Jose Makes My Day

Jose makes my day... in another dimension
By Russell Brand

Having Jose Mourinho as England manager would almost make up for our failure to qualify for next year's tournament. In a pointlessly constructed parallel European Championship where England qualified one can only assume that we would be attending a competition rife with potential embarrassment and eventual disappointment, although it seems a bit stupid to go to all the bother of manufacturing an alternative reality which is also disappointing so we might just as well imagine one where we triumph.

In fact, I'll be in the team as player manager, in goal will be Robert Green of West Ham United, Morrissey will partner me up front and at half-time of our opening game (at Upton Park) Daniel Craig and Lindsay Dawn Mackenzie will do a live sex show.

The FA's decision to appoint a "world-class" manager is a good one but makes me wonder what the previous paradigm might've been. A "jittery" manager? A "malleable" manager? A "nice" manager? The manager of a team of millionaire athletes needs to be big. And preferably swarthy. When was the last time England had a manager with even an ounce of "swarth"? McClaren if confronted with swarth would piddle. Sven was chic but at the last World Cup Big Phil Scolari's low swinging sack of swarth sent his his tackle on an inward flight. Keegan, Hoddle, Taylor, Robson, all lovely in their way but compared to a gent with Mourinho's obvious sass unlikely to scorch the retina.

I've been dying for an opportunity to like Mourinho ever since he entered the English game but his position at the Bridge meant mine remained a secret and shameful affection. I squirmed like Humbert Humbert when he announced his own and Barcelona's teams a day before their infamous Camp Nou clash - "Oooh he's such a dirty tinker". Mind games and arrogance are an intriguing and beguiling brew, even from the manager of a detested rival club.

If he were to be appointed it would legitimise my interest, like a knicker thief suddenly made manager of a launderette my prurience would be seen as diligence - "I was merely sniffing to see if the Lenor had worked." The position requires a substantial character. One can only truly love someone if they exist to some degree outside the sphere of your control; if in a relationship you can dominate someone completely how can they offer salvation? How can they place their self between you and death?

I bet if you went out with Mourinho he'd never call back when you wanted him to, he'd flirt with other people and sometimes just broodily stare off into the distance and when you asked what was wrong say "Nothing" - all moodily. McClaren would bring you breakfast in bed wearing a novelty pinny. The England team would have to respect Jose, he'd demand it and whilst I suspect there was some breakdown in his relationship with senior Chelsea players towards the end of his tenure that, in my opinion, is because he was sabotaged.

That wouldn't happen at England. Sir Trevor Brooking will do a wonderful job in the meantime as a caretaker, he was marvellous at West Ham; revealing unimagined inner wrath on the touchline, it was like seeing a deputy headmaster gobbing at Hell's Angels.

I think the FA should do whatever it takes to get Mourinho, not just because of my silly crush but because I think he could galvanise our crestfallen nation. He could handle the press, the players, the ever shifting tactical requirements and I don't think we're in any position to quibble about flamboyant football, what we need is success.

It'll be a drag watching events in Austria and Switzerland next year while the English game thumbs its impotent crutch but knowing that Jose was at the foot of the bed in a baby doll nightie would make the process seem almost tantalising.

Guardian column