Keane's persona just oozes beel though. You just see him sitting there beeling out his nut wanting to argue with people. Imagine he wasn't a multi-millionaire soccer baller. [PIRA-PEACEBRICKS-ORANGEWALK]
I had the misfortune of meeting Roy Keane about twelve years ago at the Pitsea Boat Museum, near to Wat Tyler Park in Essex. He was playing on one those radio-controlled boat games, the ones with the mini wheels to steer, and the plastic lighthouses and tunnels to navigate around and through. He was controlling a little red number and giving it plenty of large, so I stuck my 20p into the slot and took the helm of a speedy-looking green vessel. But Keane just carried on bustling about, barging other boats and generally bossing the naval arena. I stepped up to the mark though, and came in heavy on his starboard bow, knocking him off course and sending his vessel screeching into the alabaster atoll. He went ape-**** and offered me outside for a scuff. 'Come on, ya feckin' ****,' he raged, 'let's do this outside, I 'll kick ya feckin' **** off.' I laughed in the face of this posturing gargoyle. 'I ain't gonna fight a man who looks like he's had a record melted onto his head,' I retorted. 'Fair enough,' said Keane, and we carried on playing till the museum shut.
Keano....there's only one Keano... Jip me old mucker....how's it going my big, ginger, baldy, homo pal? xxx
