The rise and fall of ‘Mighty Mouse' Kevin Keegan

Telegraph

a day ago

Kevin Keegan was 'a fun-size colossus' on the pitch, but wore a 'halo of failure' in the second half of his career, as manager of the England team and at club level. Anthony Quinn's new and sprightly biography – written without the involvement of Keegan, who is now 74 – looks at how such a driven and adored player could have fallen so poignantly short as a manager, especially for Newcastle United, the great nearly men of the 1990s.
Keegan's size is highlighted throughout the book, whether in his proving too small to be a paperboy during a childhood of 'Northern hardship' (in Armthorpe, Yorkshire), or too short (at 5ft 8in) to carry the coffin of his most influential gaffer, Bill Shankly. But Keegan was nonetheless 'built like a tank', having taken his fitness in hand at a young age to compensate. His ambition and physical attributes saw him fast-tracked into the first team by Shankly after being picked up from Scunthorpe, proving an immediate talisman for Liverpool, his goals leading them to a period of trophy-laden glory – including the European Cup in his final season. Later, at Hamburg, he was nicknamed the 'Mighty Mouse'.
He was steely in other ways too, and Quinn makes a good case for Keegan orchestrating his career as English football's first 'free marketeer', deciding on his own terms and exits, negotiating high salaries and throwing himself into endorsements to become football's first millionaire. His instincts weren't perfect, however, and his post-retirement 'soccer circus' – an 'interactive football skills arcade' – failed to gild his fortune.
Keegan had been out of the game for almost a decade when, in 1992, Newcastle sought out their former player to be the returning Messiah – this time in the dugout, rather than the penalty area. Here, Keegan the manager was all passion, hand gestures and cheery motivation. If it made for a near miss with Newcastle United, it spelt disaster at international level, when Keegan accepted the England role but discovered his dream job to be more of a nightmare. A man who thrived on day-to-day contact with players in order to get them to buy into his belief-led style, it's fair to say he wasn't one for over-complication: 'I buy good players and let them play.' Keegan was hamstrung by FA pen-pushers, and shown up by tactical superiors. In 2000, after 18 months managing the team, he was booed off the pitch when England lost 1-0 to Germany at Wembley.
But Quinn is keen to show us Keegan as an individualist, often finding himself – uncoincidentally – in the most unpromising of places, frequently the biggest fish in a modest pond. (This was especially the case on Keegan's return to England after playing for Hamburger SV, where he arrived at Southampton – a move which surprised everyone.) He comes across as a strange mix of leading man and comic foil – nicknamed 'Andy McDaft' at Liverpool, some of his exploits are ridiculous, such as playing a ventriloquist's dummy on the team bus.
Quinn can't ignore – but gives as short shrift as possible to – the weirdest story in Keegan lore. In 1991, Keegan was robbed and beaten while pulled over on the hard shoulder at a spot which happened to be a notorious dogging site. Tabloid rumours started 'springing from the mulch like poison mushrooms'. Quinn – a novelist at heart, with a penchant for plot twists and double-dealing – dismisses these via a Shakespeare quote about filching a man's good name.
That assault was the hardest physical blow Keegan endured during his career, but his managerial shortcomings were far more deleterious. Beyond passion, he was 'tactically naïve', to use the immortal words of Martin Keown, and far more focused on entertainment than ensuring his teams were watertight in the way that wins titles. Keegan not only lost against Alex Ferguson's Manchester United in the 1995-96 season, but essentially refused to join the battle against Fergie's notorious, and undiscriminating, mind games, blurting out how much he'd 'love it' if Newcastle were to beat their rivals – heart, as ever, firmly on sleeve.
Quinn points out that Keegan, above all, wanted to be loved, and if he has a tragic flaw, it's that: he would have made a great agent, rather than a manager – 'but that's lucre not lustre', and Keegan was, always, an exhibitionist.
Quinn goes in, at times, for somewhat portentous analogies, from Keegan facing the disgruntled Geordie mob 'like Mark Antony' after selling Andy Cole, or his 'sulking like Achilles in his tent' at the 1982 World Cup. He's also occasionally guilty of the same David Brent-isms he's quick to spot in Keegan, shoehorning in a Get Carter gag that's signposted more heavily than a new Ikea.
But he's sharp on Keegan's appeal as well as his flaws: '95 per cent of being a fan is disappointment', and in Keegan's hands, at least it was usually glorious failure, full of flair and hope. While Quinn fails to find much hinterland in Keegan, he's persuasive in the idea that what makes him seem such an old-fashioned figure from our vantage point of media-trained non-interviews and pragmatic, system-led coaching is his unrelenting honesty and his desire for his teams to put on a show above all else – and always putting the fans first. After all, and particularly in the cash-soaked global 'product' that is football now: '[Does] anyone listen to the fans any more?'
★★★★☆
Keegan: The Man Who Was King is published by Faber at £14.99. To order your copy for £12.99, call 0330 173 0523 or visit Telegraph Books