Triggs’s owner is Roy Keane, a man who loves feud, football and Triggs, a man who loves not wisely but too well. Keane is a turbulent fellow who finds some kind of peace from himself in the hard-walking, tail-wagging company of Triggs. In times of trouble, the rate of dog-walking goes up and up, and Keane has spent so much of his life dealing with trouble that it is surprising Triggs hasn’t had his legs worn down to dachs hund-like stumps.

All that is most admirable, all that is most dreadful in Keane was summed up on that famous dog walk of 2002. Keane had stormed out of the Ireland World Cup training camp and so, inevitably, there was a vast congregation of paparazzi outside his home in Cheshire.

Anybody else in the world would have either stayed inside till the fuss died down, or sneaked out to some secret destination. But not Keane. Why should he? He had done nothing wrong. It was his custom to take Triggs for a walk at a certain time of day, so why should he change the habit of a lifetime just because half the nation’s media was waiting outside? He wasn’t going to talk, but he was dammed if he was going to let his normal routines be dictated by anyone else in the world. Come on, Triggs. Sod the lot of them, eh, boy?

And so to Niall Quinn, a man who, rarely for a footballer, has spent most of his life trying to do the decent thing. This included, for some mad reason, buying Sunderland, becoming chairman, appointing himself manager and then dismissing himself. Now he is on the verge of hiring Keane as manager.

That guarantees us a minimum of six weeks’ pleasure as we see if Keane can actually do the manager thing, if the bloody-minded dog-walker can turn Sunderland’s fortunes through 180 degrees. He won’t do any worse than Quinn: five defeats in five games shows room for improvement.

One thing seems clear at this point. Keane will make a very good manager. Either that or a very bad manager. It’s knowing which that is so damned difficult. Quinn has taken a massive gamble in terms of results, though he has backed a certainty in terms of publicity.

Good points: Keane is a man who sets devastatingly high standards in football and in life. His autobiography is full of dismissive remarks of people you might have thought he would have had some time for: Teddy Sheringham is a bluffer, Jack Charlton is a miser, Charlton’s assistant as Ireland manager, Maurice Setters, is another bluffer, Peter Schmeichel is not his cup of tea.

The hardest thing for a footballer, for a team-mate, for any kind of colleague, is to win the respect of Roy Keane. But that respect is, if you can be persuaded to care, the ultimate accolade. It’s not easily won: you have to live up to Keane’s own standards of commitment, self-belief, dedication, hunger and fire. You’d have thought nobody would even try, but the post-Cantona Manchester United were driven by the desire to win Keane’s approval.

Or failing that, at least to keep him quiet. If you let your standards slip, he’d be on at you again. His ferocity drove performances from himself and from those around him. It was not just what Keane did that made him such an effective footballer, it was what happened to people all round him. His own side got braver, the opposition got less brave.

Keane is a man who never takes a backward step, as Triggs will tell you. And if he can fill the Sunderland team with that sense of inner certainty, that need to win Keane’s approval, then he has the makings of a great manager.

Bad points: Keane is a man who sets such devastatingly high standards in football and in life. Those who fall short are worthy of nothing but contempt. And those who fall short include most of the world. Working for a man who has contempt for you does not inspire you to do better.

Glenn Hoddle, the former England manager, had contempt for people who lacked his touch with a football. That is to say, almost everybody. He was unable to understand that his basic job requirement was to work with people who had lesser gifts than himself. He loved to juggle balls for the cameras, a trick that exacerbated the dislike he inspired.

Keane does not understand that his level of commitment is also a gift. Certainly, like most gifts, it is a double-edged thing, but that’s not the point.

The point is that most players are less committed than Keane because such commitment is not in their natures, just as Hoddle’s level of ball skill is not in most player’s feet.

The task of the manager — of any leader — is not to despise his followers for not being the best possible performers, but to make them into the best they can possibly be, as individuals, as a team. That means accepting that people have inadequacies and frailties. Naturally you try to get people to improve, to find new limits. Managers tried to put more fire into Hoddle’s semi-detached style as a player, and managers also tried to force self-discipline into Keane.

But a manager must accept that those he leads have limitations: you can’t go into a rage after every defeat because you don’t have ten Pelés out on the field; or ten Hoddles; or ten Keanes. Will Keane have the patience to work with flawed material? Will he find satisfaction in making his flawed material slightly less flawed? If not, he is no manager.

Keane is a man who has achieved great things in football by walking with his own self-destructive tendencies bounding alongside him on a long lead. Rage and drink have taken him close to the edge, yet somehow he has maintained his balance. I wonder, will he be able to maintain his balance in football without the release, the therapy of playing those furious 90 minutes? I fear the rage will win, that the rows, the feuds, the walking-outs will outnumber the triumphs. But I don’t know for sure: that strange, wild, uncompromising personality could work wonders.

I was unable to reach Keane himself for comment on this yesterday, but I have at least secured an interview with Triggs. “Triggs, what do you think life will be like for the players when Master Roy is a manager?” “Rough!”