On a windy night in Stockholm, Jose Mourinho planted a red flag in the corner of Friends Arena, where his Manchester United had just toppled Ajax to hoist the Europa League title. After the revelry of the night, he delivered another caustic one-liner of his: “There are a lot of poets in football but they don’t win titles.” He was laughing, rather than ranting, at those managers that obsessed systems and structures, the Johan Cryuff and Marcelo Bielsas of the world, the romantics that never sacrificed their principles for functionality or trophies. Mourinho was the pragmatist, who would bend the team whichever way he wanted, depending on what suits the team best. If his Inter Milan brigade that stunned Pep Guardiola’s tiki-takaing Barcelona blended impregnable defending and needle-eye counterattacking, his first Chelsea iteration, played fluid and dynamic football. As did his Real Madrid. The snide didn’t age well, Mourinho has not won another major trophy yet. He has slumped from being one of the hottest managers in Europe to one that is pursued by the …