There was an element of laughter and mocking around Joe Kinnear’s spells at Newcastle that made anyone who knows football history uncomfortable.
The manager who called me a “c***” in his first words of his first press conference as Toon manager. Then barked “f*** off, f*** off, this is your last chance… who are you, my personal f***ing secretary? Negative b*******…”
The boss who called a colleague a “slimy b******”. Who overrode a press officer's plea for his six minute long sweary tirade containing an expletive an average of every six seconds to be off the record. “No, f***ing print it….. I don’t care.” Then his return as Director of Football and the name mix ups. Charles N’Zogbia called “Charles Insomnia".
All very amusing, all very Newcastle United 2008-09 version. Kevin Keegan ousted, drinking confidant of Mike Ashley installed as chief.
Uncomfortable, a nagging of the conscience, because while some of the football world laughed, scoffed and mocked (and a few agreed with him!), this was a remarkable man with a CV many could only dream of.
A rise from a council estate in Watford, 196 full back appearances for Spurs. Winning the FA Cup as a 20-year-old in 1967, then two League Cups and the UEFA Cup. How many have that roll of honour?
As a manager he worked a miracle at Wimbledon. A direct style, a galvanised dressing room battling for him and a remarkable sixth place finish in the 1993-94 season, their joint best ever. Two top ten finishes, two cup semi finals.
He even bossed India and Nepal, the source of some of his best anecdotes: “Flying over Everest with the Crown Prince…” and tales of their ruling family being wiped out” where the dates didn’t quite tally. No matter, what a raconteur. What a life to be celebrated. A serious, not too serious, football figure.
Kinnear’s knock-about sweary confrontation tactic was a well worn routine of the managers of a different age. A time where managers and journalists would have it out, nothing unsaid, blazing rows, sometimes with a reporter held up against a wall in a corridor, away from the cameras…. Then the next day, forgotten.
A far cry from the largely sterile, stage-managed question times of the current Premier League era. Where personality could be shown, rage exhibited and relationships forged.
In a way Kinnear’s Newcastle spell straddled these two periods. This was Mike Bassett meets the digital world, nothing unseen, all captured and uploaded.
It happened, in my view, because the club was spiralling into fan discontent after Keegan’s messy exit, and Kinnear has been instructed to bring the journalists into line on his first day at work. Fire a warning shot to toe the club line. Fair enough. All part of the politics of the game. He was shaking as he delivered his blast.
It wasn’t Kinnear’s fault he was given a job at Newcastle, twice, and found himself a man out of his time. He took it on, backed himself, fair play. Likewise he shouldn’t be defined by those months.
His amazing football life, his achievement, his adventures, defying the odds, should be remembered above all.
The “c***” episode, in hindsight, was an amusing episode that illustrates how a game was changing from force-of-personality, dominant dressing room bosses, to something more tactical, scientific and subtle.
We went on to have dozens more chats with Joe, where he regaled us with stories, some far fetched, others moving. Rant quickly consigned to history, no grudges held, no offence ever taken.
Once he spoke about his love for his son Elliott who had been diagnosed with cancer, and later died aged just 40. A family tragedy which saw Joe hire out Lord's for a charity cricket game, including Stuart Broad, and raise £280,000.
Later I couldn’t fail to be moved by hearing about how he missed his grandkids who lived in America with their mum, and his love for their regular visits.
Kinnear passed away aged 77 from dementia, a week after my own mother Margaret, 79, died. My sympathies and understanding go to his family seeing someone robbed of their personality for years by a cruel disease.
Hardly a week goes by without a fan reminding me on X, that: “Joe Kinnear was right about you…” “You’re the one Joe Kinnear called a c***….” “Got you spot on,” someone wrote on Saturday.
Cheers Joe, and RIP, four times major trophy winner, Spurs legend and Wimbledon miracle worker.
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