by Roy Keane
I ended up thinking, ‘What good guys these are.’
I wouldn’t have allowed myself to see that as a player. I think the TV job brought me out of my shell, a bit.
I met Peter Reid.
I used to kick fuck out of Peter Reid – in a respectful way. I remember booting him when he was at City. I don’t remember him kicking me – but he must have.
Peter did one of the England international matches, and we stayed in the same hotel in Oslo. We went out for a walk and had lunch together. He was a player I’d admired when I was a kid, when he was in that Everton team, with Adrian Heath and Kevin Sheedy. And there I was having lunch with him, in Oslo. We were sitting there, and one of us said, ‘This is cool.’
And it was cool.
TWELVE
I love the game of football. I got distracted, I think – I lost track of why I love the game.
I thought Martin O’Neill was a clear favourite for the Ireland job. I’d met him on a few occasions. We’d done some TV work together. We’d done a couple of Champions League matches, away from home, and I just liked his company. And I’m hoping he might have liked mine a little bit. So when I thought, ‘He’s got a chance of getting the job’, I also thought, ‘Maybe, just maybe, he might keep me in mind.’
I thought the job would suit Martin, in terms of his character and his experience, even his age. I thought the challenge was perfect for him. And before you know it, he rang me and said, ‘D’you fancy coming up for a chat?’
And I thought, ‘All right – interesting.’
I’d a real enthusiasm about me then, because, after my time at United and especially at Ipswich, I’d lost a bit of love for the game – which I hate saying. Because, for me, football is still the best game on the planet.
Was I expecting it? Probably not. Was I shocked? Not shocked either. In football you just never know what’s around the corner. And I thought the Irish job, being Martin’s assistant, was probably perfect for me. I just thought, to work with Martin, to go back with Ireland after all the turmoil, the rollercoaster – and that rollercoaster started when I was fourteen or fifteen. Resentment is too strong a word but, from a very early age, I often wondered, ‘Jesus, is this what the game is all about?’
So when Martin asked me, ‘D’you fancy coming on board?’ I just thought, ‘Brilliant.’
I really did.
I played the cool character but I had a real buzz about myself. It gave me a bit of joy, and I’d lost that – I’d lost that in football, definitely. There are never good endings in football; I was no different from lots of other ex-players. I was doing the TV work, still going to watch matches, and enjoying them, but I had no purpose in my life. The Ireland job, and the possibility of working under Martin – I thought it would be great. And the fact that I wouldn’t be the manager – that appealed to me as much as anything. I could be hands-on with the players. I wouldn’t have to go to FAI meetings – and I mean that in a nice way. I thought to myself, ‘I can be under the radar a little bit.’
I could get back to giving something to the players. When you’re a manager you have to step back, and maybe I’d stepped back a bit too much.
I was very comfortable with the prospect of being Martin’s assistant. It might have been different if it had been someone else, someone who hadn’t done as much in the game. But this was Martin O’Neill. And, particularly when I was a player, I’d never minded taking orders. I didn’t need to be the number one. I’d enjoyed it, picking my staff – and there’s more money; there are definitely pluses to being the boss. But if I’d been asked during the years when I was out of the game, would I have been happy to work as somebody else’s assistant, two or three names would have sprung to mind and Martin’s would have been up there, at the top of the list.
When Steve McClaren got the manager’s job at Nottingham Forest, in 2011 – Steve doesn’t know this but, at the back of my mind, I thought, ‘I wouldn’t mind working with Steve.’
I’d known Steve at United, and he’s a good coach. There were other people I’d come across and, almost subconsciously, I’d be going, ‘Well, I think I’d like to work with him one day – maybe. I think I’d get on well with him.’
I think I would have liked working under David Moyes, and I might have had that opportunity if I’d signed for Everton after I left United. It’s a gut feeling. I look at managers and I go, ‘I like the way you come across.’ Then there are others, and I go, ‘Listen – that’s a no go.’
