by Roy Keane
I played a few charity celebrity games. I was surprised that there was an appearance fee – for a charity gig. I passed my fees on. We played one at Old Trafford, for UNICEF. The Rest of the World v. some pop bands. And I played one up at Celtic – explayers v. somebody.
But I felt awful.
‘Is this what it’s come to?’
I just didn’t want to end up playing football with fuckin’ JLS. That was never my master plan. You get your boots on, and you’re overweight. You get injured; you embarrass yourself.
‘What am I doing?’
I didn’t like what I was becoming.
I don’t begrudge other men their decisions. If they want to go and play in a Legends match in India, for fifty grand, I can understand that completely. But I didn’t want to do it.
But I’ll try things. I’d rather regret the things I did than the things I didn’t do.
I did newspaper columns for a while – for the Sun. Again, I was being told, ‘It’s easy money.’ I gave it a go, but I ran out of steam. And I hated it. Every Friday or Saturday, I’d be down the phone to a journalist, giving my verdict on everything. There has to come a point when you honestly say, ‘I’ve no opinion on that.’ But that’s not what makes newspaper columns. I said that once in an interview. I was asked about something to do with Manchester United, and I said, ‘I’ve no opinion on that.’ I think the headline was: ‘Shock: Keane Has No Opinion on Something.’
I knew something would come up; something would fall into place. Every time I’d doubted in the past – when I was playing for Cobh; ‘I’ll never make it’ – something happened. Forest came looking for me, then I went to United. I know: that can stop – things falling into place. But when I’ve had my doubts, they’ve been a motivation.
I never felt low. I think there’s a difference between ‘low’ and ‘down’. I sometimes felt down, but always thought that something would happen. I have a few quid in the bank; there’s financial security, and I know that keeps a lot of the anxiety away. But falling back on security – doing nothing – I didn’t want that. It’s not necessarily about the money; it’s the mind.
I’d done one match before, when I was still a player. It was one of the United–Arsenal games, and I was injured, so I was the guest, on Sky. I didn’t enjoy it. It didn’t seem right – I was still a player; I couldn’t really say anything.
But now it was different. I was out of a job, and the League Managers’ Association like to get you out there, to keep you visible – ‘visibility’ is the word they use. It had been four or five months since Ipswich. It was the first time I’d felt a bit unemployed. I didn’t like it. The other times – after retiring from football, after Sunderland – I’d felt that I was between jobs.
I was sitting in my kitchen. My wife was out and the kids were at school. The phone rang. It was Michael. ITV wanted to know if I fancied doing the Champions League final. It was United against Barcelona, at Wembley, and I didn’t have a ticket.
I thought to myself, ‘Well, I could do with going to the game.’
It wasn’t out of the blue. ITV had been in touch before. But it was their deadline day – the Wednesday before the final. I had to let Michael know in the next fifteen minutes.
Usually, when Michael rang with some request or job offer, I’d nearly always say, ‘Let me think about it.’
He’d laugh, and go, ‘You’re not going to do it – I’ll just tell them.’
But I’d read my horoscope that day. It had said something like, ‘You can’t keep saying no to people.’
So, I said, ‘I’ll do it.’
I wanted a ticket.
As United’s captain and as a manager I’d been used to talking in front of a camera. But the last time I’d analysed a match, it had been United’s game against Middlesbrough, for MUTV, which had played its part in getting me out the door.
The other guests were Gareth Southgate – he was the regular – and Harry Redknapp. Harry had managed Tottenham in the Champions League that year. Adrian Chiles was the presenter. Andy Townsend was there, too – I knew Andy. I was quite relaxed about it, considering it was the Champions League final, and I was new to it. But I’d played against Barcelona, and I’d played for United; I’d played at Wembley. So I was comfortable. And the other people – Gareth, Adrian, the ITV people – gave me a helping hand. And Harry’s personality helped. It was all very relaxed – especially when you remember what a big event it was for ITV.
