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It was about 2am this morning.

Bleary-eyed from too long looking at computer screens, I wasn’t sure what I had just read. “The Chosen One - Sacked.”

The Chosen One? Isn’t that???

Noooooo! Surely not.

Chelsea Football Club - the world’s richest club - has parted ways with manager Jose Mourinho. It’s unclear whether he has indeed been “sacked” or whether Jose, as the official line went, left by “mutual consent”. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that Mourinho is no longer going to be grace the Premiership. Crikey.

I’m not a Chelsea fan. Although my father is. My loyalties remain further north (Sunderland as a matter of fact), but I’ll miss the sulky Mourinho nonetheless. No one would argue that Chelsea have played particularly good football this season, or that they’ve offered value for the colossal amount of money the side took to assemble, but Jose is a character. He makes post-match interviews - traditionally almost as boring as the post-match analysis - worth watching. His arrogance makes the cliché-driven babble spouted by lesser managers appear even more banal. He turns football into theatre, at a time when to be honest, it’s quite boring.

He can also dress. While most other people in football commit sartorial crimes weekly, Jose can be seen simpering in understated Armani. Jose has class. And for that he’ll be missed in the Premiership.

Bye Jose.