[Humour] Jose Mourinho's sacking at Chelsea: As it happened

Chelsea sacked Jose Mourinho for a second time in a decade

The Christmas lunch at Chelsea’s training ground in Cobham was in full swing. The champagne wasn’t exactly flowing, under strict orders from the higher-ups, lest a selfie gets ‘leaked’ to the media showing a team placed 16th in unbridled revelry.

John Terry held up his glass and gave a speech on the pride of wearing the blue shirt. But it was a sleep-inducing speech as most of the squad didn’t follow his accent, let alone the language.

Cesc Fabregas was seated at the table with his head down, staring at the screen of his cell phone, lost in deep thought. Eden Hazard hid behind Branislav Ivanovic, who in turn hid behind Nemanja Matic, rather unsuccessfully, whenever Jose Mourinho walked by.

Meanwhile, Diego Costa was seen squaring up with the chef, demanding more food. “No, Diego! We don’t want you overweight again! Stick to the diet...” Costa simply turned around and threw his napkin back in disgust.

Mourinho was in his own world, muttering to himself. People passing by could only hear random words or names being uttered. “Grr...referees...f***ing weak...Arsene, you voy...grr...linesman is blind...I know he’s leaking team info, that cunning Spanish...grr...bloody betrayer...”

“Jose? Jose, you alright?”

Broken from his reverie, Mourinho looked up to see Chelsea chairman Bruce Buck standing in front of him. “What do you want... er, Merry Christmas, Bruce.”

Bruce Buck – Chelsea’s chairman

Buck turned on the spot and said, “We need to talk, Jose. Walk with me.” Saying this, he walked out the door to a car waiting outside.

As Mourinho stood up, every player was looking at him, their faces frozen in shock. When he turned to look, they quickly looked the other way and continued to eat or drink from the magnificent spread sponsored by Roman Abramovich.

Mourinho then walked out towards the car to find the director of Chelsea Eugene Tenenbaum sitting inside. As he climbed inside, Buck followed him, shut the door and tapped the screen behind the driver. “Let’s go, Ivan.”

“In a minute, sir. They’re moving the bus out of the way...”

There seemed to be pandemonium back at the party. He could hear a few shouts of elation but couldn’t discern whose voices they were. When the car started up, he could hear a badly rendered version of ‘Joy to the world’ ringing out as the swinging doors closed.

“Where are we going?” Jose asked.

Tenenbaum looked up from his phone and said: “Jose, let’s not make this difficult. I need you to put this on. It’s for your own good.”

Before he could say or do anything, Buck put a black mask over his head cutting Mourinho off from the world. “Hey, wait a minute! What the...”

“No, Jose. This is how it’s going to be. Stay calm and you will not be harmed,” Buck spoke slowly.

Mourinho was calm. He knew nothing bad could happen. He had everything under control.

And then it hit him. He had left his plans for the Sunderland game in a dossier back at the party. And there was nothing he could do about it...

15 minutes later...

The car reached a harbour and he saw a gigantic yacht anchored at the end of a pier. That’s when Mourinho realized what was going on. “Not again, for fu...”

“Quiet, Jose! We’re late.”

Buck and Tenenbaum walked either side of Mourinho, herding him towards the yacht like a lamb to slaughter. Mourinho did not struggle to break free. He had a plan.

Roman Abramovich’s not-so-secret lair

As they entered the opulent floating palace, his eyes darted left and right, up and down, his counter-attacking instincts put to the test, looking for any weaknesses and exits. There were none. That’s when he realized he had to go on the offensive.

As he tried to formulate a plan to escape, he was taken down a long corridor with glass cases lining either side. At first, he didn’t really look. Then he took a second look and gasped audibly.

Each case had a black coat with the Chelsea logo embroidered on the breast pocket. They looked ragged, some with their sleeves almost torn off. He looked down and saw the names. Scolari, Grant, Villas-Boas, Di Matteo, Benitez. The last one was significantly bigger than the rest.

Realization dawned on him. This was Abramovich’s trophy room. When his captors weren’t looking, he quickly took out his mobile phone and sent off a text to his agent Jorge Mendes. “Track my location, come get me!”

They reached a door at the end of the corridor and it opened automatically with a hissing sound as they approached. The three men walked into a study of sorts. At the other end of the room, a man sat behind an enormous table. His face wasn’t visible, but a light behind the plush armchair allowed the visitors to see just his silhouette. But Mourinho knew it was none other than club owner Roman Abramovich.

“Good afternoon, Jose. Sit down.”

Mourinho sat down facing his boss. As he had all season, he looked for an exit strategy but found no escape routes. All he could see in the dark study was a blue jersey on the wall with bright lights reflecting off the number 7 and the name Shevchenko.

Abramovich leaned forward and nodded at a sheaf of papers in front of Mourinho. He blinked twice before squinting at the documents in the low light. He could barely read the word ‘Termination’ on the front page, but he knew exactly what it was.

“Do you see what’s on top of the table, Jose?”

“Er, it’s my...

“WRONG! It’s Leicester City! A club being run by Claudio Ranieri. That pizza-loving Italian I fired to bring you to the Bridge, Jose. It’s so embarrassing I had to have his finely crafted glass case removed and thrown overboard.

Claudio Ranieri – the first Chelsea manager to be removed by Roman Abramovich

“Roman, I can explain. My love for Chelsea...”

“Your love? For my club? You love only yourself, Jose. No one else.”

Mourinho stammered. “But if, if, if A-Arsene W-Weng...”

“Stop...”

“No! The p-players, they b-betrayed...”

Abramovich put up a hand and quietly said, “Enough. I backed you once. No, wait – twice, was it? [Buck turns to Tenenbaum and mouths the words ‘four times’] But it is you, Jose, who has betrayed me this season.”

Mourinho looked down. As Abramovich stood up and walked to the window, Mourinho quickly checked his phone. Mendes had responded. “Calma, calma. I have contacted Perez and Woodward..."

But Mourinho wasn’t done yet. “Roman, if you could just give me £70 mill...”

“I have nothing to say. You know the drill, get out!”

Back at the training ground...

When Mourinho was finished packing his things from his office, he took one last look at the place he had called home for two-and-a-half years. Soon, he was out the door and walking to his car. His squad had already left. Only the press were waiting outside as he tried to hide his face while entering the car.

Jose Mourinho leaving the Chelsea training ground for the last time

“Mr. Mourinho, what will you do now? Has Ed Woodward contacted you about a possible appointment at Manchester United yet? Will you go back to Spain or Portugal?”

Mourinho simply avoided the barrage of questions and started rolling up the window. But just when the window was an inch away from drowning out all the noise, one last question reached his ears.

“Did you really plan to drop Eden Hazard and Diego Costa for the Sunderland game?”

“Son of a...” he whispered. “Damn team news leaks...grr...if I ever get my hands on Arsene...grr...that referee won't know what hit him...if only that doctor had listened...”

As his car zoomed away, just one car remained in the parking lot. The car’s owner was watching it all unfold from an upstairs window. He drew the curtain, pulled out his phone and sent a text to a contact code-named ‘The Professor’.

“It’s done.”

“Excellent work, 004.”

“So, when are you bringing me in?”

“This message will self-destruct in 5...4...3...”

“Hey, wait a minute!”

“2...1...”