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

''2014 started off like any other year. January. I hate January.  Not many people dont. With a biting wind lashing across the land not everyone was up for it. Not every international assistant was up for it.  I was. I learned the trick of creating atmpshere in my own head back on the FAS course. Now going to places like The City Ground you could hear a pin drop. Except for me. I heard a 60,000 roaring crowd. I was going to show those Dublin w**kers who could observe a game.  I was there to see Andy Reid.  Andy had been an outcast from the early days of the Trapattoni era. A Dublin lad. I generally dont like Dublin lads.  Too cocky and in your face.  I had signed Andy back when I was with Sunderland but hadn't had much contact with him as I was rarely at the training ground but I had gotten to know him better from our week together in the lovely Portmarnock Hotel.  I had heard he liked a pint and a sing song.  Hello? I thought.  Andy had been setting the Championship alight and Martin had requested I go down to Nottingham to take a look.  Some of the fans recognised me from my days with Forest. One guy came up to me and said ''Alright big man. When you going to be assistant manager at a big team? ''  ''I am with a big team'' I said.  Big man? He was looking down on me!   ''Nah! A REALLY big team'' he said. I loved that. The Nottingham humour.
     The Club had given me a ticket for the Brian Clough stand.  I took my seat.  Who comes down and sits next to me? Only fooking Mick McCarthy! He was there to see Andy too. He wanted to sign him for Ipswich. ''For f**k sake'' I thought as he took his seat.
Andy was playing well. He had Barnsley on the ropes. Was making crosses and playing lovely passes through the defence.  Then in the 64th minute Andy went down clutching his ankle. He had lost his footing in the bumpy Nottingham turf.

''That pitch is like a car park'' I said
''No it's not Roy''
''Its got pot holes in it.''
''Roy it's fine''
''Andy Reid just broke his ankle on it. It's dangerous Mick. You're a liar''
''No he hasn't. he's faking it, look!''
''Faking it??? What do you mean faking it???''
''He's faking it to get out of the Serbia game.  You'd know all about that Roy!''


''You faked injuries you did''
''WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?''
''I said you faked injuries''
 
I had had enough of this imposter. I grabbed him by his lapels and flung him over the balcony of the upper tier into the crowd below.  There was blood everywhere. But fook it. He's done my head in.

Very good but a Cork man wouldn't have said the last line. And he would have called him a langer somewhere too probably

''I arrived on the first day into Dublin Airport as Ireland Assistant manager. The FAI had arranged for a driver to pick me up from the airport at 8.20pm Saturday night.  I waited outside the Arrivals and there was no sign of the car.  'That's a good start I thought' and walked over to the taxi rank.  All of a sudden this FAI emlazoned black Ford Focus nearly knocks me down he's driving so fast. It's my driver. He's all of 2 mins late. 'Bite your lip Roy' I thought. 'Lets not get off to a bad start already.' The drivers name was Tony, A Utd fan from Dublin, involved with the goons up in Abbottstown. I dislike him straight away.  I flash him a dirty look as he apologises for being late. I say 'no problem' but inside I am seething.  The journey commenced in silence. After a short while we entered Malahide. We arrived at the hotel in Portmarnock.  I check in.  The hotel staff are lovely. I get to my room, lock the doors. That's me done for the night.
Next morning some of the players had arrived. We are due to take an afternoon training session up the road in Gannon Park, Malahide Utd's home ground. On first impressions it's better than Clonshaugh, and the old shambles we had under the bad old days of Jack and Mick. I quickly greet a couple of the players in the hotel lobby and head out to inspect the pitch. I start putting out the cones for the warm up and notice some fools hanging around the pitch looking for autographs.  I blank them as I walk by. On my return some more idiots have arrived. This time with Man Utd 'Keano' flags.  One arsehole approaches me ''Roy sign my flag'' he blurts.  I quickly sign it and go back to the hotel.  I hate pricks like him. Every arsehole invading your space.
Lunch arrives in the suite the Hotel have arranged for the team.  Martin welcomes the players and says a few words.  We are having cheese sandwiches and pizza. ''Where's the pasta, cereals and rice???'' I ask.  Martin pipes up: ''You should have asked for that stuff Roy''.  ''w**kers '' I thought and went back to my room. I ordered a takeaway sweet and sour chicken with steamed rice from the local chinese. Theresa rings my mobile. Thank God for her.  She tells me that one of the dogs needs its toenails trimmed down at the vets. I love my dogs. They dont lie to you like people do. They dont talk bullsh*t and are loyal to a fault. 'Maybe a dog to manage Ireland?' I thought.  I'm getting sick of this job already. I go to Martin's room and knock on the door. ''I've had enough''.
 'What's wrong Roy?'
  ''Ive had enough. I want to go home.''
''Is it me?''
Of course I should have said it is you, the staff, the FAI, the whole f**king shambles.
''No it's just [personal reasons.''
We shook hands and I went back to my room.
20mins later Robbie Keane knocks on my door.
''We heard you are going back? What's wrong??''
''I've had enough''
Robbie pleads with me to stay. I respected that. His argument is persuasive. I tell him I will stay.
A few mins later Martin bursts in the door.  ''What's all this about Roy? I've already called up Emile Heskey to come in to replace you as assistant.''
''That was quick i thought''
''Ok. Leave it as it is Martin. I'll go.'' I like Emile. But maybe I am entitled to change my mind too.
''Look which is it? Make your mind up''
''Ok. I'll stay''.


