There are some people in football you respect because of what they achieved. There are others you admire because of who they are. Kevin Keegan deserved both.
When I heard the news of his passing this week, my mind immediately went back to how our relationship changed over the years. I first played under Kevin for England in 1999. We had some enjoyable moments, but, if I’m honest, it wasn’t the happiest period of my career. I’d just suffered my first serious injury and I wasn’t quite the player I’d been a couple of years earlier. Kevin’s England reign didn’t really click, either for him or for me, and I never truly felt he believed in me in the same way Glenn Hoddle had. We got on perfectly well, but there wasn’t a particularly close bond.
So when Newcastle announced Kevin was returning as manager in 2008, I had mixed emotions. Like everyone in the mid-90s, I’d watched from afar as he’d transformed the club during the Entertainers era. The football, the atmosphere, the connection with the supporters, it was iconic. But privately I wondered whether we’d be a good fit. I’ve never been so delighted to be so wrong.
From the moment he walked through the door, everything changed. He moved me into a different position slightly deeper, made me captain, trusted me and spoke to me constantly. I also knew he was pushing for me to sign a new contract because he wanted me to stay. I went from apprehension to outright love and admiration for the man and the manager. It made me understand why players would run through brick walls for him. He believed in me and I believed in myself under him. It was a happy period.
Michael Owen trains with his Newcastle United manager Kevin Keegan (right) in 2008
Owen wasn’t sure about Keegan at first but was delighted to be proved wrong: ‘He was one of the warmest, kindest and most genuine people I’ve been fortunate enough to work with’
Tributes and flowers are laid for Keegan at St James’ Park after his death aged 75 on Monday
Everyone will rightly reflect on Kevin’s football achievements this week. A two-time Ballon d’Or winner. A Liverpool and England legend. The player who conquered Germany with Hamburg. What he then did before retiring at Newcastle. He was a superstar. But that only tells half the story.
The Kevin I came to know was simply one of the warmest, kindest and most genuine people I’ve been fortunate enough to work with. There are plenty of people in the game who are polite with supporters because they know it’s expected of them, and that’s fine. But Kevin was different. He genuinely loved people. It didn’t matter whether you were the biggest celebrity in the country or someone waiting outside the training ground for an autograph. Everybody got the same smile, the same warmth and the same amount of time. I’ve honestly never known anyone who went so far out of their way for others.
He loved talking football. He loved talking horses. Him and I would talk for hours about both. But more than anything, he just loved life. He had an infectious enthusiasm that made people feel better simply by being around him. That is how he made me feel, and I was saddened to get off a flight from the Far East on Monday and learn of his death.
But then, the memories made me smile, and one in particular. One day at Newcastle’s training ground, Kevin started telling everyone how he and Terry McDermott could beat anybody at the club in a game of head tennis. Me and Nicky Butt looked at each other thinking, “Is he serious?”.
Kevin was in his late fifties and Terry wasn’t exactly sprinting around by then. We were both in our twenties, England internationals. We thought we’d absolutely wipe the floor with them. Eventually, after plenty of banter, we agreed to play for £100 a man. I’ve never had a £200 lesson delivered quite so brutally.
Keegan’s relationship with Owen began when he was England boss between 1999 and 2000
To say they beat us comfortably would be putting it mildly. Kevin stood on the baseline and somehow got to absolutely everything. Wherever we hit the ball, he’d float it back perfectly onto the top of the net for Terry to head, every single time. Terry barely had to move. He’d head it away, glance it into space or dummy it altogether. They were like a perfectly rehearsed doubles partnership and we hadn’t got a clue how to stop them. Kevin’s touch was unbelievable. They absolutely battered us.
For days afterwards, Kevin kept reminding us, “Where’s our £200, lads?”. He’d ask every time he saw us. So we decided to get our own back. My dad was living with me in Newcastle at the time, so I asked him to spend a day visiting banks collecting £200 in one-penny coins. A few days later, once Kevin had left his office, it needed the two of us to tip the coins all over his desk. When he walked back in, he stopped dead, looked at the mountain of pennies and simply burst out laughing. That’s when we jumped out. The debt had been paid.
I never did find out what he did with all those pennies, but I do know that’s exactly how I’ll remember Kevin – warm, kind, fun and infectious.
