"Brian will ensure football thrives across the country; his interest won't be in playing golf and opening pubs."

- Stephen Kenny on Brian Kerr's appointment as Ireland manager, February, 2003

The phone pinged late in the evening. "Come to McDowell's. Dad's having a few drinks to celebrate."

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The dad in question was Brian Kerr. The text came from a close friend. The celebration was his imminent appointment as Ireland manager, which, although hardly a state secret, would be revealed the next day.

The instinctive personal reaction was not - yet - soured by professional dereliction; as a Sunday writer, there was neither need nor feeling to "leak" the news, as they say in the biz.

Expand Close The new kid in town: Stephen Kenny had his first media conference in isolation via video link from his home. Photo: Stephen McCarthy/Sportsfile SPORTSFILE / Facebook

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Whatsapp The new kid in town: Stephen Kenny had his first media conference in isolation via video link from his home. Photo: Stephen McCarthy/Sportsfile

Anyway, it was already old news. But walking into McDowell's, a shabby but loveable pub backing on to a saintly field of dreams in Inchicore, there was a realisation that suddenly this felt like being inside the news.

This was the stuff of childhood reverie, tales of Plimpton and Mailer being regaled by Lombardi and Ali. Now, a lifetime friendship with the man who has now become the biggest name in Irish sport. How could it get any better?

It couldn't have been any worse. Pride mixed with fear with anticipation with excitement. Nothing would ever be the same again.

The day before, Kerr's familiar Dublin suburban house had been pictured alongside Roy Keane's Cheshire mansion; there were many implications, but it seemed the main one was to suggest the improbability that either man could possibly possess a kindred spirit.

A year later - 16 years ago last Tuesday to be precise - this writer broke the only story of an undistinguished career in news reporting by proclaiming Keane's return to the Irish squad.

It had not been gleaned from the potentially ingratiating source many might have presumed but rather from Manchester. Already, before it became a life-saving device.

Work separated me from the Irish international soccer team thereafter - not a bad thing at any time, especially this one - and the slow, suffocating demise of a team still catatonic from Saipan was an almost distant occurrence, as was the equally drawn-out departure of the manager.

Expand Close Brian Kerr’s unveiling took place in the Shelbourne Hotel in 2003 among dozens of well-wishers and huge media interest. Photo: Damien Eagers / Sportsfile / Facebook

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Whatsapp Brian Kerr’s unveiling took place in the Shelbourne Hotel in 2003 among dozens of well-wishers and huge media interest. Photo: Damien Eagers / Sportsfile

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Consciously, it seemed prudent to create a necessary distance to not only Kerr the professional man but also the family, given my profession. Especially when things went awry.

Putative

Kerr's prospects of creating a different culture, a different future, building on his underage successes and with the putative official backing of a Genesis report which would transform the dysfunctional FAI, were hamstrung from the very beginning.

As his former protégé, Stephen Kenny, prepares to assume the reins - albeit who knows when? - there are many eerie parallels, just as there are stark differences.

For a start, then, as now, there was no permanent CEO (Fran Rooney would not be appointed until May); the main FAI man in the relationship would be John Delaney. That Kerr and Delaney, who had quarrelled about a host of issues, from Eircom Park to budgets, could conceivably form a working relationship seemed fanciful to even the most delusional of FAI watchers.

Delaney had wanted Bryan Robson, not Kerr; as was to be a recurring trend, lasting to this day indeed, Delaney had even been minded to slightly relent; one idea floated would have seen Philippe Troussier - an exotic figure who helped pay the college funds of many an Irish bookie - take the gig with Kerr taking over after 18 months. Now where have we heard that one before?

Not everyone wanted Kerr to succeed, either within the FAI or outside it. It does seem different now, as if Irish football is ready to collectively support a manager to take a different turn.

Expand Close Before Brian Kerr, Eoin Hand – seen with Kerr in 2003 – had been the last native Dubliner to manage Ireland and remain living in the capital city. Photo: Damien Eagers / Sportsfile / Facebook

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Whatsapp Before Brian Kerr, Eoin Hand – seen with Kerr in 2003 – had been the last native Dubliner to manage Ireland and remain living in the capital city. Photo: Damien Eagers / Sportsfile

"There's no doubt but that Stephen has the backing of the people who are there now," says Kerr. "There's no sense of a couple of people in there perhaps privately hoping the whole thing doesn't succeed, or having to put on a brave face if things are going well."

Kerr, like Kenny, assumed the reins after Mick McCarthy's exit - part one - which, then as now, was submerged in controversy, with bonus payments lingering like a bad smell in an organisation which reeked of self-interest.

Expand Close Mick McCarthy's terms included a yearly salary of €1.2m, a bonus of €1m if Ireland qualified for Euro 2020, and a €1.2m ‘exit payment’. SPORTSFILE / Facebook

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Whatsapp Mick McCarthy's terms included a yearly salary of €1.2m, a bonus of €1m if Ireland qualified for Euro 2020, and a €1.2m ‘exit payment’.

