by Roy Keane
So I rang his agent.
‘Well,’ he said. ‘Harry’s in for him.’
I went, ‘Yeah, I’m aware of that. But we’ve been in for him for three or four weeks.’
And he said, ‘Just to put you in the picture. Harry’s away this weekend, on his wedding anniversary. He’s been married for forty or fifty years and he wants to speak to David when he gets back.’
I said, ‘I’ll tell you what. I’ve waited three or four weeks, and now you’re asking me to wait because of Harry Redknapp’s wedding anniversary? We’re pulling out of the deal.’
The joys of management.
We got Greg Halford, from Reading. I shouldn’t have signed him. He came in for about two and a half million – a decent fee for a full-back. Reading had bought him from Colchester but he’d hardly kicked a ball for them – not a good sign, but it was a sign I ignored, thinking I’d be different. It was a young manager’s outlook; you think, ‘I’ll be down with it.’ You’ve been playing until recently, so you look at players as a player looks at players, not as a manager. The older you get you realise that the lads who bring baggage bring baggage everywhere. So you can’t be bothered with them – unless they’re brilliant. Greg had done well for Colchester, against us; he was a talented boy. But I should have gone with my gut feeling. He came into my office in Sunderland, and I didn’t like the way he sat down. He was crouched down, too laid-back.
And he asked me a few questions.
‘Who else are you buying?’
I should have been asking him the questions. Six months earlier he was at Colchester. He should have walked up to Sunderland. I should have sent him on his way. But we signed him. We’d agreed the fee, and the wages. It’s common practice – everything is agreed before the player actually comes to the club to meet you. The player and his agent have the cards. Brian Clough would never agree a deal until he’d met the player – ‘We’re not having you.’ Players did have agents back then but Brian Clough wouldn’t have tolerated them. He managed at a time before players’ agents had the power they have now. We were newly promoted and Sunderland was a bit remote; we had to dangle carrots for people.
I didn’t like him after that. I thought, ‘Not for me.’ But I signed him! I was finding out slowly that certain players suit certain clubs. And Greg Halford wasn’t a Sunderland player. Sunderland people are hard-working, roll your sleeves up – I appreciate that even more since I left – and Greg wasn’t that type of player. He wasn’t a roll your sleeves up, work your socks off player. He was about dealing with the ball, coasting through the game, and just doing enough. He’s had a decent career. I saw him at Forest recently and he played okay.
When I first discussed players with Niall, we were going down the list. But the lads we were after wanted bigger money, or they wouldn’t come up to Sunderland. So we moved on to players like Greg Halford. We needed a bigger, and better, squad; we needed more numbers. There’d be more demands, more injuries – the games would be physically more demanding, more intense. You also need a big squad for training numbers. I was hoping that Greg was better than what we already had. In particular, we needed another defender, a right-back. We wouldn’t be getting players from Chelsea or United; that might come later on.
Trying to get good players in became very frustrating. The wise thing to do is to step back from it a bit, and this is where you need a good chief executive. I had that at Sunderland, Peter Walker. He got deals done – and Niall. Everything was – and this is a big word for me – transparent.
‘Roy, it’s not going to happen. He’s asking for sixty grand a week.’
‘Forget about him. Move on.’
We were after Darren Bent.
‘Roy, they want sixteen million. We can’t go to that.’
‘Okay, let’s move on.’
I still think that if we’d bought Darren Bent then, at the start of the ’07–’08 season, I’d still be the Sunderland manager. He’d have got the goals. But it was too much money. They bought him later, after I’d left, because they’d had another year in the Premiership so they had more money to spend. The longer the club stays in the Premiership, the bigger an attraction it is to players, and the club can start to afford the higher wages.
There was one lad who didn’t even get back to us. The word ‘shopping’ was used. His wife wanted to live in London.
There was another lad, Matt Taylor. I showed him the Stadium of Light, brought him to the boardroom. He told me he had other clubs interested in him. I walked him to his car, told him to take his time with the decision.
