It is very difficult to be angry with Jose Mourinho for slapping a Manchester United supporter: we’ve all been there, surely. I saw one of them in a queue in the supermarket the other week in Swindon, some late middle-aged lunkhead dressed in his bright red shirt with “Giggs” written, somewhat inappropriately, on the back.

I found it pretty hard to restrain myself then and the bloke wasn’t even singing, just loading up his shopping bags with crisps and filth. There were certain elements of last week’s story which were all too predictable. First, the police report that the victim came from “southern England” — well yes, he would, wouldn’t he? Second, that none of the supporters with whom he was standing deigned to weigh in on his side. And then there was the song they were singing: a simple “Go home Mourinho” according to the fans. I wonder if that was the true extent of it.

Do you remember when Eric Cantona launched a scissor kick at a Crystal Palace fan after being sent off playing for Manchester United at Selhurst Park, a decade or so back? The fan told the press he had addressed the player with something like the following words: “Well, off you go Mr Cantona, it’s an early bath for you on this occasion.” I think I found that even funnier than the scissor kick. One assumes that what was said at the time was “**** off you cheating French ****”, or something very similar. Mourinho was being interviewed when the United fans started goading him. What was described at first as a “punch” was later revealed to be a fairly light slap with the back of the hand, the sort of thing you might dole out to a passing Brighton fan. But this did not stop the victim from bleating to the Old Bill. He may be undergoing counselling at this very moment, who knows.

The other predictable element was the sudden shattering of Mourinho’s fragile temperament, exacerbated, one supposes, by having seen his team out-thought, outplayed and comprehensively beaten and with the delightfully childish and spiteful chant “you’re not special anymore” ringing in his ears for 90 minutes. When he was at Chelsea, Mourinho was always easy to pique when things didn’t go his way.

He would become snipy and paranoid, immerse himself in sulking and conspiracy theories, outlandish allegations and epic petulance. It was said by wise football experts that this was Jose’s incredibly clever method of deflecting criticism, selflessly, from his players — and perhaps the Italian press is saying much the same thing about his mild assault on a United fan. But I had my doubts back then, to tell you the truth; Mourinho’s continual complaining seemed to emanate from the viscera rather than the brain and I reckoned it was merely post-rationalised as a stratagem after the effect.

Despite enjoying a good domestic season with Inter, all is not well with Jose in Italy. He has already fallen out with the Italian press, which objected to him sending out his deputy more and more often, particularly when Inter had performed badly. The press boys compared him unfavourably to Claudio Ranieri and claimed that he did not treat the journalists with “respect” — respect being a big issue with these relentlessly macho, touchy, sexually insecure Latin gentlemen.

Mourinho insisted he had shown respect by learning to speak Italian fluently and added, cattily, that Ranieri had spent five years in England and could scarcely say “good morning” without having recourse to an interpreter. It is expected that Jose will be gone from Inter soon, partly for having failed to win the Champions League, partly because the football played under his command is, once again, not terribly uplifting.

It is said that he might switch to Spain to revive Real Madrid’s tired and lumpen galacticos, but I have my doubts. More frequently it is posited that he will return in his Armani coat to prowl the streets of Britain with his errant dog — but of the clubs who could afford him, who would want him? It is not simply his predilection for boring football — which did for him at Chelsea — that counts against him. There is the growing suspicion that in a credit crunch he is the wrong man for the job. Given unlimited funding, Mourinho is as good as any manager. This is not damning with faint praise; there is a certain dexterity and chutzpah required in moulding together a team of 11 effete, overpaid superstar monkeys. But that seems to be the limit of Mourinho’s ability; he spends very large sums of money quite well and is pretty adept at managing the consequences. But he has a reputation for failing to get to grips with player development, particularly at youth team level. This was certainly not done during his time at Chelsea, nor at Porto and still less, it appears, at Inter.

There were periods when this might not have mattered, when the shadow of bankruptcy did not impinge upon the game and the top clubs could buy their way to victory. Not any more — not even at Middle Eastlands, where Mark Hughes is a far more rounded and pragmatic manager. And certainly it was never the case at Manchester United, where Sir Alex Ferguson always was careful to balance expensive overseas acquisitions with home-grown talent. Ditto, in a slightly different way, Arsenal. Perhaps Mourinho will end up at Liverpool, even though the Scousers loathe him. Then he can resume slapping Manchester United fans to local acclaim.