QuoteThe following morning we're hanging around the hotel waiting to find out
what's happening. Eventually we get on the coach to go to the training
ground. The training pitch is like concrete, pot-holed with loads of loose
stones lying around. With my injury problems the pitch is dangerous.
Afterwards I went to the Fifa liaison officer, a local guy. I told him the
pitch was rock hard. He said he was sorry but nobody told him we'd be
training on the pitch today. We could have watered it, he says, if anyone
had told us you were coming down. I say, you must have known the Irish team
were going to train today. No, he replied, nobody told us.
The gear arrived on Monday night. Next morning we arrived at the training
ground. There was a truck there with a water hose. About 20 yards of the
pitch was flooded, the rest was as rock hard as the day before. It looked
dangerous.
I laughed.
We ended training with a game. There were no small five-a-side goals, only
big goals. Big goals but no 'keepers. With five-a-side goals you don't need
'keepers but with big goals you do. So I ask about the 'keepers. Evans
tells me, they're tired. But I said we need 'keepers to have a proper game.
We're at the World Cup finals! They're tired, Evans insists. We're all
f***ing tired, I replied. The game went on; no 'keepers.
After training I went over to Packie. Could the 'keepers not have played? I
ask. They worked hard this morning, he answered. I bet they'll be all right
for the golf course in the morning, I said.
Then Alan Kelly chipped in: What have you got a problem with, Roy? I've got
a problem with you, I said, Could you not f***ing get in goal for the game?
We've worked hard this morning, he says. Do you want a f***ing medal for
that? You've come to the World Cup finals, you expect to work hard. You've
only worked for an hour. McCarthy and Evans watched all this. Never said a
word.
I got back on the coach. I was angry. I'd put up with our Third World
approach to the game throughout my international career. We all had.
Packie and McCarthy were both players. Now with the power to put it right
they were presiding over the same old joke.
By the time I got back to the hotel I'd had enough. This wasn't for me.
This is not what I trained my balls off for all season.
Back at the hotel I had a quick shower to cool me down. Leaving the room I
met McCarthy in the corridor. Can I have a word with you, Mick.
Yeah, yeah. What's it about? I've had enough. I want to go home.
What do you mean? I'm going home.
Oh yeah. Are you sure you know what you're doing? Yeah, and don't try to
persuade me, just let me go.
What is it? . . . Is it me? . . . The training? . . . The pitch? Of course
I should have said yes, it is you, the training, the preparation. This
whole thing is a disgrace. I didn't.
No, it's just me, I've had enough.
All right, all right, he said. What will I tell the press? Tell them . . .
personal problems.
We agreed Eddie Corcoran (who was in charge of logistics) would book my
flights. We shook hands. Don't let it go beyond the three of us, I asked.
Sure, he agreed.
I knew the consequences, for my family, my mam and dad, Johnson, Pat and
Denis, who I'd spent EUR30,000 booking a dream World Cup trip for. But I
was
thinking of my sanity. We were only two days in I couldn't stand another
two or three weeks of the Carry On nonsense.
I met Kells and apologised for the row at training. No problem, Roy. I went
for a walk. When I got back Mick Byrne came to the room.
What's going on, Roy? I've had enough, Mick. I can't stick it any more.
It's not even a bad dream, it's my worst nightmare. I like to train hard,
work hard. But this is the World Cup. We're playing the Cameroon in a week
and a half and we've got a warm-up match on Saturday. And look at us.
Jesus, Mick, look at us.
We sat in silence for a few minutes.
I know, Mick, I should have waited until after the World Cup, bit my
tongue.
Roy, just wait until after the tournament. Come on, let me fix it.
F*** it, I say. Go on then, tell Mick I'll wait until after the World Cup.
Brilliant, Mick says.
Two minutes later Mick comes back with McCarthy. McCarthy walks in quite
aggressively. What's going on, Roy? I thought I should wait until after the
tournament. I want to stay.
I've rung Colin Healy to come out and replace you, he says. That was quick,
I think.
There's a moment's silence. Now I'm embarrassed. I like Colin, he's a good
lad. Maybe he deserves his chance.
OK, I says, maybe you're right. I'll go. Leave it as it is.
I wish you'd have thought about me in all of this, he says.
