Royal Asylum CF

Real Madrid has become a madhouse, and that is exactly what Mourinho wants. Because he, let us not forget, is the one who poked Tito Vilanova in the eye and it was also he who built an unbreathable, disgustingly toxic climate, which concluded in a schism between the Madridista and Culer players. Mourinho has returned, he has finally taken off the mask of the mature gentleman who combs white hair with a temperate character and is back to being what he has always been: an agitator.

The climate of hysteria experienced at the Bernabéu is only the prelude to what awaits us: only eight matchdays have been played and we have 30 more ahead, so we better get used to the idea that this will end just as we feared when Madrid announced his signing. Badly. Meditation, yoga, mindfulness or anxiolytics, choose your own adventure because in the mud, in the filth, quoting Pep Guardiola, Mourinho is the fucking boss and he will continue to wallow until he manages to drive us all crazy. As long as he continues to point at the referees and they chant "Corruption in the Federation" in the stadium, there will be no talk of football, which is ultimately the key when his team continues to stumble and is six points behind Barça.

The worst part is that their plan, for now, is working and the noise is consuming the football debate. Just as it is useless to argue with flat-earthers because rational arguments do not work, it is better not to waste time trying to convince the hyperventilating Mourinho supporters that Vinícius's hair-pulling is a red card, here and in the People's Republic of China. And that he will most likely miss the Clásico in two weeks because those are the rules and I didn't invent them, nor did Flick, nor even Negreira. In the ultra, denialist mud, it is better not to get involved because the only certainty is that you will come out scalded.

Barça would do well to ignore it completely and continue on their path: full of victories, equaling the best start to the League, with all the players eager and engaged and a coach who knows what he is doing. Playing along with Mourinho is a bad deal and there is no need for it when, on the pitch, they show that there is no doubt. Let the decibels of the loudspeaker at the Bernabéu rise, let them tear their clothes at Real Madrid TV, let them scream and stomp their feet, let the asylum continue with its commotion, because in the end, the ball is in charge.