I was walking to my own car when I got a text – from Matt Taylor. I could see him, still in the car park, driving out. I’ve decided to sign for somebody else. He’d been telling me fifteen seconds earlier that he was unsure about what to do. He went to Bolton.
On the other hand, I met Leighton Baines at a hotel in Sunderland. He was leaving Wigan. We’d made an offer and it had been accepted. The first thing he said to me was, ‘Roy, if Everton come looking for me, I’ll be moving to Everton, because I’m an Evertonian.’
And I went, ‘Okay.’
I appreciated it.
We bought Kieran Richardson from United. He was a good signing, but it was tricky. I had to meet his dad a few times. Kieran was making a few demands; he wanted a certain jersey number, he wanted to take the penalties. His ego had to be stroked a bit. He did well for us and scored the winner against Newcastle the following season; so he’ll always be remembered for that.
Craig Gordon was the big name. He came in from Hearts for massive money, nine million – a record for a goalkeeper at the time. Craig was the only player I’ve seen being applauded off the training pitch, in all my career – by his own team-mates. It was after his first training session. Nobody could score against him and, it being his first session, we were all watching. We needed a number one goalkeeper; we were in the Premiership – ‘Aim high.’ He was amazing.
Brian Clough bought Peter Shilton for big money and said that Shilton had saved Forest twelve points a season. Clemence, Schmeichel, Shilton – top teams have top goalkeepers. I think I underestimated the importance of keepers when I was a player. It wasn’t that I took them – Schmeichel or Packie Bonner – for granted. But I expected them to make big saves. But then, when you’re not working with a top keeper – ‘Fuckin’ hell!’ – you appreciate them a bit more.
Kenwyne Jones came in from Southampton, for six million, and they got Stern John as part of the deal. Kenwyne did brilliantly for me – and he hasn’t done much for other managers since. I think the fact that Dwight Yorke and Carlos Edwards, lads from Trinidad, were already there helped Kenwyne to settle in.
Danny Higginbotham came in, from Stoke. He could play left-back or centre-back. Tony Pulis gave me all the crap – ‘Oh, he’s my best player’, all the silly games, trying to get the fee up. But we eventually got Danny. He could score from set pieces, too; he had a good leap. He got a couple of important goals for us.
Michael Chopra came in. The fact that he was a Geordie was an issue for some, but not for me. He did a job – we got a good year out of him. We paid five and a half million, and he scored me seven goals. That’s the madness of Premiership football. A million a goal – but his goals kept us up. That was what we paid for. A player worth fifteen million, who might have got us more goals, wouldn’t have come to us in our first season up. We were learning that quickly. I’d say to players we wanted, ‘It’s not Australia.’ But Sunderland is pretty bleak. So is Newcastle, but they were in a position to pay a lot more than us. I’m a footballing man; I didn’t really care where I was. But others look at the whole package.
‘Will you come up to Sunderland?’
‘Yeah, yeah.’
‘The wages are decent but they’re not mega.’
‘Well, I’m not coming up.’
They wanted compensation for the cold and dark nights. We knew that the lads who were coming to us were doing it for the right reasons.
And Sunde
rland was the place to be. The crowds – 44,000 and more – the fans were brilliant. The club ran so smoothly at times I wonder if I’m remembering it accurately. We hear so much now about interference in team selection, and so on. But we had it perfect. Everyone knew their role. I was looking after the football, Niall was looking after the PR and the finances, the chief executive was getting deals done, the medical staff were on top of their job, the players were happy to be playing for Sunderland. Niall knew the game, and he just let me get on with it. There wasn’t just one owner – no one person claiming control. The fact that we’d got out of the Championship in my first season meant, I think, that I’d the real support of everybody – and I felt it.
We were beaten by Luton in the Carling Cup. It was a bit of a shock because we’d beaten them 5–0 only a few months before. I’d made a mistake – squad rotation. Squad rotation is fine if you’re replacing players with international players, like at United or Chelsea. But we weren’t doing that. Also, I overdid it – four or five changes instead of one or two. I thought, going to Luton, I could make the changes. But it only works if you win. And we didn’t. So it backfired on me. But I hadn’t learnt the lesson yet.
