We found out exactly what happened when Jose Mourinho was betrayed a final time, and the tale is a familiar one.

Michael Emenalo cut a fine figure as he walked onto the pitch at Stamford Bridge. Big stony eyes, an ancient face, dignified and refined features, he seemed more sculpture than man. His heaviness leant itself to the occasion. This weight burdened the crowd that bustled into the stadium. There were the usual murmurs and sounds that comes with many people being in one place, but their eyes were transfixed on the man striding to the center of the pitch.

They watched him intently, with the fear and respect that a child watches for his father after he has done wrong. They were awaiting punishment. The shared guilt sat in with the audience, in the empty seats, by the stairs, it made its residence between the rapid heartbeats and silent conversations. Yet, no one could speak of the wrong that had been done.

The dawn was arriving and the cool December air made Emenalo rub his hands together as he reached the center circle. He looked into the crowd, not expecting but anticipating the players to be situated in the front rows. He only saw but a few of them. The rest must have been with their families -- after all, they had been given the day off. The audience quieted as he scanned the Bridge for more notable faces to no avail. Maybe they were there in secret; hidden in the middle of thousands of people, leaning against the walls in the tunnel, or watching on the television from their homes. He could feel their presence.

As he studied the environment, a ball-boy rushed to him. The ancient man lowered his heavy head and saw the boy, breathless and disheveled, holding out a microphone. He took the gift, smiled back at the child and the boy happy at this payment, ran back towards the tunnel.

At that moment, he made a gesture with his right hand and the crowd, mesmerized, followed it. As the boy disappeared, a procession of eleven men carrying a slab of marble stone covered in a white sheet took his place. Leading them was a lone woman. She threw her curly-haired head back in song, looking beyond Emenalo, beyond the sky and the present, this lonesome time, as tears began to rim her golden eyes. The crowd stilled completely.

Emenalo waited as the procession made its way to, around and then watched the men settle the stone behind him. He stood as the woman worked to the climax of the song before settling beside him. He showed no emotion.

When all was done, the great man cleared his throat into the microphone. The crowd recoiled. He looked straight-forward, at nothing, at everything and began to speak:

"Jose Mourinho has left the club by mutual consent!"

He paused and invited the rumble of anger that resonated through the crowd.

"It was a decision to protect the interests of the club. One point above relegation is not good enough, not for Chelsea Football Club, not for you. The club is in trouble and something needed to be done. A tough decision had to be made."

He turned around to the large marble stone and ripped off the white sheet to reveal the body of the Special One. Cold, pale and still, it was unnerving to see such a man in this state. He had been silenced. Emenalo called upon all of his wits to keep his nerve.

The crowd groaned louder. Emenalo stood taller than ever, his left hand holding the microphone and his right directed towards the old Portuguese.

"When he returned, by our honor, we gave our word to support and fight for Mourinho with all of our strength. We swore to stand by his side and to rage against those who would fail to do the same."

He leaned in to the body of Mourinho and whispered:

"Forgive our failures old friend. Forgive us for our broken promises."

He stepped away from the body and turned his gaze towards the crowd again. For a moment, he thought he saw the faces that he had searched for earlier and his blood began to boil. Boldness built up within his soul.

"Mourinho loved Chelsea. And Chelsea loved her greatest ever manager but would not save him. There will be no repercussions for his demise, for the millions in wages paid to his traitors and ambitions of the club could not hold back the treachery. No matter the conditions set for a man, he will only go as far as his heart takes him."

The curly-haired woman glanced up in silent warning but he would not meet her eye. The crowd made a low growl. He turned to the eleven men behind him and ordered them to lift the body up besides him. They exchanged worried looks between themselves, and they would have found the courage to refuse, to see through the performance of the ravenous man in front of them if he had not barked the order at them again, and if the crowd had not began to chant his words in unison.

They lifted his body and brought it in front of Emenalo, who pitied and touched the body in regret.

"Diego Costa struck the first blow ... here!" He said.

He circled the hanging body and pressed his hand against its back.

"Cesc Fabregas wounded him here, next to the first," he began to grit his teeth. "Nemanja Matic, carved out his piece of flesh ... here."

Several of the eleven men looked at each other in horror before dropping the body and running out of the stadium.

"Still Mourinho fought! Still he endured!"

He held up the right arm of the body.

"Gary Cahill made a cut here, a long gash."

Then he crouched near it, grabbing the head and lifting it upon his knee so the crowd could see the victim clearly. They moaned.

"John Terry sliced him here!" He made a slashing motion across the forehead before letting the head drop and bounce off the grass. The rage of the fans began to grow, they surged forward from their seats and began to jump over the railings to come closer to the body.

"Mourinho tried his hardest, yet no one would stand for him. He was alone with these men, these players that he had given glory just a year ago. They abused him, and they would not so."

He began to pant heavily. Wiping his forehead, he continued:

"Branislav Ivanovic stabbed the Special One then, digging his dagger into his stomach." He turned the body flat on its back and the crowd now closer, saw the injury that he pushed open with his fingers. "The blood poured but still Mourinho went on. He was a man who believed in himself, one that pulled himself up from the depths of poverty to the apex of the football world. These men could not destroy him!"

He began gasping for air, his vision blurred and exhaustion made him weak in limbs. The mass of people grew even closer, angry and wild but hypnotized by his words.

"He saw Eden Hazard through the arms of his traitors. The man who he had defended countless times. The flamboyant winger who he had molded into a lethal playmaker and goalscorer. The one that he held above Cristiano Ronaldo. Mourinho saw his favorite player and for a moment, for a heartbeat, in the midst of this betrayal, he must have thought that he was saved. That he had a friend. He must have thought he would live."

Tears came to his eyes then. He let them drip down his face. It was almost over.

"He saw that Hazard carried a blade like the rest. His heart broke and he could then no longer fight."

He brushed his hand across Mourinho's face again and pitied it.

"Mou would not look at them after that. He laid there as Hazard approached and joined in at the tearing of his flesh and legacy. Perhaps he did not feel the final blade, we can never know."

A great number of people in the circle began to weep, some wailed in pain as if each blow had cut into them as well.

"And to think, Mourinho made many of these men what they are today, on this ground, between these blades of grass. They owe their lives, fortunes and fame to him. Yet they brought him down. He made himself the best manager in the world, and it did not save him."

Emenalo raised his head when a lone voiced yelled out in the crowd.

"Why should they continue on then?"

He opened his mouth to reply, but countless voices shouting angry curses drowned him out. The question had sparked the wildfire in their hearts and the noise spread and grew until thousands of people began to move as one unit towards the main office for an answer. Their rage roared throughout all of England.

Source: http://www.sbnation.com/soccer/2015/12/18/10581638/et-tu-eden-hazard-chelsea-betrayal-jose-mourinho-caesar-brutus

THIS IS A NICE WRITTEN MASTER PIECE, SOMETIMES PLAYERS SHOULD BE SACKED