by Jimmy Magee
Shortly after the Saipan incident I appeared on the ‘Late Late Show’, and Pat Kenny asked in exasperation, ‘Who’s going to bring them together?’ I said I would try to act as an intermediary, because I felt there was no use in everyone sitting back and doing nothing. I took it upon myself to try it, but unfortunately I got nowhere. The two of them just wouldn’t come together at all. I spoke to Roy briefly, but he made it very clear that he wasn’t going to budge on his decision. I tried to reason that it was so stupid that two of our main men were at loggerheads. I tried very hard and was in touch with both through their solicitors and agents and anybody else I could think of who might have been able to help sort out that terrible mess. I went through days and days of it, but the same message kept coming back to me: neither of them wanted to meet.
It was a futile exercise on my part, and I later felt that I had made an awful bloody eejit of myself by trying to bring them together. People I knew kept asking me, ‘Why are you bothering when you’re getting nothing yourself out of it?’ But it’s not the only thing I was ever a failure at!
The FAI was also blamed for the mess. It seems to me that everyone is always critical of the FAI, but I don’t think it’s justified. People forget that we haven’t got the players: we have no Ronaldo or Silva or anyone like that, nor anyone within an ass’s roar of them. Stephen Ireland won’t play for us, and shouldn’t be asked to either. He’s not going to play now if he didn’t want to play back then.
It’s none of my business what sort of money John Delaney is on, but he has done well for the FAI and Irish soccer. They went out and got a manager to stem the bleeding, and Giovanni Trapattoni came in and he has certainly done that. We must remember that Denis O’Brien pays for it: the FAI couldn’t even afford to pay for a top-quality manager, who is on far less than the English manager. I’ve only had a couple of small conversations with Trapattoni—and not about the Irish team but rather about Italy and its culture.
He has done fantastically well to get us to two play-offs and into the Euros earlier this year (2012) in Poland. But I felt the media went hysterical with his predecessors. I believe that Brian Kerr and Steve Staunton were unfairly criticised for their efforts with the Irish team. I liked Brian Kerr, a good man who tried very hard. He probably wasn’t given enough time by the FAI and to my mind deserved to have his contract renewed.
After my son Paul died Kerr sent me a text he had received from Paul at a time when Paul was sick. I thought that was a lovely gesture.
It was absolutely disgraceful how the media treated Steve Staunton. I felt sorry for his poor mother, who was hounded by them in Dundalk, where she couldn’t even go shopping without being taunted.
Staunton would have done much better if Bobby Robson, Lord rest his soul, hadn’t become ill and been forced to step aside. We mustn’t forget that the Irish team had some great results and showed potential when Robson was still there, and it only went pear-shaped afterwards when Staunton no longer had the wise shoulders to lean on.
Robson was very kind to me when he was manager of Porto. I was covering one of their matches one time and I went to the hotel to see if I could meet a few of the players who I hadn’t seen before. Bobby was very accommodating. He brought me into where they were eating and introduced me to them all, which was over and above what I asked him.
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Getting back to Roy Keane, I must say the man has been charm personified in any of my dealings with him. He has always been very friendly and has gone above and beyond the call of professional duty with me. On one occasion after a game at Old Trafford, when he was still captain at Manchester United, I was talking to him and he suddenly asked, ‘Jimmy, how are you getting home?’
I told him I was on the eight o’clock flight, and immediately he said, ‘You can stay with me for the night. There’s no point in you running away for a flight.’ It was a nice gesture from a man who apparently everybody in the game is afraid of.
On another occasion I went over to Manchester to conduct some post-game interviews with a few of the players. You had to go down to the dressing-room area and ask the official on duty for your interviewee and then he would go and see if he could get them. I went down and asked for Roy Keane.
I was told, ‘Roy Keane doesn’t do these interviews. Sorry.’
‘Just tell him Jimmy Magee from RTE is here.’
