The new Messiah

It's interesting as Louis van Gaal lifts the FA Cup at Wembley yesterday he must have known that the knives were out for him in the Boardroom and that his joy would be short lived.
It's the nature of football these days as it has become a multi million pound product bolstered by the ridiculous sums of money brought into the game by that insidious industry advertising, that loyalty or even the most rudimentary sense of respect for utterances made hours before, mean nothing in the behind the scenes negotiations that seem to be continually going on regarding football managers.
As much as van Gaal had nothing to do with the genius of Wyne Rooney's inspired goal as Rooney picked up the ball in the middle of the park and dribbled his way across to the right touch line drawing the Crystal Palace team with him to then with pinpoint accuracy he placed the ball to Fellini who had been hovering around that section of the goalmouth all day and had been a constant danger to Palaces defence, breasted the ball to Mata for an easy shot on goal, as much as van Gaal was not involved in the actual goal it seem his head will roll anyway to make room for the poisoned challis of Mourinho.

How will the fans take to the surly Mourinho. Coming from arch rivals Chelsea where his personal character seems to have got in the way of his team who continued to play well below their ability until the moment he left and then have revived their skills without the petulance and self centred hubris of their manager.
As always results win the hearts and minds of the fickle football fan, fickle towards players and manager, never towards the club, results are all that matter and the blind patriotic fervour turns sensible men and women into raving lunatics unable to see what's before them in their medieval tribalism.
Mourinho will peer at us all with that self centred smirk on his face, secure in the ridiculous contractual obligations which are part and parcel of the employment package, in his heart little thought for the fans or the history of the club, perhaps even contempt as he wends his mystique, a man of few words which when you disentangle the mangled syntax mean little other than "I am the messiah".