The medals don’t make the man

TYPICAL Keane — unpredictable to the end, he goes out with a whimper rather than the expected bang.

There was something not quite right about yesterday’s low-key retirement announcement: and that a mere doctor could stop the phenomenal juggernaut that was Roy Keane seemed somehow aggrieving. You might fancifully have expected Roy to demand some steel rods be inserted in his limbs, a course of electroshocks to be applied and he’d be good for another season. Robo-Roy, upgraded.

But sadly Keane is not, of course, the deadly oppo-killing machine we have always pictured in our fevered collective imagination, he’s just a fella with a dicky hip and a young family to bring up. Mortal after all, then.

So under cover of the World Cup, he virtually whispers a statement that his time is up and he slinks out of the stage door all but unnoticed. Well, unnoticed everywhere but Ireland, Glasgow and Manchester, I guess. There’s something rather poignant that he should hang up his boots at a moment when the world is watching so many would-be successors to his one-time mantle as the World’s Greatest Midfielder. Indeed, we Reds are impatiently waiting to see Michael Carrick in action in Germany for that very reason: could this latest United target in any way hope to fill even one of Roy’s boots, let alone both?

Moreover, the World Cup does also offer a bitter reminder that Roy blew two great chances to impose his legend upon the whole world, following his promising opening attempt at USA ‘94, first by getting booked and missing the ‘99 European Cup Final, the second by telling Mick McCarthy which anatomically impossible place he could stick something or other.

Thus Roy retires without a European Cup laurel or a World Cup badge of honour, which doesn’t sit well, does it? Admittedly he was never likely to win the World Cup with Ireland, but one will always wonder how far he could have dragged the team in 2002, given what an upset-ridden tournament that ended up being: why not a quarter- or semi-final with Roy ending up in the FIFA Select XI and recognised from Africa to Asia as the midfield emperor of the world?

One shouldn’t harp on about such things, perhaps, when a player has just retired and is thus painfully aware that he can no longer add to his medal cabinet.

The fact is that Roy deserved so much more. He has his hatful of Premiership medals, yes, but Roy was world-class: it’s a pity that in, say, 30 years time, you can imagine young fans in places like Germany or Spain saying ‘Roy who?’ when you mention his greatness in a pre-match bar. Such can be the fate of those who do not get the stage they deserve. And Keane could have looked Beckenbauer in the eye and neither would have blinked.

So talk about Roy forever and spread the word whenever you get the opportunity — not least because he himself will doubtless spend the rest of his life downplaying what a great player he was and changing the subject with an embarrassed shrug. No self-mythologising; no self-pitying; onto the next job — that’ll be Roy.

For now, we are robbed of something I had pinned my hopes on — a Celtic/Man United Champions League match, at which I would fully have expected Roy to try and remind Sir Alex forcibly of how right Keane was last November in Tape-gate. But then, think on: does not coaching and management await now?

Hoving into view is the prospect I first raised here back in 2001: Keane to succeed Ferguson as boss. Learn the trade for a year and wait for the call, the King o’er the water returning to claim his throne. Tremble once more, mortals: RoboRoy, upgraded — and put in charge. Yes please!

Richard Kurt is a contributor at www.redissue.co.uk