Handsome position is not easy

Chapter 57

The small town of Sitges in Spain is a beautiful and quiet city, only 20 kilometers away from Barcelona.

The turquoise sea waves, together with the white sandy beach, draw out an extension line obliquely to the distance. On the shallow protruding cape, there is a rose-colored church.

Flowers bloom everywhere in early spring, and summer is in May. The first ray of warm wind that can blow on the embankment has a very nice name, it is called romance, and the candy smell is worth sniffing and capturing, because it is slower , will melt into the coolness of champagne.

In the double-storey apartment with sea view provided by the Barcelona club, Mourinho leaned on the railing and looked out with a complicated expression. He has seen the scenery here for four years.During the four years, he caressed this railing, sipped countless cups of light wine with pride, and lamented the decline of losing his companion countless times. The joy is hard to last, and leaving is always a foregone conclusion.

Mourinho bit his chapped lips, closed his eyes, and said softly to his wife behind him: "Tami, take the children and go back to Setubal first, I have something to deal with..."

"Jose, you don't need to push yourself so hard." Mathilde hugged his shoulders, "There are still many choices."

"I didn't push myself, it's just that after returning home this time..." He pointed to a lonely seabird on the shore, and looked at the white shadow that flapped its wings and flew away, "I have to get used to myself. Fly."

……

The ups and downs of the gull's wings and the ups and downs of the tides wash away the last trace of noise on the tidal flat, the voices of people fade away, the setting sun returns, and the night covers up all the waves and sand marks during the day.

He just watched quietly like this, as if he could imprint everything in front of him in his mind, recreating this piece of scenery that resembled his hometown of Setubal.

"I'm gone, but no one in Barcelona remembers me, and I will never be like this again, so I have to hurry up, so that when I come back..." Mourinho tugged at the sleeves that were a little wrinkled due to his bent arms , sighed softly, "Decent enough."

He has no resentment, but he can't figure out why years are the heaviest and time is the lightest.

……

The black Volvo convertible was the last thing Mourinho left in Barcelona. When he got into the cab, all he needed to pack was the memories of the place.

This is not something that can fit in a suitcase, so Mourinho invited his friend Lorenzo for many years to accompany him. The latter lamented the longer and narrower coastal road due to his mood, and couldn't help but tilt his head. Looking at his traveling companion, he was as calm as if nothing had happened.

This absolutely trustworthy driver was concentrating on the road in front of him, as if nothing could interfere with his concentration, Lorenzo shrugged and reached out to turn on the car's audio system.

"Spain's Third District Traffic Committee reminds you that there are tens of thousands of roads, and safety comes first. Driving is not standardized, and loved ones are crying..."

Seeing that Mourinho's brows were obviously frowned, he quickly pressed the stop button, and the sweet voice of the female traffic radio host stopped abruptly, and Lorenzo scratched his head in embarrassment:
"Damn it, I wanted to listen to nursery rhymes for a while, but it was tuned to the radio... Ahem, that, Jose, Mathilde told me not to forget to say goodbye to the Matas family."

Mourinho opened the car window halfway, and the salty sea breeze rushed into the car in an instant. He rubbed the center of his brows with the coolness: "Louis, don't worry, how could I forget what Tammy said, that is, she , always feel that I will forget things..."

The car was parked in front of a sports bar. Mourinho leaned on the back of the chair, clenched his hands holding the keys tightly, and his breath became a little heavier. He squinted his eyes and glanced through the car window before finally Open the door and slowly get out of the cab.

The friend from Catalonia, Xavi Matas, was standing at the door of the bar, with a gentle smile on his face, and a bit of bitterness.Lorenzo followed behind and saw them hugging tightly and patting each other's backs. It wasn't until then that he realized that Mourinho's emotions were not as relieved and relaxed as he had shown before. .

The three of them just drank some coffee, and the most famous sports newspapers in Barcelona were spread out on the table, but no one had the thought to read them. They didn't talk about work or the future, and everyone chatted carefully, in a tacit understanding. Did not touch the topic of parting and sadness.

Mourinho had said goodbye to Robson, Nunez and Van Gaal, and the crowds that had gathered and shouted had long since dispersed, so when he left Barcelona, ​​there was no one to see him off, except for his best friends from the same country. Friends, almost alone.

……

At nine o'clock in Setubal, the sun has not yet set. After sending Lorenzo home, Mourinho returned to his home near the Bofim Stadium tiredly. The long drive had exhausted his energy. , he now just wants to simply settle his own dinner, and then quietly spend the first night at home unemployed.

Of course, he can enjoy the long-lost moment of getting together with his family, but Mathilde didn't intend to make this dinner too simple.

When her husband was welcomed into the house, her expression was mysterious and subtle. Mourinho smiled and obeyed his wife's mercy, and followed her to the dining table with his eyes closed.

