José Mourinho is a cultural terrorist who is too immature to create a dynasty
Over time, players grow embarrassed by manager’s attempts to foster siege mentality
In a recent report, McKinsey, the management consultancy, concluded that narrative is one of the most vital assets of any organisation. This may sound a bit soft and fuzzy, particularly from a sharp-edged corporate like McKinsey, but it tallies with modern psychological research as well as common sense.
Think of Manchester United under Sir Alex Ferguson. Read his books and you will note that Ferguson was always talking about what it meant to be a “United player”. It was about passion, work ethic and a grounding in the history of the club. He didn’t want pay-cheque performers. He wanted people who could demonstrate a deeper commitment.
Narrative was central to this. Ferguson constantly emphasised the sense of United as a living, breathing storyline with emotional depth. He talked about the Busby Babes, the Munich air disaster, the rebuilding of the club from the ashes of the runway, Best, Law and Charlton, the European heroics of ’68 and the sense of a club with a defining mission.
It helped that many of his players carried United in their hearts from childhood. When the club won the league title in 1997, Nicky Butt, the Neville brothers and Ryan Giggs went down to the Busby statue outside Old Trafford and joined the fans in celebration. “We knew we had to go and join in,” Phil Neville would later say.
Other United players who were not childhood fans bought into the narrative, too. Fourteen years after leaving the club, Peter Schmeichel was interviewed on ITV before a United game in 2013. He was born in Denmark and played for Brondby in his youth. But whenever he talked about United, it was “us” and “we”. He still felt a sense of belonging.
This is what Richard Reich, the economist, calls the pronoun test. “On a tour of workplaces, I ask front-line workers to tell me about the company, and I listen for the pronouns,” he has said. “And if they use ‘we’ or ‘our’, I know that there is a kind of bond there, an affinity. There’s a sense in which that employee feels that their destiny is bound up with the future of the company. But if they use different pronouns — ‘they’, ‘their’ — I know there’s a distance . . . and it’s going to have a very different result.”
I was reflecting on these truths while watching José Mourinho’s press conference after another defeat by Southampton on Saturday. Mourinho understands precious little about narrative and belonging. His motivational technique is based upon something very different: me, me, me. It is about the cult of the individual — Mourinho himself.
This is predicated, in turn, upon creating a sense of permanent crisis. He sees conspiracies everywhere. The referees, the Premier League, Uefa, the ballboys, the team doctor, Uncle Tom Cobley: whatever it takes to get his players to feel like they are enduring a siege.
In the short term, this technique works. Nobody wants to be in a siege, fighting for one’s life, and so the players respond. But over the long-term, it begins to grate. It is like a narcotic or a sugar rush: you need ever more crises to recruit ever dwindling amounts of emotional response, particularly when the players begin to see through the underlying charade. In the end, it becomes cloying.
They say that the Real Madrid players eventually became bored of Mourinho, but the truth is that they became ashamed of him. They saw him stab a finger into the eye of Tito Vilanova, his Barcelona rival. They observed him name four referees over whom Barcelona, supposedly, had “special power”. They watched as he was banished from the dugout during a Copa del Rey final and how he stormed out of the stadium without bothering to collect his loser’s medal from the King of Spain. They noted how he insulted the referee again in the car park.
Over three seasons, they saw him traduce, malign and infect — and, in the end, they couldn’t bear it. They were exhausted by the caricature running their club and his juvenile approach to leadership. And with the clarity that comes with time, they saw through it. Mourinho’s so-called third-season syndrome, his difficulty in creating long-term success at a club, is not mere misfortune: it is a direct consequence of his management technique. Some football managers you could imagine as leaders in different contexts, at, say, a great business or charity. These are the leaders who understand human nature and, by implication, how to create a sustainable, enriching culture.
Mourinho, however, is a cultural terrorist. He sucks whatever vitality there is in a culture into the black hole of his ego. He is an impressive tactician, to be sure, but when it comes to sustainability, he is all at sea. He is too immature, emotionally and philosophically, to create dynastic success, at a football club or anywhere else. What success he achieves comes by napalming the native culture, and then moving on.
His treatment of Eva Carneiro is a mere detail (albeit a shameful one). The arc of his career reveals the same theme. After losing the first leg of a Champions League match with Chelsea, he accused the referee of inviting an opposition coach into his room at half-time, which led to death threats against the referee and his premature retirement. On Saturday, he claimed that referees were “afraid” to give decisions to Chelsea, despite Southampton being denied two clear penalties.
Even the most one-eyed Chelsea fans are beginning to recognise that the notion of this man spending ten years at one club is inconceivable. They have realised that any club that hosted him for so long would become philosophically derelict. Chelsea will doubtless rebound in the coming months: with the players and money at the club’s disposal, you would expect that.
But there can be little doubt that, when you look at his career, Mourinho has scant comprehension of the motivation written into men’s hearts, and which can sustain itself over the long haul. He understands only the most dehumanising type of culture: the kind that emerges from maligning others while constantly trumpeting oneself — and which typically, with tired inevitability, implodes.