According to Dr. Daniella Schiller of New York University, it takes most people, on average, around thirty seconds to form a first impression when encountering or meeting someone for the first time. She goes on to say that it can take months if not years to for those original thoughts and opinions to go first circle. Basically, if you meet a guy who happens to a right imbecile first time round, then the chances are that in your own mind, he will always be an imbecile; no matter how pleasant he tries to be towards you or how many rounds he buys. This is exactly how I felt for years towards one of the greatest players of all time; and strangely, a guy who I had never met, a certain Roy Maurice Keane.
Of course, Roy Keane has become a legend at Manchester United; he is now a club icon. Desire, drive, determination and superb motivational skills were the traits that built one of the finest midfielders in a generation. They were all geared together like a well oiled machine with only one aim; to win. And win Keane certainly did. His unquenchable thirst for success at Manchester United brought him a total of seven Premier League titles, four FA Cups, one Champions League (Keane cruelly suspended for the final), four Charity Shields, and a single Intercontinental Cup, yet despite all of those successes, to me, Roy Keane always seemed to be unfulfilled.
When I first started to watch football as a kid, the country had just witnessed significant changes at the top level of the game, with the restructuring and re-branding of our leagues. Gone was ‘The First Division’ and in came the much more modern and American sounding ‘FA Carling Premier League’. Leeds United had won the last old First Division title before clubs embarked on a new era at the dawn of the 1992/93 season. With the huge investment of Sky Sports, it was here that the English game would balloon. (Unfortunately for me, it would be four more years before Sunderland reached the 'Promised Land'. I would have to make do with a few seasons in the Endsleigh League; that would be my lot for now.).
One player, who would certainly benefit from the birth of a football boom period, would be Roy Keane. As Brian Clough’s Nottingham Forest slipped out of the Premier League at the end of its maiden season, Keane decided that the time was right to seek a fresh challenge elsewhere. With a relegation clause now activated in Keane’s contract, he was free to talk to other clubs. Kenny Dalglish’s Blackburn Rovers, who were a little flushed with Jack Walker’s millions, agreed a British record £3.75m fee with Forest for the transfer of Keane, and the deal looked a formality. The country’s top young player was on his way to Ewood Park. That is, until Alex Ferguson got wind of the situation, getting on the blower to Keane himself, asking him to reconsider his move, and instead, join him at Old Trafford in his pursuit of total dominance of the English game. Keane needed no time to think, told Dalglish and Blackburn to stick their offer, and headed for Manchester. This was a typical explosive action from Keane, something that was to become all too familiar throughout his glittering and at times, controversial career. Ferguson had been under pressure at United since taking over in 1986, (remember THAT banner at the City Ground?), and the club was hugely anxious for a domestic title. Fergie secured an FA Cup in 1990 which enabled the pressure to subside, for a little while at least. But after securing a first Premier League title in 1992/93, he was eager to build on that triumph. Ferguson needed a long term replacement for Captain Marvel, Brian Robson, and had earmarked Roy Keane as his man.
The signing of Keane would form a double act which consisted of immense hunger and drive, both men desperate for trophies. But even Fergie himself could not have foreseen how great a signing Keane would become. It was a masterstroke from Sir Alex. English football was embarking on a new era, going into unknown territory. The game’s popularity was soaring as each season passed, and investment was to revolutionise football in this country, in turn, signalling a change on the continent too. The same could now be said of Ferguson and his talismanic midfield dynamo. They were to resurrect the fortunes of Manchester United, and make them great once more.
As a young fan, before Sky speeded up the evolution of football, live games on TV were few and far between. It was the odd game here and there, a far cry from the saturation coverage we see today. We had a couple of European matches, the great Brian Moore guiding us through the action. We had Des Lynam and Motty on Match of the Day, and there was of course the FA Cup Final. Couple that with a few international games and that was just about it. But now, all of a sudden, it was all about the newly formed Premier League. (Things haven't changed since). We had Manchester United shirts all over the place and the names of Giggs, Sharpe, Hughes and Kanchelskis were all anyone was interested in. The song, “Schmeichel, Parker, Pallister…”, God, everyone was singing it. As a young boy, this confused the life out of me. I loved Don Goodman and Martin Smith, not Lee Sharpe or Ryan Giggs. I didn’t understand. It was drummed into me by my Dad that people up here in this part of the North East supported Sunderland. So why so many red shirts with ‘Sharp View-Cam’ plastered all over the front of them? My Mam had bought me my first Sunderland shirt, the 1992 FA Cup Final one, and I loved it. I hardly took it off, standing, staring at myself in the mirror whilst wearing it. That shirt was my pride and joy and I would certainly be sticking with it, and I havesince passed it on to my son, who proudly wore it at Wembley. I refused to join the masses in their ‘support’ of Manchester United. Looking back I could have easily been sucked in. They now of course had a new hero to worship, as Mr Keane had joined the Champions. My dislike for Keane and all things Manchester United had started to grow.