"Okay, Jose, you can open your eyes~"

Hearing the stealing laughter of the family, Mourinho shook his head lightly in happiness and satisfaction, trying to figure out who the laughter belonged to. Well, the teeth are still leaking, it is my little Tita, with Nasal, it's my father...

"Jose, open your eyes. Seeing that you can still joke, I feel that dinner has become much more delicious."

When his father spoke, Mourinho shrugged and squinted for a moment to adjust to the light in the room.Sure enough, father Mourinho Sr. was sitting at the head, mother, little Tita, and little Mario, who was only a few months old, should still be in his crib.

So, who is that teenage boy sitting on the other side of the dinner table with a little primness?

The black-haired boy wanted to stand up at a loss, and looked around in a panic. He muttered a few times before he said, "Uncle Jose, it was Aunt Mathilde who asked me to hold my breath and not make a sound. She said you can Listen, that wouldn't be fun..."

"Jan, why are you still so obedient? You don't look like a Portuguese boy of this age at all." Mourinho stepped forward and patted his head, soothing the boy's embarrassing heart.They haven't seen each other for more than four years, but the relationship between the two has not been born. Yang's stature has jumped up very fast, and he is almost catching up with him. Mourinho recalled the little head that needed to be squatted down before, and he was very embarrassed. several times.

Mathilde walked behind the two of them, and patted Mourinho and Young who seemed to have a lot to say: "Okay, my 'boys', it's time to eat now, I want to have a good chat There's still plenty of time to talk."

Mourinho nodded with a smile, and returned to his seat. He was indeed a little hungry. Returning to his hometown and being with his family was enough to comfort this wandering heart, but it couldn't satisfy his already empty stomach.

……

"I was eating before. I didn't ask. Now you have to explain it carefully. How did you run from Porto to Setubal?" Mourinho sat on the big chair in the study and leaned back comfortably, looking Yang stood up straight with his hands behind his back, with a playful smile on his face.

"Uncle Jose, it's the offseason now, and Aunt Mathilde told me the date of your return." Yang wanted to get back to the way of getting along when he was young, but he was limited by the mature man in front of him. Coach temperament, or gave up trying, "Report..."

Mourinho grinned happily for a long time, but he still couldn't integrate the image of the kid in front of him with the image of the boy in front of him. He looked at Yang's black hair, which was cut a lot, and said narrowly: "You won't Call out even the reporting coach? I don’t remember being hired by Porto.”

"Report...report Mr. Mourinho, I, Jan Rodriguez, Porto U19 echelon player, because I miss Uncle Jose whom I haven't seen for many years, under the reminder of my aunt, I use the three-day vacation every month during the offseason to take The car arrived at Setubal and is expected to return the day after tomorrow, please instruct!" Yang still stood upright, but couldn't hold back his laughter.

Since Mourinho left the Porto club with Mr. Bobby Robson in 1996, the two have not seen each other very much. Barcelona, ​​a city full of dreams and passion, is not very far from Portugal. For children who are training, it seems far away.

"Don't be so serious, since I know your schedule, I have to tell you." Mourinho shrugged, "Tomorrow our whole family will not be in Setubal."

Yang's jaw drooped, and he couldn't believe it: "No, Uncle Jose, you wouldn't do such a ruthless hand just to let me go back to training earlier, even the echelon coaches have never cheated on players like this Holiday!"

"Well, this is normal. Before I left Barcelona, ​​I bought a holiday villa in Ferragudo. Our family will go there for vacation tomorrow. It's very close to Portimão, and it's relatively quiet. It's more suitable for people like me. There are no more job seekers…”

Looking at Yang who was a little disappointed, Mourinho knew that he had joked too much. The kid really thought that he would be sent back to Porto in advance because he had nowhere to stay, so he lowered his head.

"Okay, okay, I'm joking, do you want me to send you a formal invitation? Little Rodriguez, look up, okay, okay, I'm going to take you to play tomorrow, but you have to promise to return to the team on time .”

"I will definitely return to the team on time, Uncle Jose, I have made a guarantee with the coach, I dare not be punished for delay."

Mourinho glanced at Yang, who was obviously more interested, suddenly remembered something, dragged him and asked: "I forgot to ask again, who is your current echelon coach? Do you know your technical characteristics? Wasting your talent?"

"Uh, according to the Chinese saying, he is your younger brother, Uncle Jose."

"Junior brother? It's such a complicated vocabulary, can you say it again in English? I haven't heard the name yet, and I'm confused by the nouns..."

"It's Andrea Villas-Boas, who is an apprentice of Mr. Bobby Robson like you. He returned to Porto about a year ago."

"It seems that I have to make another phone call tomorrow. Now you should go to sleep and give your Uncle Jose a little personal space. Don't worry, we have a whole tomorrow to talk about football."

　The second volume begins!
　　
　
(End of this chapter)