My main point was that I thought United, playing 4–4–2, would be overrun in midfield by Barcelona. Giggs and Carrick were in the middle of the park. They were good players, but they wouldn’t be great at getting the ball back for you, when you didn’t have it. I kept what I said simple. And I called it right; they got very little possession. But it didn’t need an expert to predict that.
ITV took a chance, throwing me in. But I like to think they were confident enough that I’d know what I was talking about. I mightn’t have the TV head on, but I’d have the football head on.
A couple of months later, into the new season, 2011–12, I was asked if I’d do a few more games. I played it by ear, match by match. I trusted ITV, but I didn’t want to sign a contract. I was out of work for more than two years, so I just continued to do it.
I got used to it. I got used to the travel, the studios, talking at the pitch sides, and working with other people – the other pundits and production people.
I enjoyed the travel. I liked going to Munich. I liked Madrid – and Barcelona. I could have a wander if there were no English teams playing, because I wouldn’t have to deal with the fans. We were in Athens, to cover United’s game against Olympiakos, and a group of us went to have a look at the Acropolis. When I was a player I wouldn’t have done that.
I enjoyed the trips to London, on the train. I enjoyed walking around London. My day in London was a bit of a treat for myself. Getting to and from the stadiums could be a problem, because of the traffic. I started getting a motorbike to the games, which I really enjoyed. I’d be couriered on the back of the bike from the station or the hotel, to Wembley or Stamford Bridge. I enjoyed the routine – getting to the games, getting home. I liked ITV – the people I was working with.
The travelling wasn’t always great. We did City’s away game against Villarreal. I got dog’s abuse from some of the City fans, and I was thinking, ‘Do I need this?’ But then, we’d be covering a United game and Lee Dixon would be getting loads of stick from the United fans, and I’d say, ‘Ah, you have to deal with it.’
I liked when United or City were playing at home, because they were two minutes from my house. The pay was the same for working at the Etihad as it was for going to Munich. A game in Munich was three days away. A game in Manchester was less than one.
A few occasions, I didn’t enjoy it. I just wasn’t in the mood for it, or the game I was watching – no goals, no action – wasn’t worth all the travel. I’d be away, and be missing a family occasion, a birthday or something, and I’d think, ‘This isn’t for me.’
I’d tell the producer, Tony Pastor – or, later, Mark Demuth – I was finished with it; I’d had enough. I’d stop doing it for a while. Then I’d be watching a game, and I’d think, ‘Maybe I could have added to that.’
A couple of weeks later, they’d get in touch: ‘Are you sure you don’t want to do this game?’
I’d go, ‘Oh, go on then.’
I’d go back, and the lads would go, ‘We thought you’d retired.’
And I’d go, ‘I’m only doing it for a few more games, lads.’
My jobs as a manager had ended badly – they always do. This time, I was dictating the terms, a bit. It even gave me something to complain about, if that makes sense.
The ex-players who’ve fallen on hard times are the ones who ended up with nothing to do. Football had been good to me, so – although I’ll always argue for a good deal – it wasn’t about making money; it was about getting out of the house.
Ther
e’d be homework to do before a match. I’d have to look at the opposition – whoever was playing against an English team. I’d be sent DVDs and information on the players. You learnt you didn’t want too much information because you were only on air for short spells, before the game, at half-time, and after. I was learning the tricks of the trade.
It was work, but I don’t like the label ‘pundit’. I don’t like being labelled, generally. Although I never minded being called a footballer – because I loved being a footballer.
It wasn’t like going down a pit for ten hours, but I do think the TV work serves a purpose. It creates argument – even if it’s about different styles of punditry. There’s a skill to it. It’s a balancing act. You want to point out something that someone who hasn’t played mightn’t have spotted, but you don’t want to talk down to people. You want to educate them, a little bit – and entertain them. If I’m eating something in a restaurant, I don’t necessarily want to know everything that’s going on in the kitchen – but a glimpse is interesting.
