José Mourinho, perhaps, is a pleasure better remembered than experienced. We chuckled at him wearing a wire, at him laying into Daniel Levy with the scorn that only he can muster, progressing through a semi-final with an xG of 0.03. Classic José, we said with a smile. Still fighting the bad fight. Still harrumphing and provoking and spoiling. And then you actually watch his Roma play – and, as it turned out, lose. And that is dreadful.
For Roma, no doubt, the ends would have justified the means. Had they won, this would have been their greatest international success and that would have been all that mattered, all that they remembered. Mourinho, after all, is adored by Roma fans to a degree that is disconcerting to those who witnessed his final season at Real Madrid or anything in England after he had won the league with Chelsea in 2015.
