My Roy Keane Diary: 'A day in the life'

Trap junior wrote: He had suggested it after my fracas with a taxi driver in Chester a year earlier who had looked at me.

Sue the ****s

Defeat to Belgium. Actually defeat is putting it kindly. Absolutely anihalated might be more fitting. Some of the players need a reality check. Begium provide it. A 3-0 massacre. The Joe.ie merchants in the stands sing 'The Fields of Athenry'. Happy as Larry. Football must not get in the way of the craic. They would power on until the early hours singing their moronic chants. My personal favourite is the Team of Gary Breens. I first heard it before the Saipan incident. I can only think a vegetable came up with it. I think the football is a minor inconvenience to their drinking and paddywhackery schedules.
I'm seething on the touchline watching this circus. The players on the pitch are the clowns. The biggest clown of all is James McCarthy. At fault for 2 goals today. My dream tournament had turned into a fuxking nightmare. Martin asks for volunteers for the post maych interviews. I am only too happy to volunteer but Martin bans me from speaking and he and his henchmen grab me and handcuff me and gag me. I am fighting these lads off as best I can but they are big bastards. Martin orders me to be chained to the radiator in the dressing rooms while the players are sent out for media duty. I am fuxking livid and am kicking and trying to shout. Martin's henchmen tie my legs and strap ducktape around my mouth.   About 90mins after the game and the interviews are over I am transferred into a cage and put in the hold of the team bus back to the hotel. They were cowards. Afraid to tell the truth. Was I the type to shout my mouth off? No. I am fair. I tell it the way I see it. Was that such a crime?

The country needed to hear the real story. The story O'Neill and O'Shea didn't want the nation to hear. The truth is the players were afraid. Were cowards. Afraid to take that next stup up. On tv back in my room that night I hear our 'captain' say we were unlucky, blah blah f**king blah. I've had enough of the lies, the spivs, the spin. The players were a disgrace. O'Neill, Guppy the lot of them. Was I to blame? No. 'Maybe I was?' I told myself. 'No Roy. They let you down.' I looked across at my toy dog on the bedside table that I had unpacked 2 days earlier. I brought him as a substitute for my dogs back home. I told him everything. He was great. Understood everything. Dogs won't lie or bullsh*t you like people do. Sanity.

Edited by Trap junior - 19 Jun 2016 at 12:51pm

Nailed it again. Well done TJ! Great stuff! 

This summer....





From the makers of...



  

20th Century Fox brings you....




starring Roy Keane and Sean Penn as the disloyal lawyer Michael Kennedy





Keano's Way
a violent film by Quentin Tarantino







September 1998.  It's a Champions  League Group D clash.  Manchester United v Barcelona at Old Trafford.  Two big clubs. A big game.  The gaffer asks me to keep Barcelona's danger men Rivaldo and Figo quiet tonight.  It's a task I am relishing. I am up for this game even if some of my superstar teammates are shaking as the UEFA Champions League Anthem is played before the game as the teams line up.  I make a point of looking Figo and Rivaldo in the eye as we shake hands, the compulsory nonsense UEFA has put in place to encourage fair play.  There will be none of that tonight. I am here to win by any means necessary. If that means taking Rivaldo out of the game with Grievous Bodily harm so be it. Giggsy puts us in the lead after 16 mins.  Soon after Scholesy puts us 2 up. Cruising.  Cruising against Barcelona? No chance. I can sense the danger. They are a wounded animal.  Some of our lot think its all over. I can sense it in one or two of our players. Stam, Yorke and Solskjaer drop their effort a percentage point or two.  Going through the motions.  I can sense it coming. No one else does. Barca nick a goal back. Then we are 2-2. I am f**king livid.  Giving away a 2 goal lead is inexcusable. I decide the game needs a bit of urgency. Rivaldo has the ball.  I come over the top and take a booking. I shout at him ''you think you're big time!?'' I'm livid with my team mates. Most of whom wouldn't know the amount of kids that would give their right arm to be out there playing tonight.  Here is Becks and him poncing about the place earning £50,000 a week. Being paid to play for Manchester United! My screaming pays off. We take the lead and go 3-2 up. Becks sticks it in and shouts back at me ''f**k you Keanie!''.  'Fair play to him' I thought.  Then a few mins later Barcelona have equalised.  Enrique with a penalty.  I let my emotions spill over. The street, she is watching. Seeing if R.Keane has gone soft.  The ball goes out for a throw in on the far side. I run to take the throw in but the ball boy is slow in throwing it back.  I am frustrated and want to get on with the game in search of a winner. The kid is irritating me and I take him out with a kung fu kick that catches him in the stomach.  The crowd gasps as I stand over him shouting.  ''When I ask for the f**king ball give me the f**king ball you ****!'' A voice in my head tells me I am out of order  ''Jesus Roy. He's just a kid.''  Then I thought ''f**k it. He deserved it. He'll learn. What does he think this is a playground?''   Luis Enrique runs up and pushes me.  He shouts at me ''you are a f**king coward! You kick a kid? You are not a man!''   I make a run at him but the referee and 10 of my team mates hold me back.  I tell him I will see him another day.  The game ends 3-3.