With an ageing Bryan Robson missing a lot of the 1993/94 season through injury, Keane had found himself playing regularly for United a little sooner than some may had expected, though I imagine, not the man himself. United secured another title that season, the influential Keane at the forefront of all that the side achieved. Chuck in a 4-0 demolition over Chelsea in the Cup Final, with a little help from referee David Elleray and United had secured Fergie’s first double at the club. People went barmy in their praise for Keane, and I couldn’t stand it. He was hailed as a hero, massively contributing to the club’s success. The Manchester United bandwagon was becoming so overcrowded, there’d be waiting list a mile long to enrol on it before long. As a kid, even then, I knew what was happening. A lot of my friends were labelled ‘Glory Hunters’, probably in the same way as fans were after United won the European Cup in 1968. The term was one that I enjoyed hugely. I took pride in being the opposite of a Glory Hunter. “But Sunderland are crap though…;” hard to disagree at the time yes, even if it was with an eight year old United ‘fan’. Kids will be kids though. It would have been a whole lot easier to abandon my love of Roker Park and the Red and White Army and join these misguided lads in the wonder of the Premier League and all the successes it had to offer. I’m oh so glad I didn’t. I had had the right football guidance from my Dad to know better. My dislike for all things United was enhancing as the months ticked by, and as Keane was their new hero, it was he who bore the brunt of my built up frustration.
Happily for me, Manchester United won bugger all in 1994/95, Everton beating them 1-0 in the FA Cup Final to place the cherry on top of the icing on my own cake of merriment. Blackburn Rovers clinched the Premier League title. (Who says money can’t buy you success?) As for me, I had my own new hero in the shape of a likeable scouser by the name of Peter Reid, who saved us from oblivion and relegation to the old third tier, as Sunderland finished 20th in Division One. We were at least equal with United for once as both clubs won bugger all. Such is the nature of the beast; a couple of Blackburn shirts even appeared at my school. (I won’t embarrass those people by naming them here though!) The end of the 1994/95 season really was a low point for Sunderland but I had already been educated about the importance locality and loyalty towards your club. It was a pity that some other kids weren’t all getting the same important lessons from their own fathers at the time. At my school yes, there was of course a lot of red and white, but we also had United shirts aplenty, Liverpool, the odd Newcastle top, an Arsenal fan and now bloody Blackburn. I couldn’t understand it. Of course, I had the last laugh that year though, as like I said, Keane and United won sod all, which was great.
The following 1995/96 season saw Old Trafford’s trophy room swell once again, as normal service quickly resumed as the club regained the title, also beating Liverpool in the Cup final. (‘Trawlerman’ Eric Cantona bagging a late winner in a game that sickened me). But now it was my turn to crow, as miracle man Peter Reid proved that he did indeed possess the Midas touch, somehow guiding Sunderland to the promised land of the Premier League as the side won the First Division title. Not that any of the glory boys at school cared. Hell no. Looking back at that season now, with the squad Reid had at his disposal, I wonder just how the achievement was possible. A solid back four meant we had the best defence in the league. It was a bloody good job, as the team only managed 59 goals in their 46 matches, but it was enough to win a trophy. (Granted, not a major one but a trophy all the same!). After beating Oldham Athletic on 23rd March 1996, the Lads went top and never relinquished that position. Losing on only seven occasions meant that it was time for Sunderland to join the big boys. Newcastle awaited which would mean a first North-East derby for four years, and of course, there would also be two games against Keane and United. I was mocked by all of the United lads. We would get battered, hammered, beaten to a pulp. Could my own ‘crap’ team really go on and mix it with the best? Well, the 1996/97 season, Sunderland’s first in the still youthful new Premier League, would certainly hold all of the answers.
