Mixed emotions

The Last Straw: When soccer writers mention the Chelsea "revolution", the reference is to the club's Russian owner. But it could apply equally to Jose Mourinho, the Leon Trotsky of football managers, who is threatening to overthrow the world order.

The latest example of his radicalism came this week in Barcelona, as he explained why English clubs underachieve in Europe. They were, he said, "too emotional".

This was subversive talk. It has long been an article of faith for English teams that whatever challenges they faced, controlling their emotions wasn't one. They might be technically limited, but they were solid, dependable and kept their heads. Emotional stability was their biggest asset when playing French or Italian or South American teams, which were skilful but likely to be let down by their "Latin temperament".

The Latin temperament theory might be undermined occasionally by, say, Brazil winning five World Cups. But then some high-profile representative of the romance language-speaking world would do something lunatic (yes, Eric Cantona, we mean you) and the myth was secure. The English retained their stiff upper lips - stiff upper ribcage in the case of the fan attacked by Cantona - and all was well with the world.

In that world, Jose Mourinho would have a Latin temperament, and would now be cracking up under pressure (as well-known Latino Kevin Keegan famously did). Yet, here he was, lamenting the fragility of the Anglo-Saxon temperament. "English teams tend to play with their hearts rather than their heads and when [ the opposition] is intelligent and pressurises them, they can slip up," he said, with sadness. Or with something resembling sadness. If Mourinho were any more calculating, he would injure himself. So when he betrays emotion, you have to assume it's tactical.

There was an example in Barcelona when his former protégé, Deco, dived to try to win a penalty. It was a poor attempt and failed. But in what was surely mock outrage, Mourinho - who taught Deco everything he knows (except diving technique) - demanded he be booked. It was already too late for that. So you can bet Mourinho had already moved on mentally to the referee's next big decision, and was pressurising him in advance. Of course, it's possible he was experiencing genuine exasperation. But I think that would underestimate him.

EMOTION USED TO be something you feared more in an adversary than in your own team, and managers were careful not to rouse it in the opposition dressing room. Thus it used to be compulsory for managers to praise the opposing team - however inept - beforehand (another convention Mourinho has abolished). But emotion's stock seems to have fallen generally, of late.

I read that Asian bond traders are struggling to make profits these days because of a "stubborn lack of price volatility" in markets. Traditionally, market dealers have been as prone to emotion as English football teams, responding nervously to every development and overreacting to bad news. But apparently, Asian central banks have learned from the US to communicate policies better and earlier, eliminating nasty surprises and the ambiguities that fuel rumour. The result is that markets are now "more predictable than bond investors might prefer".

Modern sports managers are like Asian central banks. The best - such as rugby's Eddie O'Sullivan - are meticulous planners who aim to anticipate every eventuality and eliminate surprises, especially unpleasant ones. Emotion is good during the national anthem. After that it has no part in a successful team's thinking.

The Ireland rugby team used to be the Latins of the North. In the sporting cliché hall of fame, the "Fighting Irish" still sits alongside the popular "French flair" exhibit. The passion of Irish rugby teams was famous, but just as famously, it only ever lasted an hour. In a cynical world where games invariably went on for 80 minutes, this was rarely enough. Irish teams would open full of optimism, like the stock exchange after better-than-expected inflation figures, but fall back sharply in later trading, amid rumours that there were 20 minutes left.

Even in 2003, long after Ireland developed a calculating game, England came to Dublin and crushed the home team. Clive Woodward later said coolly that Ireland were good, but two years behind the English in development. He sounded like an accountant comparing balance sheets, and he was right. Ireland's figures just didn't add up.

But Woodward is gone. Several key players are as well. And England looked very emotional two weeks ago against the typically dour, calculating French. Meanwhile, Ireland started slowly again against a fired-up Scotland, before pulling away. There can be only one result tomorrow. Yes, the English are dangerous. We can expect them to be very passionate early on. But cold, remorseless logic should see us home in the end.