Luton didn’t just beat us; they hammered us, 3–0. Their manager, Kevin Blackwell, said that they’d been after revenge, which is fair enough. But that game decided a lot of players’ futures. I’d played some fringe players, to give them a chance. You realise that they’re fringe players because you don’t really trust or believe in them. Greg Halford didn’t exactly warm himself to me when he got sent off in the second half. I remember, after the game, I wanted to smash my fist against the dressing-room wall; I think it’s the only time I’d ever felt that.
Clive Clarke, one of our players who was out on loan to Leicester, suffered a heart attack that night. The news came through to us after the game. The madness of football: we’d been beaten 3–0 by Luton, a shocking result, but at the press conference after the game I said that football results didn’t really matter and I mentioned that Clive Clarke had had a heart attack. And I had the evil thought, ‘I’m glad he had it tonight’, because it would deflect from our woeful performance. That was the world I was in.
A couple of months later I was asked about Clive’s heart attack and I said I was surprised they’d found a heart. It was a joke at a press conference but, on paper, without the context or the tone, it looked less like a joke. I sometimes forgot that I wasn’t the only person with parents and children. It was after Clive had said something critical of me – something about me kicking chairs. The lads who were most critical of me were the lads I moved on or the ones who never played.
When you’ve had a decent career as a player the hard part about going to Liverpool or Manchester United when you’re a manager is almost having to accept that you’re going to lose, 1–0 or 2–0, and go, ‘That’s not bad.’ It isn’t a hiding – five, six or seven–nil – which would have a big impact on your goal difference, especially if you’re near the bottom of the table. It’s hard accepting the thought, ‘It could have been worse.’ I struggled with it. It felt a bit like I was robbing our own fans.
We were taking on the big boys. But I don’t like that term ‘big boys’. It’s almost like you’re beaten before you start. We were in the same league as them. I think I was quite good at looking at my players’ strengths, not deficiencies. When we lost these games, I was disappointed but I never lost the rag. A manager’s biggest fear is feeling that his players aren’t trying for him. If you have that doubt, that is where your pride is hurt. The beauty of Sunderland was I never felt that. You want your team to play like you. As much as I thought we needed more players and we needed improvement, I never looked at the Sunderland lads and thought they’d let me down. We lost 7–1 at Everton but I knew they’d tried. It was naivety on my part. We were 3–1 down, never going to win the game, and I kept saying, ‘Keep going’; we could get back into the game.
I didn’t enjoy going to Old Trafford, although I got a good reception from the United fans. But there was too much fuss. Craig Gordon played well. He was justifying his price tag. But Saha scored their goal, from a set piece.
You hear managers going, ‘I was particularly disappointed to see us conceding from a set piece’, almost as if it’s okay to concede a goal from general play. The thinking is you should be organised to set things up. But the opposition can upset that by doing something quickly. And, no matter how well organised you are, it’s all about the delivery. The opposition is putting the ball in the box, at pace, and they’ve players attacking it. At no other stage in the game do you have seven or eight players attacking the ball in the box. A huge proportion of goals are scored from set pieces. ‘You should never concede from a set piece’ – we’ve almost been brainwashed into thinking it and saying it.
After the game we went to Alex Ferguson’s office for a drink with his staff, but Ferguson never turned up. I thought that was out of order. He called me a few days later, to apologise. He said he’d had to rush off after the game, and he’d waited a long time for me. I told him he should have had a drink with me, like he would have with any other manager, and that he hadn’t shown me or my staff proper respect.
That was three league losses in a row – Wigan, Liverpool, United. You’re starting to wonder where the next victory is going to come from. You begin to see why clubs can go ten to fifteen games without a win. When you’re near the bottom it all makes sense. But I think I stayed quite calm. We’d just been promoted, and I was still new to the job. I was still being given the benefit of the doubt – a bit of breathing space.