July 2016. Ireland's Euro campaign ended against host nation France.  It will be just over 2 months of inactivity until Ireland's next game in the World Cup qualifiers.  Barcelona are training in London today ahead of a friendly in Dublin against Celtic.  I decide to drive down from Wilmslow to St.Georges Park, England's base where Barcelona are training.  Oficially I am here to 'observe training methods' but in relaity I am here to pay my old friend Luis Enrique a visit.  I hadn't forgotten Luis as he sneered at me back in 1998.  People say I hold grudges.  Far from it. 
I sit pitchside waiting for the man to emerge.  After a while out he comes.  I approach him from behind and catch him off guard.  ''Hello Luis. Remember me? Roy Keane from Mayfield'' and down he goes.  That will teach him to f**k with me. He's lying on the ground. Off to paradise with you.





Edited by The Count - 27 Jul 2016 at 11:52pm

It was one of those nights. Monday night in. Theresa's in a jock over something and is in the kitchen washing the dishes. I'm watching Sky Sports News with Triggs. It had been a while since the Euros. I hadn't been getting much attention lately.  I'm just about to put on some Bob Dylan records when Theresa start nagging. 
''Roy did you not put the bins out?'' She calls from the kitchen.
''Noooo''
''Why is it always me who has to put the bins out?!'' she moans.
''What do you mean?''
''I always have to put the bins out. I put them out last week and now I will have to do it again tonight''
''Do you know something I don't?  Did I not put the bins out two weeks ago?''
''you did yeah''
''So what do you mean I never put them out?  Do your homework.  (Long pause) ..... ''Nonsense.''


Edited by Trap junior - 02 Sep 2016 at 7:49pm

Keano - First Blood starring Sylvester Stallone

I had just got back from Saipan.  I was an outcast. Nobody knew what it was like.  They weren't there. I decided to hitch a ride back to Cork. A truck driver had given me a lift to Cashel but that was a s far as he went.  I was now a drifter walking aimlessly through the streets.  I hadn't had a shower or shave in days. The Rock was doing good business. Tourists walked the streets. Most of them yanks. I felt a sense of relief. Nobody recognised me here. I was just like everybody else. I had decided to look for a diner for something to eat. As I was walking up the road a cop car stopped beside me.  A big redneck cop rolls down his window ''Where you headed?'' he asks.  ''South'' I reply.  ''Hop in.  I'll make sure you are headed in the right direction.''  As we drive I ask
''Anywhere to get a bite to eat around here?''. 
''There's a diner about 30 miles from here. ''
''Is there a law against me eating here?'' I ask sarcastically.
''Yeah. Me'' as he gives me a dirty look.

The cop drops me off at the city limit. ''f**k him'' I thought and started to walk towards a Supermac's we passed back in the town.

I'm almost there when the cop drives by again. I'm arrested and put in a cell.  I'm subjected to barbaric treatment. They hose me down and try to shave off my ayatollah beard. I kick one of the guards in the chest, headbutt another and manage to escape out of the station and to the nearest forest outside the town. They have sniffer dogs and 30 men. It's getting dark. They are hunting me down.  I climb a cliff as the attack dogs chase me.  A helicopter and snipers arrive. Shots are fired. I'm fooked.  ''What would Theresa say?'' I wondered.  I have no choice.  I jump 60 metres into the river below.  A near miss and manage to retreat back into the woods. R.Keane is streetwise too.  I set a few traps and take down 5 of their men.  It's a war of attrition. I learned the trick of fighting against the odds growing up a small lad in Mayfield. As a kid with attitude hanging out in the Templeacre you had to be able to look after yourself.  Unknown to me back ups arrive to help the Garda. One of them is Frank Clark. The ex Forest Manager. He'd been a colonel in the army.  He warns them that they are dealing with a trained lunatic .

Clark: ''I'm here to get my boy.  I worked with him for 3 months at Forest. I trained him. I say that makes him mine''
Cop: ''Keane is a civilian now. He's my problem now not the army's.''
Clark: ''You don't seem to understand. I didn't come here to rescue Keane from you. I came here to rescue you from Keano.''
Cop:  ''Well we'll just try to be extra careful now won't we Colonel'
Clark: ''I'm just amazed he allowed any of your men to live. You don't seem to realise you are dealing with an expert in guerilla warfare. This is a man who is the best. The very best. A man who knows how to use his bare hands, ignore pain, ignore..weather. A man who can eat a wild boar raw. A man who can live off the land. A man trained to kill. Period!''

''Are you telling me that 30 men versus Keane and we have no chance?'' the Garda angrily asks.
''I know Keane. I trained him. You don't know what you're dealing with. Just remember. You better have a sh*tload of bodybags.'' Clark replies.

to be continued...


Edited by Trap junior - 24 Sep 2017 at 2:26pm