It was quite fitting really that Nuno’s arrival at Wolves was announced while I was sitting by a pool in the Algarve on my honeymoon.
I thought to myself that this doesn’t happen to my football club.
We don’t recruit managers of Nuno’s calibre, we don’t sign players of Neves’ ability, we don’t play utterly divine football, we don’t get purchased by one of the biggest conglomerates in the world.
It felt like dreaming – but we were all to learn that ‘dreaming is for free’.
I found myself hanging on Nuno’s every word; buying car stickers, t-shirts, photos of the bloke – I’m 30-years-old for heaven’s sake! But we could do nothing to stop ourselves worshipping our demigod, we were his disciples.
I was so proud to tell anyone who’d listen that no other club has such a unique bond with their manager, and I doubt we’ll have that again down the Wolves.
Even though I knew it was the right thing to do, I was completely stunned when my wife told me the news about Nuno’s departure. I thought she was having me on. But when it sunk in, I was sad.
I didn’t expect to feel like this, as in the last year I was drained by the identity of Nuno’s Wolves painfully eroding away, and I felt a change was needed for some time.
But it dawned on me what we’d achieved under Nuno and how this special and unique individual became the best manager in my lifetime supporting Wolves.
How could someone of that stature not leave a lasting impression on you?
As our Portuguese contingent affectionately concluded, we’ll miss you Mister.