Mick, I'm embarrassed by it all. I can tell by your body language that
you're happy with the decision. Leave it. OK.
Well, people are always walking on eggshells around you, he says.
F*** it, Mick, I don't ask people to walk on eggshells around me.
I felt bad about Colin. But somewhere in the back of my mind I thought
maybe I'm entitled to change my mind, maybe I deserve the benefit of the
doubt. People change their minds all the time, for God's sake.
Just leave it then, Mick, leave it. I'll go back.
Well, he says, what do you want me to do? You're the manager, you make the
decision. He said nothing. Walked out.
Yes I know it's childish, it doesn't reflect particularly well on me. But
that's what happened. I feel it's important to tell it straight. I was
indecisive. I desperately wanted to play. Yet I couldn't stand the
f***-ups. There is no hero here.
I went to Mick Byrne's room. Tell him I'm going. That was it.
What I really wanted, I thought, was a generous response. You made a
mistake, let's forget about it.
The news got out. Michael Kennedy rang. We talked. Michael asked me to ring
Alex Ferguson. The gaffer had been on to Michael. He'd heard the news. He
was on holiday in Malta, Michael said. Ring him on his mobile.
I spoke to the gaffer for half an hour. I told him the whole story. He
agreed it was a joke and our preparation had been a disgrace.
Like Michael, he outlined the consequences. Alex Ferguson also agreed that
I was entitled to change my mind. Just before 8 o'clock there was a knock
on the door. It was Mick Byrne. Roy, you've got three minutes to make up
your mind, we've got to fax the squad to Fifa. I said I'll stay.
I'd agreed to give three interviews, to Tom Humphries and Paul Kimmage, and
one to RTE Radio. Tom's article for The Irish Times appeared on Thursday
morning. When he showed it to me for approval I'd no problem. I believed
people at home had a right to know the truth.
At half-six I came down for our evening meal. We were told there was a team
meeting at 7.30. I knew damn well what it was about. Tom's article.
Half-seven, McCarthy arrives in the restaurant. The staff are with him. OK
lads, we're off at eight o'clock tomorrow morning. Get your bags packed and
tagged.
And while we're here, he goes on, whoever's not happy with anything, I'd
like them to say it to me.
I know what's coming. But I'm cool, my conscience is clear. For one thing I
had told him privately what I was unhappy with.
I picked this island and if anybody's not happy they should tell me now, he
repeats. Keep cool Roy, they're dangling the bait for you. Don't bite. The
atmosphere is heavy with the sense that trouble is brewing. They all know
now what the meeting is about. He's going to try and sort me out publicly.
Be the big man, The Manager.
I'm calm.
Roy, you don't seem to be happy with something.
It was pathetic.
Well, Mick, I said, why didn't you say that from the start? We've talked
about this in private. Why aren't we having this conversation in private?
Well you've made it public, he says, whipping the Humphries article from
behind his back, like Paul Daniels.
What do you mean made it public.
This interview with the Times.
Mick, do you not think I've seen the interview? Do you call this set-up
man-management?
You're going against your team-mates now, he goes on.
Look, I've seen the interview. I promised Tom last Sunday I'd do a piece
with him. I spoke to him yesterday. I stand by everything I said. The
interview's fine.
You've gone against your team-mates, he repeats. You never wanted to play
for your country. You were supposed to go to Iran and you didn't, you faked
an injury to get out of playing for your country. He's on a roll now.
You know that's not true, I responded. You spoke to my manager, you know I
wasn't right for the Iran match in Dublin. You thanked me for coming to
Dublin. You agreed that 2-0 was a good result. I was angry now, he was
bending the truth. You call this man-management? I went on. You were there,
you know the truth. Mick, you're a liar.
What was he doing this for? Suddenly I snapped. This was the worst
accusation of all. That I had faked injury. No. I'm not having that.
From this impostor. McCarthy running on the pitch after we got a draw in
Portugal in the group phase and grabbing me. Just stand with me Roy, for 15
seconds. Let the press get a photograph of us together. It'll look great.
You're a f***ing ****er. I didn't rate you as a player, I don't rate you as
a manager, and I don't rate you as a person. You're a f***ing ****er and
you can stick your World Cup up your arse. I've got no respect for you.
Well, if you don't respect me, I don't think you can play for me.
Cont...
© Roy Keane 2002
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