When Roy Keane speaks, this column listens. You'd be mad not to. In a world of anodyne declarations and pre-shrunk, post-match platitudes, the Sunderland manager stands one angry head and a pair of quivering shoulders above his peers as the go-to guy for unvarnished talk on the issues that matter.

Remember Keane on wealth and complacency among footballers? Remember the former Manchester United enforcer on WAGs and shopping? Remember his unparalleled righteous indignation concerning almost anything to do with sandwiches? (It was Keane who first drew attention to the “prawn sandwich culture” among corporate football-watchers and Keane who spectacularly dissed a plate of cheese sandwiches offered to him as nutrition on one regrettable occasion by the Ireland backroom team.) His have been the definitive proclamations in all these areas, and more.

Predictably enough, the second month of the season, with Sunderland faltering in the Barclays Premier League and needing a penalty shoot-out to get rid of Northampton Town at home in the Carling Cup, finds Keane in a blistering vein of form. Indeed, the outbursts have begun to follow one another so quickly that, for some observers, the manager is “showing signs of cracking under pressure”. Possibly he is, although we say: how would you know?

This week he dished it out to his squad. “One or two players came to see me last week saying, 'I need to play games.' So I said, 'Well, there you go. Have a game. Have a game at the stadium in front of all our supporters. Show me something.' I don't think they'll be coming to see me this week.”

He let the supporters have the benefit of his wisdom, too. “Some people were targeting me and that's not something I've come into the game to accept,” Keane said. “I won't tolerate people abusing me, absolutely none whatsoever. There was one idiot here three or four weeks ago, too, and you remember those things. We have some bloody brilliant supporters, but you always remember the idiots.”

The customer? Always right? No, he isn't. Sometimes he is an idiot. What's more, a noisy idiot. And it's up to Keane to point this out in the most compelling terms available.

Time and again, then, we have bowed before Keane's crisp access to the truth and his ease with speaking it. Even we, however, felt something snap when he ripped into Abba. When the openly confrontational Sunderland manager starts kicking the legendary Swedish pop combo, for no good reason that we can see, we regretfully conclude that a boundary may have been crossed, beyond which there may be no returning.

The comments under analysis arose when Keane was reflecting on an early match in his managerial career, away to Ipswich Town, and they demand to be quoted here at some length.

“We lost 3-1 and you find out about different players at those times,” Keane reported. “I swear they were playing Abba before the game - Dancing Queen, I think it was. I think a few of the players liked Abba, that was the bloody problem.

“There was two of them dancing in the corner. I remember thinking 'that's not right', but we had no leaders at the time. It was the masseur's choice of music, but what annoyed me was that none of the players had the balls to say, 'We're not listening to this rubbish.'”

So much to respond to here. We'll overlook, for now, the barb implicit in the suggestion that the output of the greatest four-piece group in Scandinavian history is “masseur's music”, as opposed to “leader's music”. Instead, let us merely ask: Dancing Queen? Rubbish?

Talk about picking the wrong song. If it had been 1973's virtually nonsensical Love Isn't Easy (But It Sure Is Hard Enough), Keane might have had the beginnings of a winnable fight. But Dancing Queen, the critically re-evaluated floor-filler from the unprecedented 1976 burst of creativity that also gave us Fernando, Knowing Me, Knowing You and Money, Money, Money? He's missing the point, big time.

Keane went on: “Ipswich would have been outside our dressing-room, listening to Dancing Queen and thinking they'd got a great chance against us.”

But that's plainly wrong. Ipswich would have heard that familiar skipping drum beat and Wurlitzer-style synthesizer figure seeping round the door and thought: “Wow, here's a Sunderland side in touch with a very contemporary form of cultural playfulness and who, furthermore, recognise the eternal value of a strong melody allied to a foot-tapping beat and an easily grasped lyrical motif.” Ipswich would still have gone out and won 3-1, of course, but it wouldn't have been Abba's fault.

The consequences of this wild misreading of the public's sympathies can only leave Keane looking abruptly diminished. His authority, hitherto entirely commanding, suddenly appears cracked and vulnerable. Is this the beginning of the end? We can only watch carefully for further developments, starting with this afternoon's match at Villa Park.

Abba, though - honestly. He'll be having a lamp at Nik Kershaw next.

Why gifts in the car park do not match 'phantom goals'

It is hardly surprising that Adrian Boothroyd, the Watford manager, reacted with agitation to the “phantom goal” awarded to Reading against his team last weekend. Conceding a goal is frustrating for a manager at the best of times, but when the ball doesn't go anywhere near the net, the irritation is bound to be keenly felt.

Nevertheless, Boothroyd appeared philosophical about Reading's part in accepting the goal and apportioned no blame to the opposition for trotting back to the centre circle with suppressed smiles on their faces after this extraordinary administrative error. “If someone stops you in a car park and gives you a present, you don't say no, do you?” Boothroyd said.

Actually, we're not sure. Many of us, in such a circumstance, would surely ask ourselves: “Who is this person, and why are they offering me a present in a car park?” We might experience fear and uncertainty - some intuitive sense that the situation wasn't quite “right”, especially if the car park in question was a poorly lit multistorey.

And it might lead us - contrary to Boothroyd's assertion - to say no, or even to back away with our hands raised. When people are palming things off in car parks, can police sirens - or worse - be far behind?

Beware of strangers in car parks bearing gifts. It's among the first things we teach our children. Maybe someone should have a word with Reading about it, too.

Crazy times on Tyneside for 'Wisey'

So, that was a no from Terry Venables, then. Somehow the opportunity to take charge of a free-falling and soon-to-be-flogged Newcastle United for five years,

five months or five minutes, depending on circumstances that cannot yet be measured, proved resistible.

And with “El Tel” joining Gustavo Poyet and Glenn Hoddle on the list of decliners, a chilly feeling began to take hold in the North East - or, at any rate, around Chelsea Harbour - that Dennis Wise was running out of mates to ring.

Wrong, though. Here comes Joe Kinnear. And even if this appointment doesn't work out as planned, we say: “Worry not, Newcastle fans.” Wisey has loads of mates. Why, we haven't even skimmed the surface of Wisey's address book yet. Jody Morris? Michael Duberry? Kevin Hitchcock? To name only the ones on speed-dial.

And that's before we even get into the old Wimbledon Crazy Gang boys - Vinnie, Fash the Bash, Dave Beasant. Whisper it, but what about a Dave “Harry” Bassett/Bobby Gould dream ticket at some point? Talk about bringing the good times back on Tyneside. For Wisey, fantasy football is only ever just a phone call away. Don't underestimate him.