...To be continued in next weeks 'Roy of the No Hopers'

Amazing

a newspaper could do worse and have this in their paper as a weekly column.

TJ has come up with a couple of crackers lately , himself and waddle coudl make money out of this

''The next day we had our first full training session with the team. Some of the lads had played the live tv game on the Sunday on Sky.  Stoke had played Hull in an uneventful 0-0 and Glenn Whelan, Paul McShane, Marc Wilson, Shane Long and Robbie Brady had arrived later than the rest.  So had Jon Walters.  I had had problems with Walters during my time at Ipswich. 'Maybe this time things would be different' I thought. 'Let by gones be by gones Roy'.
Down at breakfast Martin is sitting chatting with some bloke called Steve Guppy. 'What's he doing here?' I thought.  Guppy had been appointed as 'set piece expert' by O'Neill and this immediately set the alarm bells ringing in my head.  I wasn't consulted over the decision.  As part of the management staff I decided to sit down next to them.  The conversation is strained. A new goalkeeping coach Seamus McDonagh completes the staff.  He was someone who I barely knew of but was prepared to give him a chance. Then he opened his mouth. It was the last time I didn't hate him.
Its 9.45am.  We are boarding the bus to make the short journey up the road for our training session. It's scheduled for 10am. But there's a problem. Some of the lads are late. It quickly becomes apparent that it's some of the lads who arrived late last night. 
''We'll give them 2 mins Martin''.  For once Martin agrees with me.
Most of them just make it. Except Jon Walters.  'Hello?' I thought
''f**k him. We are going without him.'' I instruct the driver to go.
Late for his first day of training. I remember my first day of training for Utd. I paid a taxi driver to drive ahead of me to show me the way to the training ground in case I would be late. I was an hour early.  I know it's only a small thing but stuff like that usually betrays an attitude to the job. Walters timekeeping told me something deeper about his character. I would file that away.
  For once an Ireland training session is properly structured. I had been up at 4am setting out the cones before going back to bed for a few hours sleep. Under Mick and his shadow Ian Evans some of the players were standing around idle while they set up the posession games. A f**king farce it was. I was going to show them bastards what a proper training session was like. During the warm up a taxi arrives. It's Jon Walters all of 15 mins late.  He storms up to the training pitch. He's angry. I tell him to hurry up and join the rest. Later on in the session Martin sets up an 11 v 11 game.  Bibs v non bibs.  I immediately regret my decision to stay.  Glenn Whelan and Paul McShane are f**king useless. I offer some encouragment but its' wasted on these fools. Glenn has been a regular in the Stoke team. I couldn't see why.  Pass after pass went astray.
''will you f**king find your man!!'' I shouted
He looked at me with a blank stare.
''Hello? Is anybody home?'' I thought
McShane is worse. Couln't mark a statue that lad.
I decide to join in the second half. Im now on Whelan's team. Walters is on the other side.  After a few mins Walters comes at me with an over the top tackle. He's obviously pissed off at us leaving without him.  He catches me on the ankle. I went down. I'm ok although I have am badly bruised. I continue. The balls finds walter over by the touchline.  I hit him hard.  ''Take that ya ****!'' I catch him with a kung fu kick that catches him in his chest and sends him flying. ''Don't ever be late for a bus again you scouse ****. And tell your pal Wilson hecan fook off aswell.''
Martin runs over.
''There was no need for that Roy'' he said
''Go f**k yourself''
''I could have you shot you motherless free state gobsh*te'' he said
''Sorry Martin.''

... to be continued