‘Oh, okay, I’ll try. But don’t hold your breath, mate. You’ll be lucky if he comes out.’
After a few minutes he came back and he said, ‘Roy Keane says you’re to stay here and not make a bloody move. That’s the way he said it.’
Eventually Keane came out of the dressing-room and made his way over to me and said, ‘What do you want?’
‘I just want a few words for the programme tonight—not a big in-depth thing.’
‘Of course I will. Any time you want anything, just give me a call.’
I laughed to myself, thinking, ‘This is the man they’re all afraid to talk to!’
I would have nothing bad to say about Keane. You have to take people as you find them. I have seen him argumentative with other people, but not with me. It’s the same with Alex Ferguson. Yes, he can be temperamental and argumentative, but he’s a good person and was always good to me.
I have a nice anecdote that sums up how genuinely nice a man Roy Keane is. I walked into the canteen in RTE one evening and spotted Keane standing there talking to Steven Staunton. When he saw me Keane said, ‘C’mere! I want to have a word with you. I have a bone to pick with you!’
‘What did I do?’
‘You know this show of yours, “Know Your Sport”, that you do.’
I was surprised he knew about it. I nodded and he continued, ‘You have a guest every week on it. So how come you’ve never asked me?’
‘Do you want to know the truth?’ I said, stalling for time, because I was making this up as I went along. ‘They’re probably afraid to ask you; and even if you said Yes our budget is so small that we couldn’t afford you.’ It was near enough the truth anyway.
‘I’ll tell you what I’ll do. You give me the okay and I’ll come over. I’ll pay for myself coming over. I don’t want any fee, and I’ll pay for my hotel. I want nothing.’
That’s my Roy Keane. Lots of people are anti-Keane because of how he can be outspoken and blunt, but I have a lot of time for him as a person. As a footballer he’s also up there at the top of my list of all-time great Irish players.
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Keane wasn’t the only so-called hard man to be kind to me. I did a game not so long ago at San Siro in Milan. I had booked a taxi for after the game and had it confirmed so I wouldn’t be waiting around. I went to the reception area to get the taxi and waited and waited while taxis came and went without any sign of my designated lift back to the hotel. I was getting sick of looking at fellows getting into taxis. I began to realise that my taxi must have been taken by someone else. The lights began to be turned off inside the stadium. It’s time to go home, and I’m still there.
I went to the receptionist, who said they had ordered the taxi for me and it had arrived. I suggested that someone else must have taken it. She told me the taxi wasn’t allowed to come down to the doors, which is why I would have missed it.
By now the players were beginning to leave and I was beginning to wonder what I would do. I went up to the great Dutch player Edgar Davids, who I didn’t know, as he was leaving the ground. I explained that I was stuck and asked him if there was any chance he could bring me towards Milan. ‘I’m not going in that direction, but I’ll leave you where you would get a taxi or a bus.’ We chatted about the games as he brought me to a taxi rank in his fancy car.
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It was a great honour being selected to do the entire commentary for the opening ceremony of the World Special Olympics in Croke Park in 2003. That was a special night, for many reasons. It was special because Nelson Mandela was there and I had the great privilege of meeting him. I also said hello
that night to U2, who are probably the best Irish band of all time and one of the greatest world bands of all time—thanks to the power of the special sound that The Edge and Bono put out, and Larry’s drumming alongside the bass rifts of Adam Clayton. Arnold Schwarzenegger and the Kennedys were there. It seemed that everybody was there bar Michael Jackson.
But it was also a special night because of the motorcycle parade coming into the arena, which was a joint show between the PSNI and the Garda Síochána. That must have been the first time that happened anywhere in Ireland.
