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| Richard Keogh: 2021-22 (Legend) |
- Hey Siri. Show me an empty void where there used to be light.
- Why are you showing me a picture of Richard Keogh's 26 shirt?
- What?
- He's gone!?
- When?
- What?
- How?
- Why?
- Why are you showing me a picture of Richard Keogh's 26 shirt?
- What?
- He's gone!?
- When?
- What?
- How?
- Why?
- ........
- SIRI!!! TELL ME IT ISN'T TRUE!
- SIRI!!! TELL ME IT ISN'T TRUE!
Footballers are boring. They run up and down and do the same things, game after game, week after week. The modern game is homogenised. Athletic players who play to coaching models and who can only be separated from one another by whether they've chosen footballer hairstyle A) B) or C) at the footballer barbers.
Then you've got Richard Keogh. Eyes bulging, blazing, scanning the horizon. Suddenly pointing at things like a cat sensing something unknowable in the ether. Strands of matted side parting going all over then swept back into place, then falling loose again, then swept back into place in an OCD-esque ritual. He looks like a tramp that's escaped from a meths addict rehab centre to gorge on meths sometimes. Dapper and composed off the pitch, with a personable manner, lovely wit and clear intelligence, on it, the lad essentially looks like a lunatic. He's fucking Crazy Uncle Richard. Don't get too close. He's probably shouting about the CIA coming through the television or how God is coming back with fire, to burn all the liars and leave a blanket of ash on the ground...
That's not fair though. He does look a bit mad (and for that alone, I loved him) but he's a real footballer. He's got the pace of a caravan with a broken axle being towed by a 1984 Ford Granada that's stuck in second gear and belching smoke but in all of his games for us, I can barely remember that mattering. He had a dodgy start, but once he'd learned what Critchley wanted or perhaps even taught the other players what he needed them to do (which didn't take long,) he played it to near perfection. His brain has him 5 yards ahead of play at all times. Those things he's pointing at that only he can see? That's the future and Keogh can read it. I can see him now, lounging with Jimmy and Gaz, telling them each lottery ball number 5 seconds before it comes out.
"How do you do that Rich? That's canny mad that"
"He's taped it Gaz. He's taped it. It's on playback you dopey get"
"Shut up Jimmy"
Then you've got Richard Keogh. Eyes bulging, blazing, scanning the horizon. Suddenly pointing at things like a cat sensing something unknowable in the ether. Strands of matted side parting going all over then swept back into place, then falling loose again, then swept back into place in an OCD-esque ritual. He looks like a tramp that's escaped from a meths addict rehab centre to gorge on meths sometimes. Dapper and composed off the pitch, with a personable manner, lovely wit and clear intelligence, on it, the lad essentially looks like a lunatic. He's fucking Crazy Uncle Richard. Don't get too close. He's probably shouting about the CIA coming through the television or how God is coming back with fire, to burn all the liars and leave a blanket of ash on the ground...
That's not fair though. He does look a bit mad (and for that alone, I loved him) but he's a real footballer. He's got the pace of a caravan with a broken axle being towed by a 1984 Ford Granada that's stuck in second gear and belching smoke but in all of his games for us, I can barely remember that mattering. He had a dodgy start, but once he'd learned what Critchley wanted or perhaps even taught the other players what he needed them to do (which didn't take long,) he played it to near perfection. His brain has him 5 yards ahead of play at all times. Those things he's pointing at that only he can see? That's the future and Keogh can read it. I can see him now, lounging with Jimmy and Gaz, telling them each lottery ball number 5 seconds before it comes out.
"How do you do that Rich? That's canny mad that"
"He's taped it Gaz. He's taped it. It's on playback you dopey get"
"Shut up Jimmy"
"Love it Gaz. Love it"
"Honestly lads, it's not taped. This telly doesn't do that. Number 35"
Brave in the air, brilliant at a lunging slide tackle and at times, so good at blocking he's like an extra keeper, he can also talk others brilliantly through a game and we'll miss him not just for what he did, but how he made the unit better. I've never watched us train, but I imagine all Critchley needed to do for young centre backs is say 'watch Keogh, listen to Keogh.'
What I loved most about him, was he lived every second of the game as intensely as any player I've ever seen. Everything was total mental and physical focus. Even a simple sideways pass was a work of art, lining it up, swinging his instep through it and following through, holding position like a technically gifted but obdurate opening batsman finishing a forward defensive pass with a determined and resolute flourish.
