstead will remain forever a mystery. Partly, too, it is their immense good fortune in having the rather frightening Roman Abramovich as an owner. It is true: nobody likes Chelsea — but the crucial difference is, they do care — they seem to be horribly perplexed and hurt by it.

And indeed, a lot of the bile is unfair. As a team, Chelsea are certainly no more boring than, say, Middlesbrough or Everton. Their fans may, as Liverpool supporters continually aver, lack a sense of history — but then, unlike Liverpool fans, they have not yet resorted to throwing human excrement at the opposition supporters. They may lack the spark to win the most important matches, but they still win most of the rest — something which I’d settle for.

We should have been a little more measured in our praise last season, I suppose. Tell somebody over and over again that he can do no wrong and eventually he’ll end up believing you. Whisper it quietly: Jose Mourinho is no different from the rest of us. [/INDENT]