About an hour ago.
The press room at Fenerbahçe's training complex buzzed with anticipation, a thick hum of cameras clicking and reporters murmuring as José Mourinho settled into his chair. He wore a sharp navy club tracksuit and that unmistakable look of sly amusement, the faint smirk that meant he'd already decided how this evening's headlines would read.
A Turkish journalist, bold enough to dive straight in, raised the inevitable topic.
"José, Lukas Brandt has been in great form recently. How do you plan to deal with him tomorrow?"
Mourinho leaned back, tilting the microphone closer with deliberate slowness.
"Lukas?" he repeated, eyebrows lifting as though the name were still fresh to him. "Listen… Lukas is a good boy. Talented. But most of his goals?" — he tapped the table lightly — "come because defenders are sleeping. Not because he's doing something magical. It's… how you say… poor defending. A gift."