Fergie was building a dynasty at Old Trafford, with Keane now the integral piece of the jigsaw, alongside guys like David Beckham, Paul Scholes, Nicky Butt and the Neville brothers. The future certainly was looking very rosy. Off the pitch, United mania had gone into overdrive, Beckham’s wondrous strike from the half-way like line against Wimbledon at Selhurst Park instantly propelling him to superstardom, and in the process making United look invincible. Snarling, horrible, argumentative and destructive Roy Keane remained the driving force as the club’s dominance of the English game continued. AFC Intergalactica looked like the only side capable of toppling them, so until we had a repeat of Roswell, the trophy room at Old Trafford would continue to undergo an annual extension.
As for Sunderland, we found ourselves 11th at the turn of the year, and headed into 1997 with a surprisingly, but definitely welcome, bright outlook on the horizon. My dreams of victory at Old Trafford were crushed without much effort, Eric Cantona single-handedly demolished us, losing 5-0, the Frenchman’s now iconic chip coming in that game. God's sake. Alas, I was to have glory, albeit briefly, but glory none the less. Middlesbrough managed a 3-3 draw away to United, them lot up the road wiped the floor with Fergie’s men in a 5-0 butchering, Albért's chip and all that, and remarkably, unbelievably, Sunderland earned three points at Roker Park as we toppled United 2-1 in mid-March. We had taken a 4-1 midweek pasting from Spurs only a matter of days earlier, making the United victory seem even more unlikely. Mickey Gray and John Mullin were the heroes in the first half, and Andy Cole missed a sitter at the Roker End in injury time; the unthinkable had been achieved! Roker was manic that day. I was delirious. Stick that in your pipe Keano. We could indeed mix it with the best.
Being a Sunderland supporter, as fans of many other clubs know, is not all plain sailing. We won only twice in the remaining nine games of the 1996/97 season and, despite not being in the bottom three all season, returned to Division One after defeat to Wimbledon on the final day. We were in need of a huge favour from North London in the shape of Spurs, they had to beat Coventry City, just had to. That game was delayed ten minutes (sound familiar Sunderland fans?), and with the score at 2-1 in Coventry’s favour, the game petered out and our fate was sealed. The Sky Blues had done us again and we were goners. As for Keane and Manchester United, they lifted a third Premiership crown. Could anyone come and challenge their dominance? Please? Anyone…?
Roy Keane was now the on-field leader, a commander; Fergie’s general on the pitch, and now the Captain of Manchester United. Eric Cantona had surprisingly retired from professional football at the end of the 1996/97 season, with Keane taking over the armband. Earlier in his United career, Keane was the epitome of what was a typical ‘box to box’ midfield player. He could tackle, was always very physical, could grab you the odd goal and had now become a massive inspiration to his team-mates around him. By this time, my own personal dislike of the man and United in general, had reached unprecedented levels. The trophies, the hammering of average sides, the glory fan bandwagon, I detested it all, but finally, now, the time had come. A real challenge was to present itself to United, and it would threaten to wrestle the Premiership crown away from Manchester. This challenge came in the form of an unknown bespectacled professor-like Frenchman by the name of Arsene Wenger. The previous season, after taking over from Bruce Rioch, he had guided Arsenal to a 3rd place finish. He had brought to England another fellow Frenchman, twenty year old midfielder Patrick Vieira. Much like Fergie’s signing of Keane, Vieira would prove to be the catalyst for the Londoners huge success in the late 90s and onwards, the club’s greatest since the era of the legendary Herbert Chapman. Wenger had also paid £500k to bring in yet another young and talented fellow countryman, a superstar in the making, one Nicolas Anelka. Arsenal were serious on mounting a challenge to United’s crown. Were Overmars, Bergkamp, Vieira and Anelka the necessary ingredients in Wenger’s recipe for success? Could they overhaul the dominance of Manchester United? I for one was excitedly looking forward to finding out.
