There are managers in football who age and become statesmen of the game. Then there is Jose Mourinho, who appears determined to age into a caricature.
For years, Mourinho’s fans have conflated belligerence with brilliance and petulance with personality. The self-described “Special One,” who some critics now dub the “Specious One,” has long cultivated the image of a misunderstood genius, forever persecuted by referees, journalists, governing bodies and, occasionally, reality itself.
But there comes a point when the theatre stops being amusing and starts being ugly. By attempting to justify racism while simultaneously shifting blame onto the alleged victim, Mourinho may well have stumbled into that territory.
We may never know whether Benfica’s Gianluca Prestianni racially abused Vinícius Júnior during yesterday’s UEFA Champions League match between Benfica and Real Madrid. Allegations of racism are serious and must be treated with care, evidence and due process. What we do know, however, is how Mourinho, the Benfica manager whose team lost by one goal chose to respond when the issue was raised.
Rather than calling for investigation, empathy or restraint, he reached for a defence so threadbare it barely covered the prejudice it sought to deny.
“When he (Vinícius) was arguing about racism, I told him that the biggest person in the history of this club (Eusébio) was black. And the last thing this club is, is racist.”
It is difficult to decide what is more alarming: the logic or the confidence with which it was delivered. By this reasoning, the existence of Eusébio permanently inoculates Benfica against racism. A club once had a black legend; therefore, racism cannot possibly occur within its ranks. That is history used as deodorant.
The argument is not merely simplistic; it is also deeply offensive. Institutions are not absolved of prejudice by the achievements of exceptional individuals. If anything, invoking Eusébio in this context feels less like tribute and more like instrumentalisation as though a towering figure in football history has been summoned posthumously to serve as a rhetorical shield.
One could apply the same reasoning elsewhere and expose its absurdity. A country once elected a black president; therefore, systemic racism evaporated overnight. A company once promoted a woman to the board; therefore, sexism is extinct. A church once baptised a minority parishioner; therefore, discrimination is impossible within its pews. It is logic so flimsy that it collapses under its own convenience.
Mourinho’s comment also betrays a familiar instinct: close ranks, protect the badge, dismiss the complaint. It is an instinct he has displayed throughout his career. From feuds with doctors and referees to public excoriations of players and journalists, he has often chosen confrontation over reflection. The difference this time is the subject matter. Racism is not a tactical dispute. It is not a press-room spat. It is a corrosive social reality that demands seriousness.
What makes the episode particularly troubling is the suggestion that Vinícius was “arguing about racism,” as though raising the issue were itself the provocation. That framing edges dangerously close to victim-blaming. It implies that speaking about racism is the problem rather than the racism itself. In a sport that has spent years insisting it is committed to stamping out discrimination, such rhetoric is not merely tone-deaf; it is regressive.
Football has, painfully and imperfectly, learned that denial is not a solution. From monkey chants in European stadiums to online abuse directed at players across leagues, the game has had to confront the fact that racism persists despite glossy campaigns and symbolic armbands.
The correct response to an allegation is investigation, not deflection. The correct instinct is to protect those who feel targeted, not to wave a sepia photograph and declare the matter settled.
Mourinho has always thrived on antagonism. He builds siege narratives the way other managers build midfields.
For a time, that combative energy translated into trophies and headlines. But there is a line between mischievous provocation and genuinely harmful rhetoric. Suggesting that a club’s historical association with an iconic black player renders contemporary racism impossible crosses that line.
This is not about silencing Mourinho’s flair for controversy. It is about recognising that certain issues demand a higher standard. Racism is not a debating tactic. It is not a press-conference punchline. It is a lived experience for many players, including Vinícius, who has endured repeated racist abuse in Spain and beyond.
Those within the game now face a choice. They can shrug, roll their eyes and chalk this up to another Mourinho moment. Or they can draw a firm boundary and say that minimising or excusing racism is unacceptable, regardless of résumé or reputation.
If football is serious about its anti-racism commitments, there must be consequences. Condemnation should not depend on whether one admires the man’s medal haul.
We may never have definitive proof of what was said between Prestianni and Vinícius, but we do have a clear record of what Mourinho said. Over the years, he has often mistaken cruelty for candour and provocation for principle. He once jabbed a finger into the eye of the late Tito Vilanova on the touchline. He publicly attacked referee Anders Frisk, who later received death threats and retired. He also turned on club doctor Eva Carneiro in a manner widely criticised as bullying. The pattern critics describe is not of a misunderstood genius, but of a manager repeatedly drawn to controversy.