I have many warm memories of the Special Olympics, but if I have to pick just one, without a doubt it involves Damien Duff, who had a fantastic World Cup in South Korea. During the Special Olympics in 2003 Irish towns were twinned with visiting countries, and the athletes stayed in those places. Some friends of mine who live in Kilcock, Co. Kildare, which had been twinned with a state in America, wanted to know if they could get Damien Duff out to say hello for an event. Nothing more. They asked if I could help arrange it. I went to Damien and he said, ‘Ah, I’m no good at those things.’ He’s a shy and humble lad. He’s also one of the kindest individuals you can possibly meet in the game. He never once became too big for his boots, even when he was one of Chelsea’s stars.
‘You don’t have to be good at those things,’ I insisted.
‘Would you be there, Jimmy?’
I assured him that I would, and he said, ‘You won’t go away on me, will you?’
Again I reassured him that I would stand by his side throughout the event. Fair play to him, he drove out to Kilcock with Pat Devlin, and the place was jammed. I had told no-one he was coming, but the place was jammed regardless.
‘Why are all these people here?’ Damien asked me, surprised to see that the place was so packed.
‘For you! Who else?’
‘Oh, God! What am I going to say?’
‘Don’t worry. Just say nothing, sign a couple of autographs, and I’ll get you out.’
He gave them about five pairs of signed boots, which they put up on the wall in the local clubhouse. They wouldn’t let you say a bad word about Damien Duff out in Kilcock after that memorable evening.
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I’m on the editorial board of the Executive Special Committee of the European Sports Journalists’ Association. Every year we have a vote for the sportsperson of the year. Not surprisingly, Kelly Holmes, who won two gold medals at the 2004 Olympics in Athens, won the vote that particular year. Our president at the time was based in Stockholm, and he phoned me and said: ‘The British Sports Journalists’ Association have allowed us to make this presentation at their AGM, but as you are nearer to London than I am, would you go to London to make it?’
I agreed, and asked him where the statuette was. He promised he would send it by courier to me immediately. That was on the Thursday, but by the following Monday there was no sign of it. I rang him, and he assured me he had sent it. Tuesday, still nothing. The presentation was on the Wednesday.
On Wednesday morning there was still no sign of it, so I had to go to London without anything to present to her.
I had a seat allotted to me for the event right beside Kelly Holmes’s seat. I had never met her before. The organisers were very reverential about people associated with royalty and the next thing I could hear was, ‘Here she comes . . . Shhhh, here she comes . . . Put on your jackets.’
In comes Kelly Holmes, and the MC announces: ‘Ladies and gentlemen, before our AGM we have a pleasant piece of business to do. The European Sports Journalists’ Association is making a presentation to Dame Kelly Holmes, and Jimmy Magee, who is an executive member, is over from Dublin to present it.’
By now she was sitting down beside me. I stood up and said, ‘Dame Kelly, I have never met you before, and I really don’t know if you have a sense of humour or not, but there is only one way of finding out, if you don’t mind.’
I told the story about the phone calls and how the statuette went from Stockholm to the airport in Copenhagen, that when they got it in Copenhagen they sent it back to Malmö, and then it was sent from Malmö to somewhere else . . . ‘And in short I haven’t got it. But if you could stand up I’ll make you the presentation anyway.’
She stood up.
‘Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. On behalf of UEPS I would like to present the Sportswoman of the Year: Dame Kelly Holmes.’
I held my hands up in the air as though they were holding the trophy. She could have sat down, or she could have slapped me in the face; but instead she held out her hands and took the imaginary statuette and carefully put it to one side.
‘Thank you very much, Jimmy. I’ve got lots of awards since the Games, but this one is indeed special,’ she said, and sat down again.
Some people thought it was hilarious, others thought it was cheeky. Later that day, unknown to me, Kelly Holmes had a television interview with the great Irish-born broadcaster Des Lynam. He mentioned that she had many awards and asked what the latest award was. She told him that she had received an award that day from the European Sports Journalists’ Association, and asked him if he wanted to see it. She held up her two hands. He asked her who presented it to her and she replied, ‘A countryman of your own, Jimmy Magee.’
‘Ah, Jimmy is some man! Show it to us again.’
