An Open Letter to Jose Mourinho

Jose come back! Any kind of fool can see, that we were wrong, and we just can't live without you

Dear Jose,

How’s life out in Italy? Not that great, we hear.

Though you and your team dodged some Eastern European bullets in the Champions League and have a small gap at the top of Serie A, it’s far from easy going. If you’re not feuding with nemeses from a past life, you’re at odds with the journalists who peck your every move to death.

The media can be difficult; stifling, intrusive, and not much fun, though at least the English press understood your sense of humor better than the Italians ever could.

Now we learn of an alleged altercation between you and a journalist after a baffling 1-1 draw at Atalanta, and we wonder how such incidents must make you yearn to return to England even more than you’ve been quoted as saying in the past.

Why would you let some brand name-wearing pencil-pusher upset you like that? We know you’re capable of expressing emotion in interesting ways (see: that Old Trafford fist pump while still in charge at Porto), but why explode on some journalist who’s looking to get you into trouble? You’ve now got the big boss sniffing around the incident, such is the pressure from Italy’s sports journalists union. They complain at your aggression in post-game press conferences, and they cry when you choose to not even bother showing up. It was one thing to act with such petulance in England, where your antics were the stuff of reverie and fun, but it’s clearly not working on the continent.

All this media frenzy is enough to send you into bouts of contradiction; soon after arriving at Inter, you talked fondly of how you couldn’t wait to leave, and now you’re sticking to the corporate message that you’ll see out your contract until 2012. With incidents like this one at Atalanta, and the target on your back, do you really think you’ve got the guts to stick it out for 2 more full seasons? Plus, we all know soccer managers love hopping from gig to gig, chasing the money. Just ask Harry Redknapp.

So, Jose, we implore you: come back to England as soon as you possibly can. It’s where all your old friends are; there’s henpecked Arsene across London, forever stuttering and explaining away his insistence on youth. Or Martin O’Neill, a gruff, no-nonsense Irishman with a firm grip on reality. And finally, Sir Alex Ferguson, the man with whom you never missed a chance to spar in the tabloids. Such is the nature of your star-crossed relationship, one that always concluded after each game with a begrudging handshake and a race to spout off the more hilarious soundbite.

There’s the quality of the product, too. Watching Italian soccer is like eating Special K; bland, unsatisfying, and it has you wondering just why it even exists. The wide pitches and slow tempo must bore you to death. Don’t you miss the EPL and all its assembled talent? Better yet, the underpaid “talent” that tries week in, week out, to cripple the fancy-footed foreign imports?

Soon, a vacancy will pop up at Liverpool FC. Of that, I am certain. It makes so much sense to you, and to all parties concerned for that matter. LFC will finally have a manager worth the effort, you’ll have a built-for-TV redemption story arc to pull off with your customary panache, and the league will finally have a Big 4 again that’s worth labeling as the Big 4.

So please, stop this petty squabbling with the Italian press. Quit harrassing journalists, boycotting interviews, speaking in code and barely feigning interest in Serie A.

Come back to England. It’s where you belong.

- James T