Well it looks like Newcastle United's management has finally caved in to the fans and, while stopping short of rehiring the tragic perm, are at least paying lip-service to the holy trappings of one Kevin Keegan, sporting director Derek Llambas going so far as to say "Kevin is the messiah". No he isn't. Discounting the opinions of a few thousand stripy idiots up in the frozen wastes of the north-east, everyone else in Britain is aware of his status as a vaguely-talented bottler.
His teams' football, such as it is, flatters to deceive, and while exciting rarely produces results. His near-winning two titles back in the mid 90s was at the very end of the era of pork pies at half time and football management boiling down to saying "come on, lads" very very loudly. A good motivator, certainly, but a master tactician he isn't - a set of qualities more suited to putting out an exercise video than managing a football club.
The trouble with Kevin Keegan is that, with his motivational skills, he can be a very good coach when things are going well. When Newcastle were charging headlong towards the title, his passion and enthusiasm were infectious enough to keep his Toon army marching single-mindedly towards success. But then enter Manchester United, and their by now trademarked slow march on the title. The minute you see them starting to put a good run together, you start to hear the Imperial March playing in your ears. Keegan couldn't take it. We all by now know of his famous meltdown, and with the quality of his confidence taken away, Newcastle surrendered the title to Fergie's marching men.
Then there was this time around. Regardless of the Geordie fans' opinions, 'Cockney Mafia' and all, Keegan resigned because he couldn't take not getting his own way. He did the same for England and Manchester City - when the going got tough, Keegan got going. Their love for him as a player is understandable, as he was an absolutely superb center forward who made Michael Owen's goal-every-other-game strike rate look positively lethargic, but you cannot pick your manager on the strength of their ability as a player - as wonderful a center-half as he may have been, you find me an Arsenal fan that can say with a straight face that they want Tony Adams in as the next boss at Ashburton Grove. Keegan may also love the club , but that alone does not mean you should manage the place. I reckon that big fat bloke I always see up in the Gallowgate end on the telly jumping around without his shirt on probably loves Newcastle United more than Kevin Keegan, so maybe they should get him in? If I've stood on the Kop amidst twelve thousand screaming Scousers, does that put me at the head of the queue when Rafa does a disappearing act?
Newcastle's trouble is they mistake passion and love for a club as the only attributes needed for a successful football manager. Much as it might not be very Roy of the Rovers, tactical nous and the ability to pick up a down team are so much more important than how much you well up every time you pull on the shirt. A cold, dead-eyed tactician who makes everyone eat a plate of pasta and go to bed at eight every night is, in modern football, going to best every chest-beating lifelong fan blinkered by unrealistic expectations of fame and glory coming to Garforth Gasworks A.F.C. It is simply an exercise in nailed-on fact. I enter as evidence a Mr. Jose Mourinho, one of our era's most successful managers and a man for whom no love is greater than the one he feels for his own reflection.
I've mentioned my West Ham supporting mate before, and I'll do it again, because he is the perfect example of why fans shouldn't manage football clubs; you should see the rages he flies into when his beloved Irons go behind, and his heartfelt extolments of Freddie Sears as something between Geoff Hurst and the second coming of Christ; it's terrible and beautiful in equal measure, like a claret and blue tornado tossing fishing boats just off a Hawaiian shore. You would be hard pressed to find a more dedicated, passionate fan than him, but the big-wigs at Upton Park would be mental to put him in charge because the minute Manchester United went 1 - 0 up, his solution would be to go with five up top, all of them twelve years old and born in the beer garden of the Boleyn pub.
I know I promised I wouldn't talk about this anymore - it was getting very boring for people who don't give a toss about the machinations of the Premier League or Crisis Club Newcastle - but I just can't believe the protests are still going on. What do the Geordies think they'll get if Ashley sold up in this financial climate? They'll get Keegan back for eight minutes, and he'd instantly walk out the door again the minute he realised that, without a billionaire backer who, for once, seems to genuinely like football, he doesn't actually have any money.
His teams' football, such as it is, flatters to deceive, and while exciting rarely produces results. His near-winning two titles back in the mid 90s was at the very end of the era of pork pies at half time and football management boiling down to saying "come on, lads" very very loudly. A good motivator, certainly, but a master tactician he isn't - a set of qualities more suited to putting out an exercise video than managing a football club.
The trouble with Kevin Keegan is that, with his motivational skills, he can be a very good coach when things are going well. When Newcastle were charging headlong towards the title, his passion and enthusiasm were infectious enough to keep his Toon army marching single-mindedly towards success. But then enter Manchester United, and their by now trademarked slow march on the title. The minute you see them starting to put a good run together, you start to hear the Imperial March playing in your ears. Keegan couldn't take it. We all by now know of his famous meltdown, and with the quality of his confidence taken away, Newcastle surrendered the title to Fergie's marching men.
Then there was this time around. Regardless of the Geordie fans' opinions, 'Cockney Mafia' and all, Keegan resigned because he couldn't take not getting his own way. He did the same for England and Manchester City - when the going got tough, Keegan got going. Their love for him as a player is understandable, as he was an absolutely superb center forward who made Michael Owen's goal-every-other-game strike rate look positively lethargic, but you cannot pick your manager on the strength of their ability as a player - as wonderful a center-half as he may have been, you find me an Arsenal fan that can say with a straight face that they want Tony Adams in as the next boss at Ashburton Grove. Keegan may also love the club , but that alone does not mean you should manage the place. I reckon that big fat bloke I always see up in the Gallowgate end on the telly jumping around without his shirt on probably loves Newcastle United more than Kevin Keegan, so maybe they should get him in? If I've stood on the Kop amidst twelve thousand screaming Scousers, does that put me at the head of the queue when Rafa does a disappearing act?
Newcastle's trouble is they mistake passion and love for a club as the only attributes needed for a successful football manager. Much as it might not be very Roy of the Rovers, tactical nous and the ability to pick up a down team are so much more important than how much you well up every time you pull on the shirt. A cold, dead-eyed tactician who makes everyone eat a plate of pasta and go to bed at eight every night is, in modern football, going to best every chest-beating lifelong fan blinkered by unrealistic expectations of fame and glory coming to Garforth Gasworks A.F.C. It is simply an exercise in nailed-on fact. I enter as evidence a Mr. Jose Mourinho, one of our era's most successful managers and a man for whom no love is greater than the one he feels for his own reflection.
I've mentioned my West Ham supporting mate before, and I'll do it again, because he is the perfect example of why fans shouldn't manage football clubs; you should see the rages he flies into when his beloved Irons go behind, and his heartfelt extolments of Freddie Sears as something between Geoff Hurst and the second coming of Christ; it's terrible and beautiful in equal measure, like a claret and blue tornado tossing fishing boats just off a Hawaiian shore. You would be hard pressed to find a more dedicated, passionate fan than him, but the big-wigs at Upton Park would be mental to put him in charge because the minute Manchester United went 1 - 0 up, his solution would be to go with five up top, all of them twelve years old and born in the beer garden of the Boleyn pub.
I know I promised I wouldn't talk about this anymore - it was getting very boring for people who don't give a toss about the machinations of the Premier League or Crisis Club Newcastle - but I just can't believe the protests are still going on. What do the Geordies think they'll get if Ashley sold up in this financial climate? They'll get Keegan back for eight minutes, and he'd instantly walk out the door again the minute he realised that, without a billionaire backer who, for once, seems to genuinely like football, he doesn't actually have any money.
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