With Kevin Keegan it was always about emotional ties. It is the summer of 1996
and Newcastle United have spent a world-record £15 million to sign Alan
Shearer from Blackburn Rovers. Keegan is sat at a press conference, his new
striker by his side in a boring, club-issue T-shirt. The manager wears a
dark suit and a tie as eye-catching as the transfer fee, flowers exploding
into a rainbow of colours like some sort of crazed botanical experiment.
Chaotic, colourful, organic, bold: a pattern that summed up its wearer.
That was a day, like so many Keegan days, that symbolised hope. Shearer, the
returning hero, had chosen Newcastle ahead of Manchester United. It was a
new beginning after the trauma of tripping up in the title race a couple of
months earlier. The trouble is, we do not remember Keegan for the
beginnings. It is the dusks that stick, not the dawns. The light is
dazzling, but how quickly and dramatically the sun sets. And the man who
arrives as a messiah leaves a mess.
The last time he quit Newcastle, a mood of national mourning engulfed the
People’s Republic of Tyneside. Fans held a vigil outside St James’ Park and
tied scarves to the gates as if Keegan had departed this life, not the
dugout. Now there will surely be no resurrection; it seems safe to call
yesterday the end of one of the most enthralling careers.
Throughout his stellar playing days there was always a resilience that never
seemed evident in Keegan the manager. Where the Newcastle public saw a
quasi-religious figure, the rest of the country saw someone both likeable
and laughable, who endeared and endured because of the naive passion that
was his greatest charm and his biggest flaw.
In 1992, Newcastle tempted him away from the quiet life in Spain with
spectacular results in every sense. By January 1997, after five years in
which he had taken the club into the top flight and so close to the very
pinnacle, the thrill had worn off. Keegan was unable to suppress the feeling
that he was not quite good enough, that runners-up was the best he could do.
And it hurt, so he quit — for real this time, having threatened to do so
several times earlier.
“The elation of winning suddenly meant nothing to me,” he said, only a few
days after Newcastle had beaten Tottenham Hotspur 7-1. The man who made a
city proud had mislaid the pride in his own work. His was a profound
relationship with the Newcastle fans, but not a symbiotic one. He could not
feed and thrive endlessly off their emotion, as they did with him.
He soon surfaced at Fulham. The club were in the third tier but were a coming
force thanks to the wealth of Mohamed Al Fayed, their owner. Keegan liked to
buy big and buy often. Maybe it was the jolt of adrenalin that new players
injected, a frequent freshening-up.
When Glenn Hoddle was dismissed as England manager in 1999, Keegan’s country
called. The most extraordinary thing about Keegan’s England reign was its
last few minutes. The situation this week is in contrast to the way in which
he quit the national job, in a corridor behind the dressing-room toilets
straight after the 1-0 defeat to Germany that was the last game at the old
Wembley. Then, instinct; now, reflection. Then, entirely personal; now,
provoked by others.
This is what he said at the time: “I have not been quite good enough. I feel I
have given it my best shot . . . Absolutely no one is to blame but myself. I
did it to the best of my ability.” How often, before or since, have we heard
anyone in football speak with such honesty, admit weakness so frankly?
After eight months Manchester City called and there was something about them,
an irrepressible optimism perhaps, that spoke to him. He led the club back
to the top flight, then established City as a middling Premier League club.
In 2004 he announced his intention to quit after five years of service, a
piece of forward planning that ate away at his authority. He left ahead of
schedule in March 2005, by “mutual consent”, having spent more than £50
million on players, not all of it wisely.
We thought that was goodbye. After all, Keegan was moved to make such
pessimistic pronouncements as, “In four or five years there won’t be much
interest in the league.” But three years on came the siren call from St
James’ Park. So in January, Keegan was enticed from running his Soccer
Circus back to the big top.
It took Keegan’s team ten matches to record a win, by which time he had been
cocooned in a new management structure. Mike Ashley, the owner, just didn’t
get it. Ascribing a continental model of management was saying that
Newcastle needed to be more like other clubs. Appointing Keegan was saying
that Newcastle were unique. Dennis Wise, executive director (football). Tony
Jimenez, vice-president (player recruitment). Kevin Keegan, team manager
(Geordie messiah).
It was not a credible scenario. To the supporters it was simple: Keegan first,
no equals. A messiah does not run things by committee.
Keegan represented Newcastle’s romanticised past and timeless, transcending
qualities — hope, inspiration, excitement — that were never going to be
enough. Football has changed since the Nineties: it is bigger, flashier,
less innocent. How was a theatrical man who hated second best ever going to
survive for long in an environment in which even fourth-best was far out of
reach, in a sport in which style and fun are increasingly optional extras to
the core business of winning? “I’ve always been a man who knows when to go,”
he said on leaving England.
Keegan appealed to the senses like few other football men could, but the
situation at Newcastle was senseless. He has gone from the game and he
surely knows that he will never come back. Too many grey areas these days in
the black-and-white city for a man of colour. And so the ties were cut.
Best of the web
“As a Sunderland fan, this is great news. Kevin Keegan has many faults, but
his teams tend to play attacking, entertaining football and he has achieved
a fair bit as a club manager. His removal and the appointment of either
Dennis Wise or a person appointed by the same people who thought Wise was a
good idea, will truly wreck any chances of significant progress at Sid
James' Park.
“I would like to feel sorry for Newcastle fans, but I don't. Mike Ashley is
doing many of the things I would do if in charge at NUFC, but I wouldn't be
motivated by anything other than a desire to wreck the club. If he ever pops
into my local, I'll buy him a pint and he can down it as quick as he likes.”
bbc.co.uk/606
“The first time I cried in public was when Keegan made his speech on the pitch
after his last game as a player against Brighton in 1984. He has made me cry
again. Ashley and his board have underestimated our love for this man.”
footymad.net
“The Geordie Nation needs to stand up and be counted. Money is the only
language these people understand and Mike Ashley, if you're reading this:
YOU'RE GETTING NO MORE OF MINE.”
football365.com
“How did Mike Ashley get this wealthy, because he obviously has appalling
people management skills. And I would like to know where he plans to get the
next manager from, considering that they will now know that if they don't do
what the owner wants, they will simply be another in a very long line of
ex-Newcastle managers.
“I may be a lifelong Toon fan, but I will never pay to enter a Newcastle game
as long as Ashley is in charge.”
bbc.co.uk/606
“Come back, Freddy Shepherd. All is forgiven.”
football365.com
“If Wise becomes manager, St James' Park will be like a war zone.”
footymad.net