Reading came to us and we won, 2–1. A big result. Kenwyne and Ross scored for us. We drew at Middlesbrough. It was a good draw, because Liam Miller scored with the last kick of the game. We were still scoring late goals.
The defeat by Blackburn, 2–1, at the Stadium of Light, was a hard one to take. I was down in the dumps after it; it was one of the games I thought we should have won. Arsenal away – we were 2–0 down after ten minutes, and I was thinking it could end up being seven or eight. But we came back to 2–2, before losing 3–2.
We’d played Liverpool, United, and Arsenal. We’d put up good, fighting battles but we’d still lost the games. Even thinking we’d played well felt a bit of a cop-out.
We weren’t invited for a drink with Arsène Wenger after the Arsenal game. Apparently he’s not one for that tradition. But I went in anyway. I wanted to meet him. I look at some managers and think, ‘The experience they have.’ It comes out of their pores. So we walked in. He was surprised but dead nice. Arsenal have that bit of class.
West Ham was a big game for us. It was one we needed to win. The teams in the bottom half of the table – it’s like a league inside the league. You had to get your points from these teams; anything from the bigger teams was a bonus. Grant Leadbitter hit the bar; we’d have gone 2–1 up if he’d scored. Kenwyne had already scored for us. But we lost 3–1. One of their goals – Craig dived, the ball hit the post, came back, hit Craig and went in. The fine line between victory and defeat – that was another tough one to take.
We drew with Fulham, at home. Halford was sent off again. I was really warming to him now. Kenwyne scored again. That was late October. He scored again in December, then didn’t score again till March. That was Kenwyne. It happens to strikers. We scored on average about a goal a game, so it was a battle every week. A striker in a struggling team needs to get you one or two goals a month. But if they’re not delivering you’re in trouble.
Manchester City, away, and Stephen Ireland scored for them – a volley – then pulled his shorts down. He was wearing Superman underpants. The 1–0 defeats hurt because you think you’re close to a point. You’d almost be happier losing 2–0.
We’d slipped below the point-a-game target. We had nine points from twelve matches and we were stuck in the bottom three. We’d almost got used to it, but we hadn’t gone into any sort of free fall. I worried, but I was confident we’d cli
mb out of the bottom three. As a group, I think we felt we’d be all right. Self-belief – it’s a great trait to have.
Newcastle came to us in November. It was my first derby and it was brilliant – the atmosphere, the relief that we weren’t beaten. Our record against Newcastle wasn’t great. But we should have won it. We were 1–0 up – Danny Higginbotham got us a goal. But they got one back. James Milner’s cross went in off the far post. Chopra headed against the bar near the end of the game. You come away from a game like that thinking, ‘We could have won it’, and then we got hammered the following week.
I wasn’t a great one for motivational videos or talks but, before we got off the bus at Goodison Park we showed the team a clip from Any Given Sunday, Al Pacino’s speech at the end. He’s an American football coach. His speech was about endurance, keeping at it – ‘On this team we fight for that inch.’ So we went out and lost 7–1.
Nothing like it had happened to me before. Everton slaughtered us. David Moyes was very good after the match. There was no small talk. It was just me and him. I think he brought me to a private room; he must have known I’d be in a bad way. He was saying, ‘Stick at it.’ He showed real humanity towards me that day.
The defeat hit me badly. I went home, to Manchester. I hardly left the bed for forty-eight hours. You’re advised to move on quickly, but I couldn’t. I don’t think I even showered for two or three days. I was punishing myself. I hadn’t even had the cop-on to take our loss, when we were three or four down; we kept going for it. Take your beating; don’t make it even worse. But, no – ‘Keep going.’ A part of me felt I’d let the players down. I took full responsibility. Bizarrely, we’d had some good chances. Chops missed a great chance when it was 3–1; that would have made it 3–2.
Eventually, I knew I had to go back in to work, but I don’t think I went to the training ground till the following Friday.
Somehow – I think – I need that self-loathing. I don’t want to wake the next morning and say, ‘Ah, well – it’s gone now.’
