A pristine white private jet lands in a corner of Sabiha Gokcen airport on the eastern side of Istanbul. A few dozen yards away, murmurs grow louder among a throng of 150 or so Fenerbahce supporters, most of them clad in the Turkish club’s yellow and blue colours.
This is the posh bit of the airport reserved for VIPs and security is duly tight, but people are allowed to gather by the gate to try to get a glimpse of the man whose flight has just touched down.
There are a few TV crews too, with one streaming live for thousands more to watch the much-anticipated arrival on their phones or at home on YouTube.
Some people perch a cigarette in one hand and hold their mobile in the other, standing on kerbs and railings, poised in little vantage points to get a first glimpse on Istanbul soil of a man they are ready and very willing to adore.
Fenerbahce fans look for a glimpse of their new hero (Tim Spiers/The Athletic)
They wear Fenerbahce shirts with the names of Kezman, Dzeko and Ozil on the backs, but before the new man has even signed a contract it already feels like the hero worship they have for mere footballers is about to be usurped by that for a now 61-year-old who has barely kicked a ball himself in decades.
They wait for five minutes, 10 minutes, 20; the time ticks by in unforgiving 30C (86F) heat; it’s up to an hour now. They may only see the man for five seconds — the building he’s dashed into through a side door is only a few yards from the car waiting to take him away into the city — but it’ll be worth it.
They chant his name incessantly, louder and louder as photographers and club officials exit that building. He is imminent.
And now, out he nonchalantly strolls, to euphoric, guttural cheers. They raise their arms in unison, to wave, to clap, to take pictures and videos. The stench of body odour from beneath an estimated 150 pairs of lofted arms is quite overbearing, but no one else notices. He waves at them, he applauds, they roar their appreciation and repeat his name ad infinitum. They surround and engulf his car, someone tries to force their way inside it for a selfie. As one reporter says, this is a true Turkish madness.
The Special One has arrived.
Supporters mob Mourinho’s car at the airport (Tim Spiers/The Athletic)
The airport scene is merely an amuse-bouche for what follows at Fenerbahce’s home stadium a few hours later.
It feels like the whole city has one man on its mind. As The Athletic jumps in a taxi and asks to go to the Sukru Saracoglu Stadium, the reply is not, “Yes, of course.” Instead, the excitable driver squeals: “Jose Mourinho!”
It is hard to describe just how much this means to Turkish football, let alone to Fenerbahce, a club who last won the title a decade ago — their longest barren stretch in the league’s history. They have also never reached a European final, unlike Mourinho, who has done so on six occasions (five wins).
For him to go from Inter Milan to Real Madrid, back for a second spell at Chelsea, to Manchester United, then Tottenham Hotspur, Roma and now… Fenerbahce, you can excuse their fans for being giddy.
“I had to come here to see it with my own eyes,” a supporter named Yasir says at the airport.
Fenerbahce fans have had a pale affinity, or at least respect, for Mourinho for some time, noting his complimentary comments on their stadium’s atmosphere.
“It is definitely one of the biggest things in the history of Fenerbahce and Turkish football,” a supporter called Alp says. “Since 2014, when the last championship came, the fans have become aggressive and impatient. The fact that this club could not become a champion for 10 years was a symbol of the need for someone special.
“Jose is the perfect fit for Fenerbahce with his winning character and his place in world football. At the end of the day, this union happened at a time when Jose needed Fenerbahce too. I think the scene is set for ‘The Special One’.”
The scene is certainly set in the Kadikoy district, where Fenerbahce’s stadium is being opened up at 7pm on a Sunday so people can witness Mourinho putting pen to paper. He had been a TV pundit at Wembley in London for the Champions League final the night before, stepping off set briefly to finalise this deal.
Supporters queue to witness the presentation of Mourinho as manager (Tim Spiers/The Athletic)
They are clogging the gridlocked surrounding streets in their yellow and blue shirts like it’s a matchday. People sell scarves and flags, the club shop is open and full, someone offers to paint The Athletic’s face; it’s a party.
It’s also incredibly busy. They have turned up in their thousands and it is a scrum to get into the ground. A fan grabs the hand of his heavily pregnant partner, who grimaces and holds her bump as they push their way through the crowd. Impending baby or not, they’re here to see Jose.
People are selling flares just as frequently as they’re being let off along the sun-glazed, bustling roads. They drink bottled beer, they eat kebabs, they smoke cigarettes, they sing songs and they film each other doing all of the above. It is still fully two hours before Mourinho will appear to sign a piece of paper.
“Welcome to Fenerbahce – The World’s Biggest Sports Club” reads the huge sign on the pitch, part of a massive presentation setup complete with red blue carpet, giant screens and massive speakers. Their previous manager Ismail Kartal probably didn’t get this in 2023.
On Turkish TV, a Mourinho montage shows him lifting trophies, complaining to referees, pointing at people, smirking, beating his chest, shushing people, shouting, cupping his ear and doing a knee slide. Yep, that’s him.
Mourinho awaits his turn to speak (Hakan Akgun/Anadolu via Getty Images)
Another huge Mourinho picture pits him in front of a blackboard which lists the major honours he’s won: 3x Premier League, 2x Champions League, 2x Community Shield… even David Moyes won one of those, but you see the point.
One stand and a couple of corners behind the presentation stage are closed, but otherwise the stadium is full, so some 25,000 to 30,000 are here. A reminder: this isn’t a football match, it isn’t even a new player being unveiled, it’s just a manager.
When he finally appears, after the hordes have been riled up further with Fenerbahce songs over the loudspeaker, the noise hurts your ears. Mourinho sits impassively, zero expression.
Ali Koc, the club’s president, speaks for 10 minutes first, some people boo and some applaud; he is the man who has made this happen, but he is far from popular. Mourinho keeps quiet, then finally he waves (they cheer), he stands up and blows them a kiss (they absolutely lose their minds).
Mourinho remains the master of playing to a crowd (Seskim Photo/MB Media/Getty Images)
There are 250,000 watching on YouTube as Mourinho speaks for the first time.
“Normally, a coach is loved after victories,” he says. “In this case, I feel that I am loved before the victories.
“I promise you from this moment, I belong to your family. This shirt is my skin. Since the moment I met the president, I wanted to play for you, because you are the soul of the football club. I want to be the coach of all of you.
“From the moment I sign my contract, your dreams are now my dreams.”
He says and does all the right things, lassoing a shirt around his head, raising banners, leading fans into a chant.
It’s all too much for one fan, who gets onto the pitch and makes it all the way to the stage, hugging a slightly startled but still smiling Mourinho, who tells the security guards the lad can have the selfie he came for.
Security personnel then start to drag him out, to the sound of astonishingly loud boos, so they set him free. He performs three Cristiano Ronaldo ‘Siuuuuu!’ celebrations as he races back to the stands to cheers and laughter. Turkish football.
Mourinho on his lap of honour (Agit Erdi Ulukaya/Anadolu via Getty Images)
The whole thing lasts about an hour, with Mourinho doing a slow lap of honour where he is greeted by flares, music, chants and delirious fans who surge to try to touch him, as if he were the Pope or Taylor Swift.
It’s utterly feral, wild and unquestionably glorious.
Mourinho and Fenerbahce may seem an unlikely marriage at first thought, but with their and Turkish football’s penchants for undiluted carnage, perhaps they are made for each other.
This certainly won’t be dull.
(Top photo: Huseyin Yavuz/ dia images via Getty Images)
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