The balance is important. The more I speak, the more rubbish I talk. So I kept it short. The hours that they get to speak on Sky or RTE would kill me. I’d end up overanalysing everything.
I was learning the boundaries, the way TV worked. I had to remind myself that the reason for a player’s movement, or a pass wasn’t obvious to everybody.
‘That’s why he’s ran in there.’
Adrian would go, ‘Well, I don’t know that.’
And I’d go, ‘Well, he’s ran in there, to move him,’ or, ‘It’s the pace of the pass.’
I tried not to state the obvious, and I also tried not to be too clever. I’m guessing that I had the job because, ‘He says it as it is’, and because of my playing experience, and, possibly, because I brought a bit of unpredictability. People could say, ‘Oh, he’s right,’ or ‘Oh, he’s a prick.’
And getting behind the clichés. Last year’s one was ‘parking the bus’. It was a new phrase, but it’s been a tactic for years. Liverpool did it in the eighties. The new phrase was a gimmick, like the arrows on the screen. All that TV time needs filling. Brian Clough said, ‘That’s the problem with football – there’s too much tactics.’ My job was to keep it simple.
*
The problem for me was that the TV work felt like failure. Because I failed at management, at Ipswich. I’m referring only to myself – not to the lads who’ve wanted to work in the media. I was a reluctant pundit. That attitude helped the quality of my commentary, I think. I tried to talk as I played – very simply. I sometimes saw Adrian looking at me, letting me know, ‘We need more.’
And I was, ‘You’re not getting more. I’ve said my bit.’
At some stage, I would like a life with a bit of anonymity. And I had to accept that the longer I did the TV work the less likely that was to happen. I’d be asked, ‘What’s happening at United?’, and I’d feel another slice of me gone; I’d just sold something.
It wouldn’t mean growing a beard and moving to Timbuktu, but it would be nice to go for a while without being asked, ‘What do you think of van Gaal?’, or ‘What do you think of David Moyes?’ You can feel a bit trapped by football – although there are worse places to be trapped.
There came a point when I asked myself, ‘Is this really, really what I want to do?’, and the answer was ‘No.’
For the Champions League final between Real and Atlético, in May 2014 there wasn’t too much homework because I’d seen quite a bit of both teams during the season. I’d been sent DVDs, and the latest injury news. I kept an eye on articles in the newspapers, for snippets that might have been useful.
If it was a team I didn’t know as well – say, Schalke – I’d have to do more preparation. In 2012–13, I was covering a game with Paris Saint-Germain, and thought, ‘I’m not up to date here’, so I had to do a bit more homework. I’d watch at least one full game – preferably live, if possible. If it was, say, Chelsea or United, the familiarity was relaxing. I’d have a feel for the grounds; I’d played there. I’d seen the teams regularly.
Because it was the final we were on air forty-five minutes before the kick-off. I didn’t like being on air too long. I understand why it’s done – it’s the final, there are the commercials. But it was particularly difficult before a match. It was different at half-time or after the match, when there’d be something to get into. But before the game—
‘What do you think might happen?’
‘Who do you think is the danger man? Bale – or Ronaldo?’
‘Where can they win the game?’
We had to give our expert opinion, but I was more comfortable talking about something that we’d actually seen, not something that we might see. Although, I liked gambling a bit, putting my neck out: ‘Well, this is how I think it’ll pan out.’
I didn’t enjoy the Champions League final. I felt distracted. I felt I shouldn’t have been there. I should have been with the Irish squad, in Dublin. We were playing a friendly, against Turkey, the day after. I’d got a job in football six months before; I was Martin O’Neill’s assistant, and I’d only really started. I should have been in Dublin.
At the end of the game, Real were lifting the trophy. Steven Gerrard was in the studio, the guest.
‘Steven Gerrard, you know what it’s like to lift this trophy—’
‘Yeah, it’s great.’
Xabi Alonso, the Real player, had been suspended for the game, and Adrian asked me what that felt like, because I’d been suspended for the final, in 1999.