People have said, ‘Well, you’re going to be assistant. What does that mean?’ That means I’ll assist. Whatever he wants me to do, I won’t complicate it. If Martin says to me, ‘Roy, there’s a player in China that could play for us’, I’ll go to China. If I’m asked and it’s my responsibility, I’ll do it.
As for my relationship with the FAI, it’s amazing how people forget that I came back and played for Ireland, in 2004. I played for two years, and got over all that awkwardness. And even then, I didn’t find it that awkward. I just thought, ‘I’m a player, I want to go back and play for my country.’ I didn’t feel I was making up for Saipan or anything that had gone wrong there. I’ve never regretted what I’d stood for; I just regretted that it had happened. I’ve never felt guilty about my part in it.
I first met Martin when I went up to Glasgow, to watch Celtic and Rangers. God knows the year, but Martin was Celtic’s manager at the time. Celtic were playing at home and I got invited to the directors’ lounge after the game. But our first conversation didn’t get off to a good start, because the first thing Martin said to me was, ‘I think you should have played in the World Cup.’
I said, ‘—why?’
And Martin said, ‘Well – you know—’
And I said, ‘You weren’t there. You don’t know what went on.’
He said, ‘I just wanted to say that.’
And I was back at him, ‘You’re entitled to your opinion but, you know, there’s a lot more to it than you think.’
That was our first conversation.
But a few years later, I was managing Sunderland and Martin was at Aston Villa. We played against them, twice at Villa and once at Sunderland, before I lost my job. After the games there’d be the usual get-together in his office, or mine. There’d be Martin, his assistant, John Robertson, his staff. I liked his staff; there was a warmth about them. Then myself and Martin started working together, with ITV. When we spoke about football – maybe it was down to the Cloughie thing, the fact that we’d both played under Brian Clough – we had the same ideas about the game and how it should be played. Martin might tell you different – but I enjoyed his company.
There were strange quirks, little coincidences. Martin had been up at Celtic, and I’d had a spell playing there. Martin managed Sunderland; I’d managed Sunderland. He played under Brian Clough, and so did I. Martin’s really into American Football, and I like American Football. I used to watch it on Channel 4, on a Sunday night, when I was a kid. My grandmother used to go mad when I put it on. Martin’s Irish, and I’m Irish. One of his daughters is called Alana and my daughter is called Alanna. Maybe that’s why he gave me the job!
Over the years, I’ve played different roles. Sometimes I don’t know what role I’m playing. I’m a family man, I’m a Cork man, a TV pundit; I’m a critic; I was a player with a skinhead. I felt like an actor sometimes. Maybe we’re all like that – I don’t know. I was the manager, and I’d stand off from the players but I wanted to be hands-on with them. But when I took this job, I said, ‘I’m going to try to be myself, I’m going to work with the players, I’m going to enjoy myself.’
I’m not going to get into the politics, like I did sometimes as a player. Enjoy working with the team, don’t get bogged down by anything else. At this moment in my life, being the number two suits me perfectly.
I love the game of football. I got distracted, I think – I lost track of why I love the game. Saipan, my argument with Ferguson – they had nothing to do with the game,
in a sense. I never fell out with eleven v. eleven. Being with the Ireland squad – I’m back in the zone. Being beaten by Turkey in Lansdowne, in May, was horrible – although it was a friendly. But it was great to wake up the next morning and get out on the grass with the players.
I’ve not had that feeling in years.
I was working with the lads who hadn’t played the night before, going, ‘We’ll get this right.’
That feeling was there – ‘Let’s make this fuckin’ happen.’
