A definite case of no way, Jose

“Do you reckon he’ll go for it?”

“Of course he will. Look, we are in the centre of the Med, right?”

“Right.”

“And also probably the most significant land mass on the planet, right?”

“Er… go on.”

“So give me one good reason why Jose Mourinho wouldn’t jump at the chance of coaching here in Malta.”

“Only one?”

“Listen – we are a sleeping giant, right?”

“Um… if you say so.”

“Of course we are. In fact, don’t laugh, but I reckon we could be the next Barcelona or even Brazil. No, you’ll see, he’ll be itching to come here.”

“As opposed to where… Man United, Bayern Munich?”

“Oh ye of little faith. I tell you… Jose Mourinho is just waiting to be asked.”

“And on that subject, has anybody actually sounded him out on the matter?”

“Not him actually, but we’ve talked to his people.”

“His… people?”

“Right.”

“And what did they say?”

“Well, my cousin Ronnie was on holiday in Spain recently and he had an espresso in a café with a taxi driver who – two days previous – actually had Jose’s cleaner in the back of his cab.”

“Wow!”

“True. And he reckoned Jose would be prepared to talk to us… at a price.”

“What price? Or daren’t I ask?”

“Well… he didn’t want to be specific, but he reckoned that if we offered Jose €50 a week, in his pocket… no tax, no VAT; plus perks, he’d drop everything and come.”

“What perks?”

“Oh, a few McDonald’s Big Mac vouchers, a handful of the latest XBox games, a short course of tango lessons, a couple of cases of Matteus Rosé… Portuguese wine ‘cos Jose’s, you know, Portuguese.

“Then throw in a season ticket to the Eden Super Bowl, membership of the Marsa Golf Club… then just sit back and watch him reach for the pen to sign up.”

“Brilliant. And you reckon he’d come here if we offered him that?”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“No actually; I can already do the tango and I don’t play golf.”

“Don’t split hairs; what do you think of the package we’ll offer him?”

“Well yes it’s certainly tempting but – “

“But what?”

(Very deep breath) “Do we have good enough players?”

“Of course we bloody do! Take that young full back… X’ismu, David xiħaga, he’s brilliant; who wouldn’t want to coach a player like him?”

“You mean the fat kid who’s always kicking lumps out of his opponents?”

“That’s him.”

“But he’s the dirtiest player in our entire history!”

“Of course he is; he’s a full-back. Full-backs are supposed to be dirty. Kicking lumps out of their opponents is what full-backs do. Everybody knows that. And with Jose to coach him, David will get even better at it.”

“If he stays on the field long enough. That kid’s had more red cards than a poker player.”

“And what about that little midfielder, whatsisname… Mario?”

“Doesn’t ring a bell. Mario who?”

“Oh him, you know… balding, bit of a gut, socks round his ankles, breeds ferrets.”

“Oh that Mario. But he’s 43 years old!”

“So what, he can still run rings round some of the younger guys.”

“You are serious aren’t you?”

“Never been more serious. Look, who is Jose coaching at the moment… Madrid somebody isn’t it.”

“Real Madrid. The Real Madrid.”

“Never heard of them. But I have heard of Bengħajsa Blues – and so will he have done – and he’ll have heard our chant: ‘Come on you bloo – ooze!’”

“You reckon?”

“Course he has, who hasn’t. I’ve even heard it shouted at Chelsea. Bengħajsa Blues are becoming a world brand, no question.”

“If you say so.”

“So you agree we sign up Jose Mourinho to coach Bengħajsa Blues?”

“Er… but what about Godwin?”

“Who?”

“Our current coach.”

“Useless! Do you remember when we hired him, we asked him if he knew anything about coaches.”

“And he said yes.”

“Sure he did; it was only later we found out the sort of coaches he was familiar with had six wheels and 35 seats.”

“So we’re going for Jose,”

“Indeed we are. I’ll send him a tourist class Ryanair ticket and tell him he can start Monday.”

“Done deal.”