Cloughie knew the real trick

SOCCER ANGLES:The players at Sunderland may not have grown frightened of their manager, but they grew tense

IS IT important to be liked? That may sound like an adolescent inquiry and hardly the most pressing issue of the hour, but in the wake of Roy Keane's departure from Sunderland this week it is an idea that might need adult exploration.

In a professional environment, is it important to be liked?

Keane's ability or otherwise to relate to people at all levels, not just his players and staff, feels like a significant part of why he is no longer at the Stadium of Light. Keane, as he has said, prefers the company of dogs.

The jest in that statement enthralled observers. Quite a lot of what Keane said enthralled people, because often enough he was one of the privileged who dared point out the skewed Rolex priorities of football's elite. He saw it from the inside and did not like what he saw. Then he informed the world, and the world, by and large, thought he was great for doing so.

But it's just not as simple as that, is it? There is a desire within us all to see things in black and white, it makes it so much easier. But nothing is without context.

For example, those piling into Roy Keane yesterday overlooked or undercooked the fact that when he walked into Sunderland it was three months after the worst relegation in the history of top-flight football in England. Fifteen points and utter humiliation, that's what Sunderland got three seasons ago. That was the context Wearside understood.

Keane was first at the Stadium of Light on August 28th, 2006. There were 24,000 there to see Sunderland beat West Brom to move off the bottom of the Championship. Four months earlier, despite being bottom of the Premier League, there had been 40,000 at the stadium. To see: Sunderland 1 Newcastle United 4.

The place, as Niall Quinn said on Thursday, was "on its knees". Keane's arrival helped change that. In the beginning in particular, Keane's relentlessness was a valuable attribute. Fans, players, the club and the region were rallied by his presence. He did not need to do too much physically, merely being there altered how Sunderland saw itself and how others saw Sunderland. This is an achievement, one noted 12 miles away at St James' Park.

Winning helped too, of course, and when Liam Miller scored a 90th-minute winner against Championship leaders Derby County in February 2007, there was an infusion of joy at the stadium that had not been seen for years.

Everybody felt it, it was a landmark afternoon, Sunderland could truly believe in itself again.

It felt like the sort of occasion to justify football. How that soured.

Keane talked early on about the "sterile" nature of the training ground and the stadium, and you could see he was interested in being an architect of a club, not just a team. Where did that impulse go? Where did the joy go? It is an uncomfortable but inescapable truth that a large amount was swallowed by the dark vacuum of Keane's ego.

Keane would doubtless argue that it is frivolous to even think of the possible significance of "being liked", but he would be wrong. It turns out that being liked, being part of something, matters. It is called human nature.

Occasionally Keane would discuss Manchester United colleagues who did not speak to each other, and perhaps that re-enforced the idea that a lack of friendship did not affect a teammate's willingness to tackle. Keane would refer to Nicky Butt, about loving having him sat beside him in the dressingroom because he knew Butt would run through brick for all in red. As he spoke, Keane's affection for Butt became clear. Nicky Butt was liked.

That was an exceptional Manchester United side. If one or two personalities jarred, talent could overcome. But Sunderland are somewhat short of winning the European Cup. And besides, Keane was the manager, not a player.

Managers, not just Keane, refer to the importance of distance from their players, but there are sufficient tales from the great ones down the decades to show they were not distant all the time. It was not a 1,000-yard stare all the time. Far from it.

Keane would cite Brian Clough as his principal inspiration, but he obviously forgot two of the most telling sentences in Clough's autobiography when discussing man-management.

"When footballers go out on the field they have to be relaxed, not frightened. It was a mistake I never made in 28 years as a manager."

As we know from The Damned United and before, Clough was not liked by Leeds players and it showed. He did not last.

Was the fact that people were tense about Clough significant? Undoubtedly.

But at Derby and Nottingham Forest it was different and so was Clough's achievement.

Keane was one of those Forest players who liked Clough very much. There may have been times when he questioned his manager's tactics, selection, training methods and timekeeping - even his sanity - but Keane did so from a bedrock of goodwill.

At Sunderland, Keane had that bedrock from supporters. They appreciated what he brought to their town and their club.

The players, too, appreciated it, but over a period of time that appreciation wore thin. They may not have grown frightened, but they grew tense.

Players can see errors in selection close-up, they know when a manager is sure-footed and when he is beginning to slip. A question arises during such a slide: how much do the players want to help out their boss?

If they like him despite his flaws - and everybody has them - then that affection matters.

If Roy Keane ever returns to management, then being liked as well as respected is an idea worth thinking about.