Going into March of ’98, United had points on the board to strengthen their grip on top spot, but Arsenal were still hot on their heels, their games in hand turning out to be a welcome bonus. The teams were to meet on the 14th, at Old Trafford. Going into the game, Arsenal had secured something of a psychological advantage over Fergie’s men, having beaten them 3-2 in a pulsating encounter at Highbury earlier in the season. This return game would also be one to live long in the memory, for one moment in particular. The match was broadcast on the TV, (which by now was the norm), and remained goalless as the final ten minutes approached. Martin Keown hit a high ball up towards Dennis Bergkamp, the Dutchman winning his aerial duel. Anelka won the second ball, and flicked his header into the path of the onrushing Overmars. Controlling the ball brilliantly with his forehead, he bore down on goal. Overmars placed a precision shot across Peter Schmeichel and into the far corner of the net. I celebrated wildly, just like I would have if my own Sunderland side had bagged one at Old Trafford! Have some of that! After the years of sheer dominance, this was now the time of Arsenal. The Theatre of Dreams became engulfed in one huge nightmare. The place was stunned. This wasn’t in the script. They had of course, expected to win. Even commentator Martin Tyler sounded dumbfounded, lost for words. Me? I thought it was magic. Arsenal hung on closing the gap on United in the process, and after taking advantage of those extra games, they secured Arsene Wenger’s first and perhaps greatest triumph to date. Yes, the ‘Invincibles’ were an incredible side, but the first league success is always the most difficult one. The dawn of a new and fascinating rivalry had been thrust upon us all. United vs Arsenal. Ferguson vs Wenger. Keane vs Vieira.
The upturn in the fortunes of Arsenal meant that finally, a challenger had indeed emerged to compete with Manchester United and everything that came with it, something that for me was very welcoming. As for Sunderland, we managed to return to the top flight after two seasons away, spending a couple of years on a mad rollercoaster ride that entailed trips to Vale Park and The County Ground, a heartbreaking Play-Off Final defeat to Charlton and some of the most incredible football that the club had seen in many-a year. Unbelievably, all of that coming in the same season. After winning the Division One title in 1998/99, we were back. With one or two handy additions to the squad, we more than held our own in a fiercely competitive Premier League, Peter Reid continuing our brand of free-flowing play as we narrowly missed out on a European spot. Oh how we yearn for another side capable of playing the game like that team, but I guess that’s another story.
As for the clubs challenging for honours at the top of the pile, Arsenal’s emergence had seemingly (and regrettably) spurred United on to try and wrestle ‘their’ crown away from Highbury at the first attempt. United managed to cap a phenomenal season with a Champions League triumph proudly taking its place on the mantelpiece of the boardroom, alongside the FA Cup and Premier League trophy of course. (Perhaps the finest achievement by any club side in the history of the game). Sadly, the Gunners finished a solitary point behind United as the title went right to the wire. Roy Keane, gleefully for me, had been suspended for United’s dramatic win in the Nou Camp. He had been credited with dragging United back from the dead in the away leg of the Semi Final against Juventus, coming back down from two down to win 3-2. Keane, already aware of his fate courtesy of an early booking, was hailed as ‘titanic’. Blinded by my own utter disdain for United’s volatile skipper, I failed to echo those sentiments. My misery was complete as messrs Sheringham and Solksjaer notched phenomenally late goals to crown Manchester United as Kings of Europe once more. After years of domestic domination, oh how the Glory Brigade would love this. Sod them, we had a First Division title, and we were more than ready to mix it with the big guns once more.
Promotion back to the Premier League was very sweet, especially as in just the fifth game back, we triumphed, 2-1, in torrential rain at St James’ Park, brilliant. But it was the home game against Keane’s United that season that made me see the Irishman in a slightly different light. Sunderland were flying as the turn of the year approached, and who better than to welcome to the Stadium of Light for the last game of the Millenium than Sir Alex Ferguson’s men. The atmosphere under the lights was red hot that night; and the scene was set for a classic game. Even without suspended talisman Kevin Phillips, Sunderland raced into a two goal lead courtesy of goals from McCann and Quinn. But just before half time, Roy Keane was the man that hauled United back into this game. He stormed onto a through ball and planted a powerful low shot past Thomas Sorensen into the net. Keane had grasped the game by the scruff of the neck and had given United hope. Nicky Butt cruelly equalised just three minutes from time to break Red and White hearts, the match ending at 2-2, United getting it all their own way from the officials as usual, which was another reason I despised them! Even now, why is it always United? My hatred of them was becoming relentless. I couldn’t let it go. As for Roy Keane, he had produced a performance that I can only imagine was akin to that one away to Juventus in the Champions League. I was a little older, a little wiser. Unbeknown to me at the time, I left the Stadium of Light that day, a little more appreciative of the footballer that was Roy Keane. The fact that at the end of the season, upon acceptance of his PFA Player of the Year Award, Keane publicly stated that it should have went to Kevin Phillips; the fiery Irishman certainly went up in my estimation after that statement.
