Historically, the 18th of September is a date of no significance. It witnessed no tragedies and it bore no great feats to make the world stop and take notice. If it were struck from the calendar and we glibly passed from the 17th to the 19th, few would give the slightest shit. But I’m not one to wantonly belittle a date (I am many things – a dog lover, a problem drinker, and a compulsive masturbator to name but a few – but I am categorically not one to wantonly belittle a date), so credit where it’s due: the 18th of September is the birthdate of both Ronaldo (the buck toothed, big boned one) and Kevin Doyle, football’s most highly-rated four-goal-a-season striker; it’s also the date on which Jimmy Hendrix met his gruesome death in 1970, while Sean O’Casey, the last Irish writer to acknowledge the existence of something called the working class, passed away on this date four years previously. But apart from those four events nothing has ever happened on the 18th of September throughout the history of mankind. Nothing. Except in 2009.
On Friday the 18th of September 2009 the people of Inchicore, Ballyfermot, Bluebell, Drimnagh, and surrounds breathed a collective sigh of relief, reportedly causing a 0.2° rise in the earth’s temperature, landslides in the Appalachian mountains and a tsunami in the South Pacific. Jeff Kenna, the man who could have any woman in Palmerstown, had tendered his long-overdue resignation as manager of St. Patrick’s Athletic Football Club. Between them, the landslides and tsunami claimed no lives but brought thousands of euro worth of damage and untold suffering to those in affected areas. Next to the signings of Gareth O’Connor and Mark Leech, this has to be one of the worst things Jeff Kenna has ever inflicted on the human race.
I could have any woman in Palmerstown
Jeff’s tenure had been a short one. Appointed by Richard Sadlier - the once-capped, two-time winner of the World’s Most Boring Voice Award - in January of 2009, Jeff signaled his intent to make Shamrock Rovers the dominant force in domestic football with a narrow 3-0 home defeat against Galway Utd (his former club) in March. 6 months (and many lost hours in the departure lounge of Birmingham International Airport) later the Saints came up against First Division Waterford Utd in an FAI Cup quarter final replay. Another narrow defeat (this time by only 2 goals) put paid to his brief reign of terror. That game, which took place on Tuesday 15th of September, was the last I attended.
Work commitments have prevented me returning home as often as I’d like, and any trip I have managed to make has coincided with no game, home or away. And so it was that I watched last year’s Setanta Cup final in solitude on a 12 inch screen in the back room of an Irish-themed bar; the same bar in which I celebrated Paddy Kavanagh’s exquisitely converted header in the last year’s Cup semi-final; the same bar in which I cursed Paul Crowley (and everyone who has ever known him) after his tame, last-minute penalty against an injured Bohemians ‘keeper.
With a flight penciled in for the week after next, I had hoped to take in the home game against Drogheda on August 19th, but it seems some other shit has been going on lately, and I could be left with the unenviable choice of breaking a picket or missing my beloved Saints yet again. To make matters worse, Pete Mahon – the best thing to happen to the club since the sale of Robbie Griffin to UCD – could very well walk.
Can I be the first to start the Bring Back Jeff Campaign?
For all intents and purposes Jeff has ceased to exist. In fact a Google search of his name reads thus: Showing results for Jeff Kober. Search instead for Jeff Kenna. Before going off on a tangent and asking ‘who is this Jeff Kober? Does he have his coaching badges?’, let’s stick with the Palmerstown Prowler (as nobody ever calls him). It might come as something of a surprise, but Jeff is the holder of an English Premier League winners medal. That’s right: an English Premier League Medal. As Jeff has never been one to blow his own trumpet, very few people know this. Such is his modesty he only wears the medal on strictly formal occasions, such as Mondays and Tuesdays. This alone is a guarantee of success at the second time of asking.
As impressive as that is in its own right (only 396 people have won EPL medals since Rupert Murdoch created football in 1992, meaning Jeff has won 0.25% of all EPL medals - this percentage increases significantly if you only consider winners from Dublin 22), Jeff’s main selling point is the regard in which he is held amongst Europe’s elite. Inter’s Maicon and Madrid’s Sergio Ramos, to name just two, have cited him as a major influence on their playing careers, while after the recent Champions League final between FC Barcelona and FC United of Manchester, a teary-eyed Dani Alves went so far as to dedicate victory to the Palmerstown man. Live on Catalan TV the Brazilian fullback pulled a ‘93/’94 Southampton shirt over his head and turned to reveal the name KENNA proudly emblazoned above the number 2. An emotional Alves then began a barely intelligible monologue in a mixture of Portuguese, Catalan, and Spanish. With the help of Google translate this is a much shortened version of his bizarre outburst.
“Growing up in Juazeiro there were two options – drugs or football. I chose the latter, but had I been a year older or younger I might have gone down the wrong path, but thankfully I had some inspirational figures to look up to at my most impressionable time. When I was a small boy Brazil won the World Cup and it was a big deal for everyone in my village, but not for me and my family. We didn’t follow Brazil, we followed Southampton. It’s true Brazil had some great players – Taffarel, Cafu, Leonardo, Dunga, Romario, Bebeto – these were great players. But Southampton also had some ok players – Dave Beasant, Jason Dodd, Francis Benali, Neil Madison, Ian Dowie – these were very ok players. But for me the best was Jeff Kenna, O Bigode (The Moustache). He was and is my true inspiration.”
Then there is the oft-overlooked fact that the Tiki-taka brand of football played by his Galway Utd side in 2008 has been shamelessly stolen by both Pep Guardiola and Vincente Del Bosque, meaning Jeff has indirectly won La Liga (3 times), the Copa del Rey, the Champions League (twice), the Spanish Super Cup, the World Club Championship, the European Championship, and the World Cup.
Pete Mahon may have brought a peerless integrity to the post of manager, instilled an unprecedented work ethic in a squad of players which he himself assembled on a budget of Butter Vouchers and St. Vincent de Paul handouts, and united the fans behind his management in a manner not seen since Brian Kerr’s heyday, but doesn’t Jeff deserve one last crack of the whip? He has an English Premier League winners medal, don’t forget.
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