Being out on the grass, for me, is getting your gear on. I hadn’t put on a pair of boots in a couple of years. Puma King; apparently they’re from the 1950s because they’re not green, or orange – or odd. Getting the gear on, getting the balls out, getting the bibs, the cones, setting up a session. One part of the training leads to another, and to another. A warm-up, possession – five v. two, or seven v. two; six v. six, in a big area; two-touch, one-touch – all part of the warm-up. Then into a bit of crossing and finishing, and ending with a game. There might be additional rules in the game – say, one-touch finishing. If you’re working with a smaller number of players, say, four v. four, you might have two-touch, with one-touch finish. A longer session might include tactical work – walking players through situations. And the shape of a session will depend on its time in the season – you won’t be working on physical fitness at the end of the season – and when you last played a game, or when your next game is coming up, and the number of players you have. Then there’s the manager’s feel for the group, and what he thinks they need. A lot of ingredients go into a session.
In the mornings Martin discusses the session plan with myself and some other staff. He gets our thoughts and ideas, then decides on the session. That’s fine, and I’m happy with it. The sessions are short, and our time with the players is short, and Martin has vast experience. But at club level, when there are a lot more training sessions, I like to get a feel for the group of players and make quick decisions myself; I like the responsibility – ‘You’re off tomorrow, lads; you’ve trained really hard.’ When you’re the assistant you can’t make those calls, and I think, ultimately, that it might eventually frustrate me.
There’s the fresh air – and getting wet, feeling cold. There’s the satisfaction of a session going well, or the disappointment of it not going so well. That’s the emotional side of being out on the grass. Going back for your lunch, thinking, ‘I’ve done a bit of work.’ Enjoying the food, going, ‘That was a good session,’ or ‘That wasn’t so good. He was good, he was bad, he’s pissing me off.’
Drinking tea or coffee is a massive part of the job – while you talk football. Video analysis, and talk of old games and tournaments. Chatting to people who love the game as much as you do.
Qualifying for Euro 2016 is going to be tough. Germany, Poland, Scotland – and there’s Georgia, too. But even that has given me an extra buzz. I haven’t had that hunger for a long time.
A lot of people decide not to go into international football, because you don’t get to work with the players that much – and that’s fine. But I think that can actually be a hindrance, spending too much time in their company. Myself and Martin and Seamus McDonagh, the goalkeeping coach, took our first two games, friendlies against Latvia and Poland, in November, 2013. I really enjoyed it, and I think part of that was down to the fact that we were only with the players for eight or nine days. Steve Walford and Steve Guppy have been added to the staff, and that’s been a huge help to us – and they add to the football stories and banter. Steve Guppy played for Martin when Martin was managing Wycombe, Leicester and Celtic, and worked as a coach for Martin at Sunderland. Steve Walford played with Martin at Norwich, then worked with him at Wycombe, Norwich, Leicester, Celtic, Villa and Sunderland.
At the end of the ’13–’14 season, we had four games, against Turkey, Italy, Costa Rica and Portugal, in Dublin, London and the USA. This time, we had the players for more than two weeks.
It’s very different from club football. When you’re with players at a club, you start looking at what they’re not good at. But when you have them for a short spell, it’s ‘Let’s get it right for the game.’
At a club, you spend a lot of time talking about who you’d like to bring in and who you’d like to move. With an international squad, you’re not thinking like that. The players you have are the players you have – and there’s a plus to that. You have to look at the players positively. It’s a bit like being a grandparent: you get the kids, and you give them back.
I’m working with Seamus McDonagh, and I watched Seamus playing for Ireland, at Dalymount, when I was a kid, eleven or twelve. I came up from Cork for the match, with my team, Rockmount. It was a Wednesday night.
I was telling Seamus about it.
‘Were you playing in that game, Seamus?’
‘Yes, I was.’
Ireland were playing Holland. It was Ruud Gullit’s first international game.
We lost 3–2.
I slagged Seamus about it.
‘You threw in a few that night, Seamus.’
We’d won the trip to Dublin because we’d won a tournament, the Under-12s; it was called the Val O’Connor. We’d got to the final, and the winners would win a trip to see the Ireland team. It was my dream, to see Ireland play. We won 3–0; I got a hat trick.
I was going, ‘I want to see that fuckin’ match.’
But Seamus played in that game, and now I’m working with Seamus.