As for Roy Keane the person, he certainly leaves nothing to the imagination. His battles on and off the field with Arsenal’s Patrick Vieira (“I’ll see you out ‘derr Patrick….”) are now the stuff of Premier League folklore. They had plenty of spats on the pitch, one memorable incident coming in August 1999 at Highbury as Keane scored both United goals in a 2-1 victory. How Keane and Vieira managed to sit together on an ITV panel during Euro 2012 without ripping each other to shreds is totally beyond me. Both Vieira and Keane have certainly mellowed since their playing days, more so Vieira. As for Keane? Well, the jury is still out. He always had a steely look in his eyes whenever Mark Pougatch cracks a joke about his playing days on ITV, the looks that Keane give him almost turn Pougatch to stone. Then there was a pre-England gaffer Gareth Southgate, almost cowering in a corner whilst alongside Keane and Vieira, laughing a little too hard at the Irishman’s jokes. And of course, the cherry on top of the icing on Keane’s crime sheet; the brutal assault on Alfe Haaland in the 2001 derby against City. I’ll let Roy himself sum this one up...
“I’d waited long enough. I f*cking hit him hard. The ball was there (I think). Take that you c*nt. And don’t ever stand over me sneering about fake injuries…”
We all know the politics surrounding that incident, so I will refrain from mentioning it here. When I read that particular extract in Keane’s autobiography, I thought he had turned into a classic psychopath. Was he really nuts? Thirteen career red cards may suggest he is. Who knows? One thing it did do was rubber-stamp his image as a determined, vicious and volatile character. His punishment? An eight match ban and fines totalling just over £150k. Ouch.
If any footballer conducts himself in a volatile fashion, on the field during a game or off it with the odd outspoken comment or interview (I’m thinking along the lines of prawn sandwich here), then it is inevitable that he will find himself in hot water with the manager and the football authorities. And even Roy Keane was no exception. After numerous disagreements with Fergie and some unwanted media attention, Keane left Manchester United just three months into the 2005/06 season, joining boyhood idols Celtic. His love affair with United was over. As Keane was never top of my Christmas card list, I can’t say I was too surprised about the acrimonious departure. Being older, I was slightly more philosophical and less cynical about Keane’s exit. I had my views and opinions of him, most of them negative anyway. Even Fergie had had enough.
Keane played only ten league games for Celtic before hanging his boots up at the end of the 2005/06 season. He was, for the first time in almost twenty years, completely detached from any professional football club. The game that had served him so well, the game that had enabled people to idolise him, and the entire Premiership to loathe him, had come to an end. What was next for the enigma that is Roy Keane?
I sat munching on what was I think, bacon, egg, and chips, and was half listening to Richard Keys break off on his half time analysis of a Charlton Athletic game, to bring us all some ‘breaking news’…
“I understand… that Roy Keane… has, yes… Roy Keane has agreed to take over the reins at Sunderland AFC… Yes, Roy Keane will be the next manager at the Stadium of Light…”
Holy. Hell. I nearly fell off my chair. Roy Keane?! He wants to start his managerial career here? In Sunderland? Just a matter of minutes later, the whole nation was talking about it. The entire media, Sky, internet sites, fans in watering holes across the North-East; everyone. The morning papers were full of the story. Keane as manager; and our very own adopted Mackem, club legend Niall Quinn, as Chairman. This was to put Sunderland firmly back onto the football map. Our next game, at home to West Brom, couldn’t come quick enough. Keane would be in the stands, Quinn would be taking the team, and naturally, the cameras would be there to see it all.
Sunderland, buoyed by Keane’s imminent arrival, won comfortably 2-0. The Irishman’s first game in charge would be away to Derby County, and his second quickly followed at Elland Road, never the easiest or nicest of places to go. Ticketing became a nightmare, as 6,500 Mackems headed off on the motorway to take in both matches. Armed with six deadline day signings, two goals just a minute apart early in the second half, sent the Red and White Army into ecstasy, me especially as in the commotion, I accidentally ripped my mate Mickey’s pristine new jumper off of his shoulders after Ross Wallace’s strike. It was bedlam. We won 2-1, and the midweek trip to Leeds was now even more eagerly anticipated. We trounced them 3-0, and the magic carpet ride new Chairman Niall Quinn had talked about for so long had finally took off. After yet another bloody relegation, Keane’s mission was to get us back to the Premier League and to stay there. He was certainly saying all the right things. He had brought the club from its knees and given the fans a massive shot in the arm. He even got Daryl Murphy scoring. Keane blasted Sunderland back into the Premiership at the first attempt, winning the Championship title. It cost a fair amount of investment to do so, but so what? Since Keane got us there, and we are yet to fall back through the trap door. My opinion of the man was changing rapidly.