‘And, Roy. What do you think Alonso’s thinking? – because you didn’t play in a Champions League final.’
He’d asked the question several times. We spoke about it after the semi-final, when Alonso had picked up his second yellow card. We spoke about it again before the final. Now I was being asked the question again. I just thought, ‘Not again.’
I felt like saying, ‘Adrian – fuck you.’
I didn’t say it, obviously, although it was after ten o’clock, after the watershed, so I might have got away with it.
I don’t like it when companies become too comfortable with me. I don’t like feeling owned – it tightens the chest. If I’m to be an employee, I want it to be for a club or a football organisation, not in media.
After the game, the producer, Mark – a good lad – said, ‘Everything all right?’
And I said, ‘No, Mark – I’m finished with TV. Forget about the World Cup. I’m not going.’
He said, ‘Are you sure now?’
I said, ‘Yeah – my heart’s not in it.’
When I’d worked on the FA Cup final the week before, I hadn’t felt comfortable. I was a pundit. But I was also Ireland’s assistant manager now, and there were Irish lads playing in the game, for Hull. I’d be coaching them a few days later. I could see myself working in TV again sometime in the future, but not while I was in a football job, working with a team. I just thought, ‘No – it’s not for me.’
It had been on my mind, and I was happy when I made the decision. It was like when I rang Gordon Strachan, to tell him that I wouldn’t be playing again. It was a weight off the shoulders. It meant I wouldn’t be going to the World Cup, but I couldn’t see myself over there anyway. I’d done two or three years and the decision felt great. I know that punditry is a huge part of the football life, but I didn’t want to do it any more. I just felt it was sucking my spirit.
There was once, we were at Juventus, in Turin – they were playing Chelsea. We were standing just at the corner flag. Adrian was next to me.
He goes, ‘This is great, isn’t it?’
He’s a proper football fan.
I went, ‘I used to play in these games, Adrian.’
I wasn’t being cocky.
He looked at me, and said, ‘Yeah – I can see where you’re coming from.’
It’s about justification, and what you stand for. When I was at United, I was getting paid good money, but I could go, ‘Yeah, but I’m g
iving it back to you.’
I didn’t feel that way with this work.
‘It’s an easy gig.’
I don’t like easy gigs.
When I heard, ‘I liked your commentary last night’, I knew: I was only talking bullshit, like the rest of them. Hopefully, my bullshit was a bit better.
I wanted to do something that excited me. TV work didn’t excite me.
What I really enjoyed was the company. If we were covering an away game, we’d travel the day before and go for something to eat and a few drinks. I liked Adrian Chiles and Lee Dixon, and Gareth Southgate, when he was doing it, and Martin O’Neill. It was like a little team. Sometimes Andy Townsend joined us, or Clive Tyldesley, the commentator. There’d be plenty of football banter. And the people we don’t see on the screen – the sound technicians, producers – I’d get on well with them too.
I was on a circuit. I’d travel to different cities and stadiums around Europe. I’d bump into the same people, doing what I did. I met and travelled with Jan Mølby. He works for Danish TV, but he lives in England. I enjoyed his company – it was good crack. Jan played for Liverpool, and some United fans saw us together. One of them said, ‘Why the fuck are you talking to him?’
I felt like saying, ‘I’ll speak to who I fuckin’ want to. He played for Liverpool in the eighties!’
I liked meeting people – old players. Jan, Ray Houghton, Patrick Vieira, Kevin Kilbane.
I bumped into Peter Schmeichel in a hotel in London. I was having my porridge, and he said, ‘Do you mind if I join you?’
We’d had a fight once, and now we were having breakfast and a bit of banter together. It was nice. We never mentioned the fight.
The fight was that time – a different environment. Patrick Vieira and myself fought in the tunnel, and now I liked meeting Patrick. I got sent off for stamping on Gareth Southgate. I get on well with Gareth now – we keep in touch. I liked meeting Ian Wright, even though we’d been on opposing sides. I kicked Robert Pires, and he laughs about it now.
