Mourinho's Mind Games
Mourinho's third year.
Real Madrid was going through a rough patch at the moment.
The feud between Mourinho and Casillas had split the locker room into factions.
To make matters worse, key starters were plagued by injuries and slumps.
It was the kind of situation that made you blurt out, 'Is this even a team?'
"You fucking rat!"
Storming into his office, Jose Mourinho hurled the water bottle in his hand and exploded in rage.
"That parasitic bastard is the team's symbol?!"
Mourinho spat curses thinking of Casillas.
Not yet public knowledge, but the rift between Mourinho and Casillas was growing wider by the day.
Resentments built up from his second year had started boiling over with the team's poor early-season form.
Of course, the media had fanned the flames, hastening the breakdown between the two.
"Hostia puta madre!"
After a long bout of rampage, Mourinho finally calmed his fury and replayed Dortmund's match.
Disappointment in the team and press was one thing.
Regardless, he was Real Madrid's manager and had to give his all for victory.
Footage of Bayern Munich vs. Dortmund played.
Impressed by Dortmund's performance last season, Mourinho had analyzed their games and Barcelona's as prep for a potential Champions League clash—but Kagawa Shinji's Tottenham move had sent it straight to the trash.
"Tottenham... Why leave Dortmund, a title contender, for a team that can't even win their league?"
Muttering in disbelief about Kagawa, Mourinho shook his head lightly and focused on the video.
To Mourinho, Dortmund's core was Son Jinho.
Whether as a central midfielder or his current attacking role, it was the same.
When games stalled, Jinho dropped back at the perfect timing, lubricating the attack—Mourinho let out a small gasp of admiration.
Understanding tactics and executing them on the pitch were separate skills.
He knew that well, having retired at 24 as a player, just like eternal second-divisioner Jurgen Klopp.
"Impressive."
The masses were dazzled by his wondrous assist and goal tallies.
But to Mourinho, Jinho's true strength was his relentless stamina and field dominance.
Adapting Klopp's tactics on the fly to shifting situations was nothing short of miraculous.
If given the choice between signing Jinho or Messi, he'd pick Jinho without hesitation.
Messi can't defend.
Studying Jinho's two-way play, Mourinho brainstormed counters.
He settled on the simplest approach.
No matter how veteran-like Jinho played, he couldn't hide his age.
Mourinho decided to rattle him through a press interview.
Young players always got shaken by words from a superstar manager like him.
The day before the Champions League Group D Matchday 2 against Real Madrid, Jurgen Klopp called me to his office.
Probably about Mourinho's interview articles.
From Klopp's position, it was bound to worry him.
Even I, a veteran midfielder who'd held a retirement ceremony, had been tempted for a split second by offers from Mourinho and Perez.
A one-sided prospect without regression would've been haunted by Real Madrid's proposal.
That leads to over-tensing, then mistakes in the match.
Knock knock.
- Come in.
A light knock, and Klopp's voice came from inside. I cautiously opened the door and entered.
"What'll you have?"
"Water's fine."
Klopp greeted me with a bright smile, and I held up the water bottle in my hand.
"So, how you feeling? Real Madrid wants to sign you."
"Eh. Less fazed than I thought?"
Unlike my expectation of a serious talk, Klopp casually asked my mood and flowed into normal chat.
"Oh yeah. Don't ever lose that wedding ring. Might get fired at home."
Klopp joked, I smiled in response—that was it, but strangely, my heart lightened.
The Champions League group stage round 2 between Real Madrid and Dortmund unfolded at Dortmund's home, Signal Iduna Park.
Unlike their usual attack-heavy Bundesliga style, Dortmund opted for defensive, pragmatic tactics against Real Madrid.
With powerhouse center-backs Mats Hummels and Neven Subotic, they dropped the defensive line and intensified forechecking—two or more defenders swarming any ball-holding attacker.
"Keep 'em out of the box!"
This prevented Real Madrid from easily penetrating the penalty area.
Assigning Sebastian Kehl to man-mark Mesut Ozil was also highly effective.
Dortmund hadn't conceded but had ceded possession to Real Madrid. From the 22nd minute of the first half, after Son Jinho's surprise long-range shot smashed the crossbar, they aggressively seized control.
I eyed Real Madrid's guardian deity: Iker Casillas.
In the future, he'd be called a politician and showered with abuse.
But now, he was Real Madrid's symbol.
Height's 182cm, right?
For a keeper, Casillas's notably small stature stood out.
In his youth, monster reflexes enabled acrobatic saves, earning him top keeper status.
But even he couldn't escape time's toll.
Entering his 30s, reflexes dulled, and without athleticism to compensate for his height, he was in his worst form this season.
"Gino! Pass!"
As Sven Bender's pass reached me, Lewandowski called for it while darting into the box.
I feinted a pass to Lewandowski—spotting all Real eyes on him.
Faking out Pepe, I surged into the penalty box and whipped my right foot toward the near post with power.
Thwack—!
Prime Casillas would've reacted with beastly reflexes to a point-blank shot.
But with slowed reactions, he couldn't stop my powerfully struck ball.
His hands reached a beat late for the trajectory.
Splash—!
The ball shook Real Madrid's net.
After scoring, I bolted to the corner flag.
"Olé, now BVB's coming!"
True to Dortmund fans' fiery spirit, flames erupted across the stands.
As I spun my right arm in circles and jumped before them...
"Hooooooowwwwwww—!"
A earth-shaking Hoo roared through Signal Iduna Park.
I silently thanked Ronaldo, who scowled near the halfway line.
Big bro Ronaldo.
Your celebration slaps.