Fans love players that care. It's all we really ask of them. You can moan if they're rubbish, but it's not their fault. We all have our abilities. Not caring is unforgivable. One of my favourite moments of my Pool supporting life will remain witnessing the unbridled eruption of joy from Keogh whenever we scored. He screamed, we screamed, he screamed louder, we screamed louder. The lights went out. The pain stopped. This is why football is what it is. Cos it's an escape. I left some twisted part of myself in Middlesbrough, screamed out of me, exorcised by sheer force of release after Keogh lofted a pass to Marvin and we scored to win a game we didn't expect to. Football is what it is because we want a stupid thing like our team to score a goal and mostly they don't, but when they do, it's incredible and Crazy Uncle Richard, with his big, soulful sad eyes and his mad, mad, eyebrows got that.
He was a player whose brain was a cut above, a player who gave everything he had, a player who it was a privilege to watch and a man who I hope finds a role in the game that has clearly put him through the ringer both mentally and physically, but that he clearly still loves in the same way I loved it when I was 15 and still love it now. Yeah, he's getting on, yeah, injuries were clearly coming quicker, yeah, everything changes and nothing stays the same and yeah, I know he wanted to be nearer home. It's fine, but lets just appreciate what we had.
Some over serious soul will no doubt think 'Legend is a bit strong - he's hardly Jimmy Hampson is he?' but in terms of his impact as a player and the joy he put on people's faces with his character, he absolutely is one. If we ever play Ipswich and Keogh scores, don't care. We're on the pitch. Fuck it, if Keogh ever scores anywhere for anyone, against anyone, we should be on the pitch. In fact, we should invite him back to take that penalty that Gaz missed, but in front of an empty net with a giant goal and then all run on and have a never ending party in defiance of all the shite that the world is.
Cheers Richard. Go well. We'll all miss you. Me very much included.
There will now follow a ceremonial broadcast of both episodes of 'Group Chat' on all channels followed by a 21 gun salute and a bank holiday to allow us all to grieve.
Brave in the air, brilliant at a lunging slide tackle and at times, so good at blocking he's like an extra keeper, he can also talk others brilliantly through a game and we'll miss him not just for what he did, but how he made the unit better. I've never watched us train, but I imagine all Critchley needed to do for young centre backs is say 'watch Keogh, listen to Keogh.'
What I loved most about him, was he lived every second of the game as intensely as any player I've ever seen. Everything was total mental and physical focus. Even a simple sideways pass was a work of art, lining it up, swinging his instep through it and following through, holding position like a technically gifted but obdurate opening batsman finishing a forward defensive pass with a determined and resolute flourish.
Fans love players that care. It's all we really ask of them. You can moan if they're rubbish, but it's not their fault. We all have our abilities. Not caring is unforgivable. One of my favourite moments of my Pool supporting life will remain witnessing the unbridled eruption of joy from Keogh whenever we scored. He screamed, we screamed, he screamed louder, we screamed louder. The lights went out. The pain stopped. This is why football is what it is. Cos it's an escape. I left some twisted part of myself in Middlesbrough, screamed out of me, exorcised by sheer force of release after Keogh lofted a pass to Marvin and we scored to win a game we didn't expect to. Football is what it is because we want a stupid thing like our team to score a goal and mostly they don't, but when they do, it's incredible and Crazy Uncle Richard, with his big, soulful sad eyes and his mad, mad, eyebrows got that.
He was a player whose brain was a cut above, a player who gave everything he had, a player who it was a privilege to watch and a man who I hope finds a role in the game that has clearly put him through the ringer both mentally and physically, but that he clearly still loves in the same way I loved it when I was 15 and still love it now. Yeah, he's getting on, yeah, injuries were clearly coming quicker, yeah, everything changes and nothing stays the same and yeah, I know he wanted to be nearer home. It's fine, but lets just appreciate what we had.
Some over serious soul will no doubt think 'Legend is a bit strong - he's hardly Jimmy Hampson is he?' but in terms of his impact as a player and the joy he put on people's faces with his character, he absolutely is one. If we ever play Ipswich and Keogh scores, don't care. We're on the pitch. Fuck it, if Keogh ever scores anywhere for anyone, against anyone, we should be on the pitch. In fact, we should invite him back to take that penalty that Gaz missed, but in front of an empty net with a giant goal and then all run on and have a never ending party in defiance of all the shite that the world is.
Cheers Richard. Go well. We'll all miss you. Me very much included.
There will now follow a ceremonial broadcast of both episodes of 'Group Chat' on all channels followed by a 21 gun salute and a bank holiday to allow us all to grieve.
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