As Robbie Keane dons the green jersey one last time against Oman, let’s hope the stadium is packed to show appreciation to an Irish legend.
by Niall Quinn, who joins JOE for his new weekly Premier League column
When I was a kid, the arrival of colour TV in Crumlin was like the arrival of electricity in rural parts of Ireland in the fifties. More excitement than we could handle.
My great technicolor hero was Gerd Muller, the iconic German striker (who played in the black and white of Germany now that I think of it). I watched the World Cup in 1974 and saw this guy scoring goals against the vivid jerseys of Australia, Yugoslavia, Poland and then Holland.
People were heartbroken for the Dutch but this Gerd Muller was like something I’d never seen before. He terrorised defences. He had thighs that could kick start a jumbo.
And now, all these years later, I look at the all time international scoring lists and Gerd Muller is fourteenth and some fella called Robbie Keane is fifteenth.
How did that happen? I remember Robbie Keane. He used to do a somersault when he scored. It was rubbish. Half way between a footballer trying to celebrate (when he knew the headed assist to him was the moment of real
genius) and an old man falling over.
I remember Kenwyne Jones when he was at Sunderland. Now he would do a double back flip, two and half rotations. That was a celebration. Later Robbie went to an imaginary bow and arrow routine. Arthritic it was.
Where do you start with Robbie Keane? What can I say about him that hasn’t been said?
A confession first. People often ask me about Robbie. Selfishly the first thing I think of is what I got out of his career.
He was still in nappies when he made his debut for Ireland. Or I was on a walking frame. I don’t remember which but I know I took one look at him and realised that the battle which a few of us had been having for the Irish goalscoring record was something that we’d have to agree never to mention again. The kid was going to blow us out of the water and make our little competition look embarrassing.
I’d done my cruciate in 1993 and got right again eventually. I left Man City and went to Sunderland and did the other cruciate in the winter of 1996. I can remember when I was recovering, I’d miss the Irish matches. They weren’t on TV and fellas like Jon Goodman from Wimbledon and Mickey Evans from Plymouth were playing in what I’d come to think of as my jersey.
I hated it. It was so frustrating that I had to be on my own when the matches were on. I’d go down the field to a makeshift stable where we had a couple of horses at the time to shovel away the steamy stuff and listen to Gabriel
Egan and Eoin Hand on the radio telling everyone how promising these new fellas looked. That’s more steamy stuff I’d think.
And then Mick McCarthy might come on and say how pleased he was with these lads and how they were the future. The competitive part of me couldn’t stand it.
I had a lot of people to convince when I got back. Mick particularly. Coming back in and seeing Robbie and his potential, I understood quickly that Robbie would need a hand in the early years as there was so much expectation on his shoulders at such a young age. I might not have been a model professional but I deliberately set out to make that space my own. Thankfully Mick trusted me to be able to do that.
I don’t really know what Robbie got out of it but I got four memorable extra years onto my career. I got the 2002 World Cup and that amazing night in Ibaraki.
And I get to say that I played with him.
Generously, he let me hold onto the Irish goalscoring record for a few months before he shredded it. I prefer now when people just say who the Irish record goalscorer is instead of publishing a top five.
Myself, Frank, Aldo and Cas felt like Take That in those wilderness years after Robbie Williams got big. Pop stars are never too old for a comeback though. Footballers just fade away.
He was a joy to be around. He could sing. And sing. And sing. And sing. But as I say, a joy! In the old days you could wind him up and he’d come back at you, which was always fun, but Robbie learned everything quickly. One day he was the new kid. Next day, he was the leader of the pack.
He came from Fettercairn in Tallaght and he played for Crumlin United before he went to England as a kid. I know being from Crumlin myself the special sense of pride he gave to everybody in that stretch of South Dublin over the years. He was Ireland’s but more especially it seemed like he was ours.
He gets credit for the goals and his dedication to the country but I don’t think people ever fully understand how well he has carried himself. He had so much success so early, so many quick moves to so many different clubs that he was a model to go off the rails. He could have been our Balotelli. He’s not, he’s our Gerd Muller.
The game tonight with Oman is a great chance for people to turn up in their thousands to thank him for everything he has done. Deadline day work means Niall Quinn cannot thank him for those four extra years on the night, but for the record, cheers Old Bean.
Some journey. Fettercairn to LA and so many stops in between. I hope he enjoyed it as much as we enjoyed watching him.
Niall Quinn is a former Arsenal, Manchester City, Sunderland and Republic of Ireland striker. He currently works as a pundit and co-commentator for Sky Sports, and also writes for Sportsvibe.
