Larry Ryan: Kammy bantered responsibly and he made us smile
Sky pundit Chris Kamara (Photo by Laurence Griffiths/Getty Images)
It’s almost two decades since I enjoyed a quite surreal chat with Chris Kamara, that somehow progressed into Kammy issuing the challenge to recite some of his more famous on-air gaffes.
As a holder of first class qualifications in that specialist area, I obliged with a few of his greatest hits, a body of work that has substantially expanded since.
"It's been end-to-end stuff. Unfortunately it's all been up Forest's end.”
“Not only has he shown him the red card, but he's sent him off."
“Spurs are fighting like beavers.”
That kind of thing.
The man happily chuckled along, though retained defensive instincts from his days as a tough tackling midfielder.
“Ha ha ha, give us another.”
“He went down like a pack of cards.”
“Ha ha ha… hold on, I still don't see anything wrong with that.”
“Welllll… It's a house of cards isn't it? A pack of cards would, you know, drop a bit quicker.”
“Yeah exactly, so where's the problem?”
“Well yeah, fair point, but you know, a house of cards would collapse, go down all over the place. (At this stage a bit of mime was probably in play.)
“Ah yeah, I see your point. Ha ha ha.”
At the time, a man who would never be afraid to laugh at himself was still weighing up the age-old quandary — media or the dressing room. He was still plotting next steps in the precarious life after a decent football career that preceded the megabucks.
“Last November, Bradford asked me to manage the club. But they didn't have that much money to spend on players and under those circumstances I said no, and suggested Bryan Robson was the best man for the job — and he went and took it on.
“Then at the end of last season, Sky called me in and offered me a new three-year deal and that's it. So the football's really taken a back seat. It's still something I'd really like to do but it's trying to fit it in.”
Kammy has been a fixture on the box since, a much-loved part of the experience. Until last weekend, when he announced he’d be leaving Sky at the end of the season. Recently he has begun to suffer with apraxia of speech though says he is getting on top of the condition.
Back then, the t-shirts were everywhere bearing his famous catchphrase and Kammy had the self-awareness to know what kind of life he had buckled in for.
Of his favourite pundit, he said: “Alan Hansen. I like him. I think maybe he's become a bit of a caricature of himself, but then so have I.”
Not everyone would have had the stomach for it. You’d imagine life as Kammy could hold a million times the grief Father Ted visited on Richard Wilson as Victor Meldrew. “I’d say no one ever says that to him, Ted, he’ll think you’re hilarious.”
Yet it’s hard to picture Kammy getting annoyed, no matter how many times he hears ‘Unbelievable Jeff’ in one day.
There’s a story in his book about an encounter in a tunnel with referee Paul Alcock, most famous for being pushed over in 1998 by Paolo Di Canio and going down like a pack of cards.
Naturally, Kammy’s instincts took him to one place.
“I couldn’t help myself and I gave Alcock a little playful shove. I thought it was really funny, but he was stunned. He lost it. ‘You are a joke!’ he screamed.
“‘Four years ago that happened and I have been getting it in the neck ever since.’”
Kammy found that, well, unbelievable.
“I couldn’t believe it. If anything, Alcock should have been dining out on the Di Canio incident.”
Kammy had the sense to roll with things, to play the hand he dealt himself. So he never returned to the dressing room but then he never really left it either.
Part of his appeal is his comfort around football people and an obvious love of his surroundings.
“Because people know me from the telly I rarely have to flash a pass and I can sometimes have a free run of the stadium, which is a bit like getting the keys to Disneyland. I can pop into the manager’s office at White Hart Lane or wander into the dressing-rooms at Sunderland without any hassle.”
Back then I left Kammy, remarking how it’s clear he really enjoys his work and it was easy to believe his answer. “I love my job. It's a privilege to do what I do.”
This is a man who has not been brought down by the dangerous forces of bantz, who has bantered responsibly.
He even threw himself heart and soul into that corporate Gaelic football gig: “Come on Mayo, you got to get Andy MoRAN into the game.”
And he has laughed along with plenty more of his own gaffes.
“The atmosphere here is thick and fast.”
“They’ve got this man with a heart as big as… as big as… a plate.”
This week’s great hurling handshake controversy was a reminder of all the soap opera the Premier League has brought us over the years. Many weeks slipped by wondering who would shake hands at the weekend or lamenting who didn’t shake hands the weekend before.
It has given us controvassy, it has given us mind games and sportswashing, it has declared so many wars of words. Often it was toxic. Often, the soap opera completely overshadowed the football and often we wonder how healthy the whole experience is.
You’d have to consider Chris Kamara among the yang to a lot of the yin, among the positive forces that balance the juju. Another of those people who have no business in our lives but have slipped into our vocabularies and our thinking. Who have succeeded through the joy they carry around. Who, mainly, have made us smile.
Like seemingly everyone in football, Kammy tells his Roy Keane story.
Most of those involve explosions, outbursts, or sometimes charitable work done quietly.
Kammy’s takes place in the lift of a hotel when Roy was manager of Sunderland, who were struggling near the foot of the Premier League.
The doors open and Roy steps in, maybe not in great form, and presses the button. The recorded voice obliges: “Going down.”
And of course Kammy goes there. “I think she’s talking to you Roy.”
“To be fair he looked up, he didn’t give me the glare, and I could see a glimmer of a smirk.”
Ha ha ha.
Kammy will be missed.
Having finally entered the handshake controvassy game, where does hurling go from here?
With the handshake itself only just recovered from Covid, are we now set for constant analysis of the post-match unpleasantries? The ‘no great shakes’ era, as Gilesy might call it.
Will we need a rule, much like VAR on dangerous tackles, that handshakes can’t be replayed in slow motion?
Firstly, it’s important to analyse Cody v Shefflin in the appropriate language of ‘the Prem’. If anything, he shook his hand too well.
Though it wasn’t quite in the same category as Pep Guardiola’s overly vigorous sarcastic handshake with ref Michael Oliver after a clash with Liverpool. Thank you, thank you very much.
Will we see more now of the lean-in handshake, favoured lately by the likes of James Horan, conducting the post-match obligations in an almost horizontal position while maintaining maximum distance from your opposite number?
Let us trust there will be no repeat of the Bridge v Terry business, the affair that took handshake controvassy mainstream.
Who will emerge as hurling’s Mark Hughes, who in his pomp seemed to be embroiled in some kind of handshake standoff every second week … the favourite might be operating currently in a sister code.
The chief worry is that this might be the tip of the iceberg, now hurling has a taste for this class of thing.
Where will the game find controvassy next — a pair of Limerick and Tipp lads swapping jerseys at half-time on Sunday?