It’s brilliant.
I bought my first ever single that day too, in Dublin – ‘Karma Chameleon’, by Culture Club.
Niall Quinn made the point on TV recently: Dave Langan, who played for Ireland in the seventies and eighties, would have turned up with his leg hanging off, and have said, ‘I’m fit.’ I think Niall was contrasting Dave’s attitude to Stephen Ireland’s, and how things had changed. Playing for your country used to be the pinnacle of a player’s career; now it’s playing in the Champions League. Maybe I got lost in that world. I need to remember that most of our players won’t be playing in the Champions League. Playing for Ireland will be the pinnacle of their careers. I need to remind myself about going to Dalymount as a kid, on the bus, to see Ireland play.
I’m watching the way Martin speaks to the players, the way he handles the staff. I’m not saying that it’s perfect, or that I’ll try and copy it. I’m just going, ‘I like that, I like that, I’m not sure about that, I like that.’
I don’t have to deliver the bad news – ‘You’re not playing.’ But I’m watching Martin do it. He has more knowledge than me, more experience to fall back on. Again, I’m not trying to copy him. I’m learning. Like I learnt when I worked for Brian Clough and Alex Ferguson.
Brian Clough gave me my chance in England. I have a thing in my makeup where there’s that loyalty to people who I think have looked after me. Lads who might have given me a lift or picked me up at the airport – I might remember them for twenty or thirty years afterwards. Like Tony Loughlan and Gary Charles at Forest – one of them took me for a game of snooker. Just when you needed someone to dig you out. And Brian Clough dug me out by giving me a contract. I’d like to think I earned it. I wouldn’t say a bad thing about Brian Clough. He was brilliant with me. A brilliant manager, and a brilliant man.
He met my family; he was always dead nice to them.
There was once, he took me to a charity do. He needed a player to go to the gig, and he dragged me along with him. I was very young, and single – a lot of the other lads had families. At the end of the night, he gave me fifty pounds – a fifty-pound note; I’m not sure I’d seen one before in my life. It was like one of your uncles giving you a few bob when he came to the house.
There was something underneath it; I could identify a lot with him. He was hard on me. He hit me once, and I thought, ‘I know why you punched me.’
I got him – I just got him.
He kept things simple – for everybody. I think there’s a warmth in that, a
nd a cleverness. There’s a genius to keeping it simple.
I worked under two great managers, and I put Brian Clough ahead of Alex Ferguson for a simple reason. What was the most important thing in my football career? Brian Clough signing me. That kick-started everything.
Different managers, both brilliant.
I think Brian Clough’s warmth was genuine. I think with Alex Ferguson it was pure business – everything was business. If he was being nice, I thought, ‘It’s business, this.’ He was driven, and ruthless. That lack of warmth was his strength. United was a much bigger club than Forest, and his coldness made him successful.
He had a different personality from Brian Clough, but his message was the same. I was never once confused by one of his team talks or his tactics, or training sessions. I never once, in all my years at United, thought, ‘I don’t know where you’re going with that one.’
His management, and his message to the players before matches, was always fresh. I must have heard him talk before a match close to five hundred times, and I always thought, ‘Yeah – that was good.’
I think that’s amazing.
I know Clough’s warmth was business, too. Forest were good to me, but they’d got me for fifty grand – and I was younger. I was older at United, and I could see that it was a bigger business and that the game was changing, and that Ferguson was driven. He had to be. We had massive success together. It was enjoyable, and it was great.
As a manager I’d like to take Clough’s warmth and Ferguson’s ruthlessness, and put them in the mix – but also add my own traits.
After the Turkey match in May, Martin had to go and face the media. I didn’t. I sat in the dressing room with the players, eating chicken curry and rice, going, ‘We’ll get it right, lads.’
When I was a player, I shut doors on myself. Now, I don’t have to.
When you’re working, you’re visible. People see that you’re working, in a tracksuit, on the grass, and working with players.