Roy Keane’s Sunderland finished 15th in their return to the top flight, which has to be said, was an admirable achievement. What more could we have asked for? Keane-mania had gripped the region; everyone wanted a piece of the man. The training ground was continually awash with fans and media on a daily basis. My Dad even took a load of Sunderland, Celtic and Manchester United memorabilia along for Roy to sign. Along with a copy of his autobiography, he would only sign the Sunderland related items, as he explained in his own words…
“I won’t sign the United or Celtic things. No no, I’m a Sunderland man now…”
Brilliant, absolutely brilliant. I’ve never been so happy at anyone’s refusal of an autograph in my entire life! Keane was determined to assume a new identity at Sunderland.
Sadly, as with all things Roy Keane, particularly the good things, they weren’t to last. By late 2008, his relationship with the then new Chief Executive Ellis Short had become increasingly strained. Keane felt Short was dictating to him on football matters, something that Keane felt should only have been a concern to himself. It is believed that the last straw for him came when Short questioned the large size of the playing squad, and why there was a sizeable amount of players on decent salaries out on loan to other clubs. Keane was having none of that, spat his dummy out in the classic fashion and resigned from his position as manager of Sunderland in November 2008, after a crushing 4-1 home defeat to Bolton Wanderers. Unfortunately, the old hallmarks of the unpredictable Keane character remained.
There is a lot I have to thank Roy Keane for in his two years at Sunderland. The fabulous Championship title success, a pulsating 3-2 win at the Stadium of Light over Burnley, (Carlos Edwards et al…), to effectively seal promotion, getting us back to the top flight at the first attempt and keeping us there. Then there was of course, the piece de resistance, a 2-1 victory over the old enemy Newcastle United, the club’s first at home since 1980. It was a brilliant day and one I will never ever forget. We've had a few more since! (Keane’s post-match interview, when refusing to lay blame on a small amount of Sunderland fans from celebrating on the pitch at full time, was also a particular highlight – “It’s been twenty-eight years… come on, let them enjoy it.” – Magic!) He has since stated in his latest book that he looks back on his time at The Stadium of Light very fondly, believing he should still be managing there now. He claims Ellis Short refused the investment Keane believed necessary to get the club challenging for a top eight spot. Given what we know now about Short, I for one believe him. It was as clear then as it is now that the owner did not have the same ambition as Keane to drive Sunderland on towards the upper echelons of the Premier League.
Keane later went on to manage Ipswich Town, where for all connected with the club, it didn’t quite work out. He did a little bit of punditry work with ITV, and more recently for Sky Sports, something that he looked surprisingly comfortable doing. It's always eventful when Keano is on the box! When I originally wrote this piece a couple of years ago, I said that I didn’t feel that we had seen the last of Roy in the professional game. This has proven to be the case as he took roles with the Republic of Ireland as Martin O'Neill's Assistant Manager, and also enjoyed in a brief spell in the same role with Paul Lambert at Aston Villa.
I still believe that Keane has unfinished business as a gaffer in his own right, and when the right club comes along, I’m sure he will relish the opportunity to succeed once again. He still has so much to offer. As for my original dislike for the man and all things Manchester United, well, maybe Dr Daniella Schiller’s theory is indeed correct; “thirty seconds to form a negative first impression, months and years is what it can take to change those initial thoughts and opinions”. Months and years you say? Well as far as Roy Keane and I were concerned, it took around thirteen. Thirteen years after all of the built up hatred, dislike and hostility, as a young nipper in primary school. He took over Sunderland when the club was on its knees and in need of help and stability. (Sound familiar?). Keane gave us that and set the foundations to build upon for future managers and players, even though it hasn't worked out how we'd liked it to. If Short had backed him when he'd asked, who knows where we'd be?
I grew up watching kids worship United and Keane. If you’re reading Doctor Schiller, your research is astonishing and it’s undoubtedly true. This story and my own personal journey through the game of football, has got to be testament to that!
