Roy Keane's Euro 2016 Diary...

Day 1...

I imposed a strict 7pm curfew on the players. At 6.45pm the players must report back to their rooms. 6.50pm pyjamas on and teeth brushed and then 7pm lights out. I thought I’d watch a movie when I got back to my room. Martin suggested the Lion King but cartoons are for children and children are weak. The selection of movies was awful. Just what you’d come to expect of this hotel. Finally I settled on The Revenant. Didn’t like it. Thought the character in the film should’ve killed the bear a lot sooner than he did. Then he made a meal of his injuries, which were mere flesh wounds. Then he lay on his lazy arse in that stretcher and let his team mates carry him for miles. That tells me he’s weak and he lacks character. I left an awful review on Rotten Tomatoes.

Day 2...

Not impressed with the hotel. The staff are far too pleasant for a start. ‘Enjoy your stay Roy’, don’t tell me what to do! I’ll decide whether or not I enjoy it. When I got to my room I noticed that they’d left a truffle on my pillow. I rang the reception and asked to speak to the manager. I left him under no illusions what I thought about the welcome treat, then I told him to remove the chocolates from the rooms of the Irish players and staff. Even Martin’s. We can’t have the players thinking this is some sort of holiday camp. Typical FAI.

Day 3...

I had that dream again. The one where I’m trying to punch Jason McAteer in the face but I’m swinging like a little girl and he’s just laughing. I woke up in a cold sweat. I got out of bed and punched the wall just to make sure there wasn’t anything wrong with my arms. My fist went right through the wall. Typical. Shoddy craftsmanship. Rang down to the reception to let them know I put another hole in my wall.
I met up with the squad for breakfast. Couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Players laughing and carrying on as if they were enjoying themselves. Schoolboy stuff. I made them put their bowls on the floor and told them to assume the press-up position. Then I informed them that they had to eat their cereal while doing one-armed press-ups. Shane Long couldn’t even do twenty reps before he crashed face first into the bowl and came back up with a head covered in Coco-pops. Soft. Needs sorting out.
Then I noticed Aiden was wearing Crocs. I thought ‘Come on, where’s your dignity man?’. So I approached him, put him on the spot. I questioned his character. ‘At what point in your life did it become more important to have well ventilated feet than any self-respect?’ I asked. But he just kept his head down and kept buttering a croissant. Weak. I told them all to go to the toilet before training. Shay said he didn’t need to go. ‘Well you won’t be allowed to go during training, this is your last chance’ I said. Shay was adamant. I was disappointed in Shay. He should’ve squeezed one out. He’s a seasoned pro and should’ve known better.
Martin suggested we introduce a ball into training with the Sweden game tomorrow. He’s the gaffer, so against my better judgement I rolled a football into the middle. The lads seemed to enjoy it. Then Martin decided to do some work on set-pieces. He told O’Shea that he’d be marking Zlatan Ibrahimovic. John started to cry. I asked Martin if he wanted me to take him for a drive, make it look like an accident but Martin just pretended he didn’t hear me. John was breathing into a paper bag and everyone was patting him on the back, reassuring him that everything would be fine. A part of me died inside.
I didn’t see what the big fuss was. Zlatan. Silly name that. Running about there in a yellow jersey with that big nose looking like Big Bird. He’s a decent player but that’s it. A cocky sod too. The type of fella that’d probably make his own father call himself Zlatan Junior. I heard he’s going to Old Trafford next. Those prawn sandwich munchers will never love him as much as they loved me.

Day 4...

Didn’t sleep a wink again. This bed is like most of our players – far too soft. Rang reception and asked to speak to the manager. ‘I don’t care if it’s 4.30am, wake him up’ I said. A few minutes later there was a knock on my door. It was the hotel manager, standing there in his boxers and a spiderman T-Shirt. I couldn’t believe it. Talk about professionalism. ‘What’s the problem now Roy?’ he asked. I told him to lie down on my bed. He looked anxious. I repeated my instruction but still no movement. So I gave him that stare I do, when I think someone’s out of order and they think I might eat them. Seconds later he was on his back in my bed. ‘What do you think about that? ‘ I asked. ‘Seems fine. Nice and soft just like the association requested’. Typical FAI. I told him to get me an old mattress, maybe scatter some broken glass and thumb tacks on it. Hopefully I’ll get a better kip tonight.
Martin asked to see in his room the night after the Sweden game. Asked me if I’d any thoughts on how to deal with Ciaran Clarke. I put a bar of soap inside a pillow case and demonstrated what I’d like to do to him. Martin thought putting an arm round him might be better. He’s the gaffer, it’s his call I suppose. I thought we played ok against the Swedes. They’re an alright bunch of lads I suppose. It’s the Norwegians I don’t like. We watched the Italy v Belgium game in the hotel with the players. Those Italians would put a bloody glass eye to sleep but they dug out a win. What about that clown at the end? Running the length of pitch to swing off the crossbar and ends up on his arse. Buffon – bloody Buffoon more like. I told Darren Randolph in training not to behave like that. ‘Don’t ever leave this penalty area’ I said. Darren took my instructions literally and spent the night in the six-yard box. I admired that.
We started preparing for the Belgium game and straight away I saw issues with the training pitch. One blade of grass was slightly longer than the rest. I saw the groundsman. Hands were raised I think. I told Martin I’d be mixing things up again and we’d be working on ‘balls control’. I gave the lads a ball each and told them to form a circle around Ciaran. ‘Aim for his genitals’ I said. Wes was the first to hit the target. Good lad I thought. Then Aiden pulled up suddenly and said he’d hurt his spine. I was just surprised he had one. Martin was concerned about the big fella Fellaini at set-pieces. I was more concerned about the fact none of his teammates had held him down and shaved him. That hair? What’s he ask his barber for? A Diana Ross all over? Bloody eejit.