Jose Mourinho goes down swinging in sideline battle as relationship with Antonio Conte turns sour at the Bridge

Shortly before half-time, after yet another of his players had been floored by a crunching Manchester United tackle, Antonio Conte finally snapped. He marched over to Jose Mourinho in the opposite dugout, and for a few seconds the two men squared up: fingers jabbing, faces contorted in fury, as fourth official Mike Jones tried to pull them apart.

It was a confrontation that had been brewing for a while. And yet for years, the two men had got on fairly well. Three years ago, when Mourinho was at Chelsea, Conte paid a visit to Cobham with his colleague Gabriele Oriali. Mourinho greeted him warmly, Conte watched a few training sessions, and the pair chatted cordially. But then, Conte was the manager of Italy, and thus posed no imminent threat.

In the build-up to this match, it was clear that something had changed. “I am surprised with the way they play,” Mourinho said of Conte’s Chelsea. “I am surprised because I thought they were demanding a different kind of football. Chelsea are an amazing defensive team. They defend a lot, and then they kill opponents on the counter-attack.”

People say Mourinho deals in ‘mind games’. Yet the very concept implies a distinction between personal and sporting antipathy that is not especially relevant here. Mourinho specialises in making business personal, and the personal his business. His most infamous feuds – Arsène Wenger, Rafa Benítez, Pep Guardiola – may have originated in football. But eventually, they turned so deeply and virulently personal that it is no longer possible or prudent to separate the two.

Here, again, an encounter that began with Conte proclaiming his “great respect” for Mourinho culminated in a touchline fracas, the pair standing face to puce face, Italian oaths stinging the night air. Afterwards, still infuriated, he derided Mourinho’s tactics of kick first, ask questions later, as “not football”. The quarrel that began last night will endure for as long as the pair of them are both in management.

If Conte had not known how much Mourinho had wanted to beat him, he certainly knew now. Everything about the way United went about this game suggested a manager for whom a lot more than an FA Cup semi-final was at stake. Four centre-backs. Phil Jones as midfield pitbull, with specific instructions to kill or maim Eden Hazard. Paul Pogba, a £90 million doorstop assigned to shut down N’Golo Kanté. Most of all Mourinho himself: hopping, pointing, gesturing, responding to the taunts of the Chelsea fans by holding up three fingers, representing the three titles he won here.

Yes, this was personal all right. And this is what Mourinho does: he paints the world around him, and everything in it, a darker shade of Mourinho.

Even if you have no intention of disliking him – indeed, even if you make it your life’s work to ignore him – Mourinho will make sure you do. The dislike of others is what fuels him.

But this was one argument he could never win. Kanté, evading the limp challenge of Pogba, popped up to score the only goal of the game. And as the Bridge sang for Conte, Mourinho looked grimly into the distance, hearing but not listening. These were his players. This had been his team.

Conte’s office was once his. Yet Chelsea are now 30 points ahead of where they were last season, and now they have put him out of the FA Cup.

What does Mourinho find so objectionable about Conte? Perhaps it is not so much their differences as their similarities. Conte is no dynasty-builder; the lack of opportunities for young players in this Chelsea team tells us that much. He builds a team to win – now. This was once Mourinho’s game, and yet it is Conte on his way to a fourth consecutive domestic title. And the next time an impatient billionaire is looking to hire a manager for guaranteed success, it is probably Conte, and not Mourinho, to whom they will turn first.

But there is one big difference between them, and it only became evident afterwards. “The coaches are not important,” Conte said. “For me, the most important thing is what happens on the pitch. What happens outside is only a circus.”

To Mourinho, this is anathema. He still believes in the idea of manager as figurehead, lightning rod, autocrat, star. He still believes in the messianic power of a strong manager to mould a club in his own magnetic image. He still believes in the circus. And he still believes he is the circus.

And some day it may yet still work, but not here. Superior in numbers, superior in organisation and superior in skill, Chelsea imperiously saw the game out. 

The fans were still chiding Mourinho. “You’re not special any more,” they sang. “We’re top of the league.”

But Mourinho did not respond this time. He simply waved his arms and clapped his hands a little more, like a general urging his battered troops into battle, when the war has already been lost.