It was a brilliant moment. Kelly Holmes had a great sense of humour.
And I don’t think she ever did get the bloody statuette.
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Also that year I attended Euro 2004 in Portugal. I was in the stands early in the evening, long before the crowds began to swell into the stadium. Standing on the pitch was the football legend Eusébio, who played a large part in helping Portugal to reach third place in the 1966 World Cup. I had seen him play in the European Cup final in ’68 against Manchester United in Wembley. And all these years later Eusébio was looking up at me and I was looking down at him. He suddenly waved in my direction, but I was thinking, ‘He must be waving at somebody else, because I don’t personally know him.’
I looked around but there was nobody near me. ‘Wow!’ I thought. He smiled, so I smiled back and then he signalled at me to go down to him. I went down and he said. ‘How are you, Jimmy?’
I was flabbergasted. I had no idea how he knew my name. He must have asked someone in Portuguese television, ‘Who is the man in the stands?’
We began talking about his playing days. We reminisced about how he had scored four goals against North Korea when they were already losing by three goals. He told me that he had bought a lot of property in his homeland, Mozambique, but the rebels had come along and taken it off him and he lost it all. It was a genuine heart-to-heart conversation about many different topics. It was a true pinch-yourself moment for me—one of many I’ve been fortunate to have experienced throughout my broadcasting career.
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During the same tournament in 2004 I was in Lisbon—a place I love—coming from a match. All the fans were in the underground station coming back from a Portuguese match, waiting for the train. I started a song, based on the old Dean Martin song ‘Volare’, changing it to ‘Scolari’, after the Portuguese manager. I began singing on the train. ‘Scolari, oh-oh-oh-oh!’
The people who were with me were asking me to stop, but eventually the whole carriage began singing ‘Scolari’ along with me. The whole gang of supporters on the train sang the song for the whole journey, and when they were getting out they were still singing.
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In 2006 I decided to do a series of newspaper articles about past Olympic cities, to discover what the city was like then and what it was like now. I had no commission for this: it was just something I wanted to do for myself, knowing that I would eventually find a newspaper or magazine to publish it. I suppose you could describe it as a busman’s holiday. I also thought it was an idea that had the potential to develop into a television documentary.
The first city I visited was St Louis, where the first Olympics in t
he United States were held. There are still parts of the place that remain from the 1904 games. Part of the old track is still there, and the old building that housed the boxing is still intact.
St Louis is easy on the eye and easy on the ear. Local people kept telling me that in a street called Blueberry Hill they have the biggest jukebox in the world. So, as a music fanatic, I had to go and see it. I couldn’t believe my eyes: wall after wall and floor after floor of discs. Naturally I wanted to find the very first jukebox, and when I did I discovered that the first record on it, track A1, is ‘Blueberry Hill’ by Fats Domino.
As I looked at this jukebox it dawned on me that I had once been in the very bar in New Orleans where Fats Domino began his career, off Bourbon Street somewhere and below the Absinthe bar, towards St Louis Park.
After this I jetted over to Stockholm to examine the old 1912 Olympic Stadium. There’s a famous story about a Japanese runner, Kanakuri Sizô, who lost consciousness half way around the marathon course because of the heat and was taken into a farmhouse to recover. He was too embarrassed to go back and run into the stadium after everyone else had finished, so he just went home. He was reported in Sweden as being missing and was searched for everywhere. In 1966 he returned, in his eighties, and ceremonially ran through the Olympic Gate to finally get his certificate for completing the race.
This was the time also when Jim Thorpe, the famous American Indian baseball player, won two gold medals but they were withheld because it was found that he had played baseball for half a dollar, or something like that, which made him ineligible. His family got the medals thirty years after his death.
I then went to Helsinki, where there are two statues outside the stadium, one to Paavo Nurmi and one to Lasse Virén. Then I went to Athens, where the original stadium still stands. My tour finished in Paris, where the games were held in 1924.