So that’s what the large clock in Trafalgar Square is doing: it’s counting down to Jose Mourinho’s return. July 27 sounds about right: quick bit of pre-season training, release a few players to the Olympics, organise and motivate the rest and resume the hunt for the Premier League. He’s coming home. Jose’s coming home.

Excited chatter about Mourinho considering his future at Real Madrid makes a welcome development, although hardly the greatest of revelations. Mourinho’s a mover and shaker-upper.
He stirred Inter Milan into trophy-winning life but never settled. He never seems comfortable in the court of Castile, his personality and tactics against Barcelona at odds with traditional Madrid sensitivities. The English circus is far more suited to a ringmaster like Mourinho.
If the Portuguese does return, an ecstatic throng of coat salesmen, Custard Cream vendors and swooning club executives will gather to greet Mourinho at Heathrow. As he swaggers through customs, bestowing smiles and autographs, there will be bad traits to declare as well as good. Mourinho undermines referees (ask Anders Frisk), can be offensive towards his peers (ask Arsène Wenger) and his brand of football is hardly a homage to the Beautiful Game (ask Real fans).

But he’s the real deal, a serial collector of silverware, the closest a chairman can get to guarantee of success. The man with the Midas touch will always be in demand.
The Premier League soap opera has missed Mourinho, a character part-hero, part-villain. He’s pure box office: photogenic, melodramatic, cunning and very, very funny. The Premier League’s chief executive, Richard Scudamore, is currently “going to market” for the next broadcasting rights deal. Mourinho is another ace to lay on the negotiating table, a one-man wow factor.

But where will this human fireworks party be staged?

Many Chelsea fans would relish the thought of Mourinho writing another chapter in what he called a “never-ending love story” between him and the club. But Andre Villas-Boas, once Mourinho’s opposition scout, deserves time to put his imprint fully on Chelsea.

Manchester United supporters would surely accept Mourinho if he promised attractive football week in, week out, and leafed through his extensive contacts book to bring in creative forces of the calibre of Wesley Sneijder. Yet Sir Alex Ferguson seems in no mood to retire. Why should he? He’s building another team. It’s all in the timing.
United’s stature, and the thought of succeeding a manager he always lauds, must appeal to Mourinho’s substantial ego. Invariably helpful with the English media, Mourinho always seems particularly generous with his time when MUTV are around.

Liverpool? Kenny Dalglish is too embedded in Kopite hearts, so there’s no chance of an opening at Anfield for the man with the “ghost goal” grievance.

Roberto Mancini is adored at Manchester City, his standing amongst fans strengthened further by his handling of the Carlos Tévez affair.

North London? Arsenal’s possible if Wenger’s trophy travails continue.

If Tottenham Hotspur secure a ticket to ride the Champions League gravy-train (as they should), and Harry Redknapp becomes England manager, a “Situation Vacant” notice will hang enticingly in the window of White Hart Lane.

Wherever he goes, Mourinho knows the Premier League is his spiritual home. He’s revered by many here, reviled by only a few. Everyone is captivated by the colour he splashes across a blank landscape, the sound bites with sharpened teeth. Many of his utterances are scripted at the Machiavelli School of Management, their message hardly difficult to decipher, but he shapes them so stylishly.
As the 2005-06 Premier League race intensified, Mourinho came over all emotional, sloping into a room at Chelsea’s Cobham retreat with a look of despair on his face. Under pressure, Jose? No chance. “For me, pressure is bird flu,’’ Mourinho replied, repeating a news bulletin about stricken swans in Scotland.
“I’m feeling a lot of pressure with the problem in Scotland. It’s not fun and I’m more scared of it than football.” This was classic Mourinho, declaring that Chelsea were alive and kicking, even if his feathered friends in the north were suffering.
A showman supreme, only Mourinho could charge into the media auditorium at Wembley after Didier Drogba and company had beaten United in the 2007 FA Cup final, open his victory speech with “London is safe” and chat about his dog.

The Cup final build-up had been dominated by speculation about the whereabouts of Leya, Mourinho’s Yorkshire terrier, who was wanted for questioning by police under the Animal Health Act 1981 and the Rabies Order 1974. Cup finals need chronicling with due decorum and respect but Mourinho’s “My Terrier’s Not A Terrorist” story-line added further to the Wembley drama.
Duly recorded in reports of that final was that fact that Mourinho again played the alchemist, finding enough from an injury-plagued squad to put out a triumphant team. Even those struggling with assorted complaints, like Ashley Cole, Arjen Robben and John Obi Mikel, pushed themselves through the pain barrier to feature (either starting or from the bench).
Mourinho galvanises players, even those he criticises. He made some disparaging remarks about Cristiano Ronaldo the month before that 2007 final, questioning his compatriot’s education. Yet Mourinho also provided advice and support when Ronaldo endured a particularly awkward, mercifully brief off-field period at Old Trafford. Ronaldo has performed well for Mourinho at Real.
He inspires players, fostering huge loyalty in most. No wonder Brian Clough recognised a kindred spirit when Mourinho first landed in England in 2004. A mastery of the art of man-management and verbal pyrotechnics could be found in both mavericks. At one point, Mourinho’s tactic of rotating Damien Duff, Joe Cole and Robben raised quizzical eyebrows.

His response, delivered with a headline-filling flourish, bordered on the genius in stopping the debate and soothing his stars’ egos. “Why drive Aston Martin all the time when I have Ferrari and Porsche as well?” he said. “That would just be stupid.” Mourinho improved players like Joe Cole, instructing them with stick and carrot to apply their talent more consistently. “Who were Frank Lampard, John Terry and Didier Drogba two years ago?’’ Mourinho mused.
“They were certainly not world stars. And in this moment who are they?” World stars. Winners.

The memory remains strong of the smiles on the faces of Joe Cole and others as they climbed on to the roof of Chelsea’s bus outside the Reebok after grasping their first title under Mourinho. He’s a magician of a manager, a weaver of dreams, and he will make one English club incredibly happy if he returns. He’s still special.

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/sport/football/competitions/la-liga/9050705/Premier-League-has-missed-Real-Madrid-coach-Jose-Mourinhos-wow-factor.html