Antonio Conte likes to talk about suffering. There is a limit to all things, however, and the suggestion of an unexpected appearance on the touchline on Sunday afternoon despite midweek surgery to relieve the unconscionable agony of an agitated gall bladder may be a step beyond even Conte’s powers of defiance.
Still there is something unavoidably resonant about the world’s most gloweringly inflamed football manager having problems with an organ medieval science identified as the source of the choleric emotions: fury, aggression, ambition, impatience. This is what a year and a half of managing Tottenham will do to you. They got Antonio. They got his gall.
