By Andy Ritchie
BROADWOOD, January 8 2006. Roy Keane’s
glorious career was suffering more than mere signs of distress: it was falling
apart in front of the sad eyes of a sell-out crowd.
He’d joined Celtic - the club had always
dominated his boyhood dreams - and had taken part in the famous huddle. But the
narrative was short of a Hollywood script writer.
I mean, if you were looking for a superstar
on this day, you’d be sorely disappointed. The superstar of yesteryear had been
left at Old Trafford. This vintage model was struggling very badly against a
young and very energetic Clyde side in the Scottish Cup.
You remembered better times when Keane was
robust, physical and appeared to have all the athleticism in the world. You
knew that these attributes had disappeared, and that he was never going to get
the ball down and stroke it around the middle of the park.
I was watching all this and attempting to
analyse how I felt. I was going to say sad, but truly I wasn’t sad, because
before me was this multi-millionaire who’d had a decent run round the
racetrack. In your heart, it’s hard to feel sorry for rich men.
Besides, having been a footballer myself with
Celtic and Morton, I knew you’ve got to be man enough to face reality: when
your best years are over, that’s it. Nothing can recreate them. Cancel all
thought of fairytale finales.
No, this wasn’t the Roy Keane I saw charging
through the middle of Bayern Munich’s midfield, causing mayhem in German ranks.
Nor the same Keane who stared down the big Arsenal boy, Patrick Vieira, saying:
‘Come on, you and me, we’ll sort it out on the big green bit.’
But I also knew another thing. When Fergie
saw that incident in the Highbury tunnel, he would have had a great big smile
plastered all over his face. For this was the Fergie modus operandi - the way
he wanted men like Keane to be. It was all part of the master plan of
domination for Manchester United.
So you can imagine my surprise this week when
I saw Sir Alex, publicising his new book, turn round on television interviews
and take more than the average length of stick to the character that Keane
became. I don’t think it was really on. It was a bit tacky.
You imagine he should have been saying: ‘He
was my leader. He was the guy who pulled me clear of the compost heap so many
times.’ Instead, here was him savaging him, calling him a bully and insisting
that the other players were frightened of him.
It may have been a bit more prudent if he’d
just relegated that particular matter to a few inconsequential words - much
like his version of the Rock of Gibraltar affair. He said that his row with
John Magnier had been a misunderstanding. Some misunderstanding. It almost
brought the club to its knees.
But rejoining the Keane debate, I’ll never
forget the contribution he made to United’s glory years, or, for that matter,
how quickly Ferguson forgot.
To bite the hand that fed him so consistently
was somewhere over the top. When Keane was in the team, half of Fergie’s job
was being done for him. And if I remember it right, the manager defended him
tooth and nail when his skipper was putting himself about. Fergie wanted it
that way. If he didn’t he wouldn’t have had him there in the first place. Hey,
Fergie was the top man and he could have had him out of there as quick as
manure off a hot shovel.
At his peak, any club in Europe would have
taken Roy Keane. I’ll bet Arsenal would have taken him. But think on it: would
you sell a Trident submarine to Iran, or North Korea? No, you wouldn’t want to
be doing that unless your head was residing in your nether regions. So Keane
stayed and his gaffer prospered.
Ferguson shares a lot of similarities with
Jock Stein, my old boss at Celtic. The latter bullied players, without
question. There were big personalities in the Celtic dressing room, but they
weren’t bigger than Big Jock. Yes, there was fear at times and apprehension.
But there was another factor: to be praised by him was something else. And see
if he smiled at you. Haw! Bloody hell! You felt about 8ft tall, almost on equal
terms with King Kong.
I saw him do it when I was a wee boy. Smiling
and putting his arm round wee Jimmy Johnstone and others. These guys were great
players, but you could take a tape measure and confirm that their chests were
swelling with pride.
Now you could take that to the other extreme.
When he went for you, it was like an early form of cage fighting - and there
was no chance that you were going to exit that cage in one piece. There again,
he could bring you down to an area when you could inspect snakes’ bellies. It
only took one statement from him to do it.
I got a bit of Stein at the end, not the best
years. But the aura was still there. And I imagine it was with Ferguson. He is
a man with a phenomenal record and it’s been glory all the way with him, except
for those first few years when his feet were encased in Old Trafford quicksand.
No doubt just one encouraging word from him
would put the cap on a very satisfactory day. It would have driven players on.
And I’d imagine that Keane, as his captain, was there to do just that: drive and
cajole the team on to new platforms.
Keane, of course, has responded on television
by questioning Ferguson’s interpretation of loyalty. I suppose he feels a bit
betrayed and thinks his contribution has been diminished.
After all, can you imagine Ferguson going
into the dressing room and telling him to pull out of tackles, encouraging him
to let someone else boss the midfield?
Listen, when Fergie got out of that dug-out,
came romping down the touchline and put his fist up, he wasn’t doing it to Olly
Gunnar Solskjaer. He was doing it to Roy Keane. You can listen to the snarl if
you indulge your memory.
There’s no getting away from it: he’s dumped
on his first lieutenant. Which begs the question: would he have said the same
about another of his great lieutenants, Bryan Robson? I think not.