The post-Saipan FAI were bankrupt in ideas; Kerr came and went but the post-Saipan FAI did not; now, as Kenny waits to go to work, they are all but bankrupt in financial terms.

The real advantage is that there is now a common purpose within Irish football, even if there still remains a familiar coterie of 'fans' - and a cast list of celebrities - who view Ireland through the prism of their support for the Premier League, rather than for the actual sport in this country.

Those often voluminous types who care more for Jack Charlton, rather than Jack Byrne. Kenny may be starting from rock bottom but everyone knows 180 minutes of football could secure a place in a home Euros; when Kerr took over, his side had lost both games and wouldn't make a play-off.

Like Kenny, he was promised one full campaign - for a World Cup, a much more difficult task - and his failure there ended his job and, as he may have then privately contemplated, all contact with an association to which he had brought so much credibility during his long career.

As Kenny prepares to follow in familiar footsteps, can another home-town hero avoid the pitfalls, with former players suggesting nobody in England might know who he is and TV hosts mischievously wondering can he cope with the hype?

* * * * *

Aside from Kenny's initial introduction to the public 18 months earlier, when he had to insist the clumsy arrangement for him to succeed McCarthy was embedded in legal contract, his hastier than expected ascension this month was bristling with narrative.

An awkward appointment perhaps deserved an awkward unveiling; the online conference calls to Stephen Kenny's house, as well as the visit of a TV crew, reminded us that for the new manager, there will be little escape from the public's glare.

That his son, Fionn, was heard cutting the grass in the garden was mentioned in several newspapers, including this one. Far from seeking to actively discourage those wondering where he lived, this appeared as if almost a cosy, quasi-invitation.

From a social distance, Kerr perceived it to be strange. We recall a chat with him after his first year in charge, in January of 2004:

'"There has been some stuff but I don't want to go into it, there have been a few difficulties," he says, obviously discomfited. Abusive phone calls and letters, to himself and family members, have formed an inextricable link with his exalted profile.

'Close friends recall his visible anger when a photograph of his daughter, crying in Basel after the defeat to Switzerland, was published in a Sunday newspaper.'

Kerr now also recalls a van being parked across the road from his house; or when he was in town, he'd often see photographers nipping in and out of doorways, seeking a surreptitious snap, as if the act of walking down Grafton Street on a Monday morning was somehow salacious.

Eoin Hand had been the last native Dubliner to manage Ireland and remain living in the capital city.

He was spat at, his son's bicycle tyres were slashed, passing folk would shout abuse through his mother's window as they walked to Croker; he turned his back on the country long after it turned its back on him.

Kenny, at least, is relatively remote from the bustle of the city.

Blurred

For Kerr, the blurred lines of private and public arrested him. If anything, it hardened his stance and the more time he spent in the job, the more he forced himself - or was forced - to imperceptibly withdraw.

"At times it's more enjoyable for me to be out of the country," he said, wanly, in that 2004 interview.

The FAI's media staff was minuscule then; now, it resembles a veritable army. "That will be a huge help," avers Kerr of the avaricious media demand for time. In some people's eyes, the media's championing of Kerr wasn't subsequently repaid with a cosier relationship. For his part, the manager pleaded non-compliance with any unwritten pact that such a debt ever existed.

Kenny will have similar issues here, with many who have slogged with him on a lonely beat for nearly 20 years.

Kenny, already a more obtuse figure than Kerr ever was, must detach himself still further and he may find that the constituency for his social awareness will dwindle if he can't find a system to beat Bulgaria.

The English media are arguably less relevant now because Ireland's team is uninteresting without a Trapattoni or a Keane; Kenny will need to learn to disregard them without seeming to offend; often a difficult balance.

Some players, too, may need convincing; a concept that Kerr, and more acutely some of his players, struggled with. While many embraced his methods, others either walked away or manfully persisted as Kerr tried to change too much, too soon, from the drinking culture to lax match preparation.

The words that informed him as he entered the Shelbourne Hotel, and then his first dressing-room, are vital - "I deserve this" - and will underpin Kenny's determination to do this job in a way that nobody, not perhaps even Kerr himself, ever imagined possible.

Kenny's ideas and ideals are inextricably linked; he must dominate them to acquire dominion.

"Listen, everyone in the country has an opinion on the Irish team and they are all entitled to it but it's not always informed," says Kerr.

"The manager will know the ability of the players based on seeing them train, watching them with their clubs every week and their ability based on each opposition and he will pick the team accordingly.

"The Ireland manager doesn't become Ireland manager because he got it in a lucky bag or he saw it in a small ad in a paper and thought to himself, 'Jaysus I might have a go off that.' He got it based on the body of work and that needs to be trusted.

"The truth is players want to play for their country but we must remember our players have not achieved enough as club or international players to have a strong opinion on who should the international manager. That idea that they'll be looking at Stephen wondering who he is says more about their lack of knowledge and curiosity to know what is going in Irish football. It shouldn't be given any credence."

"Some players don't want too much information and as long as they're picked they're happy. Some players want to be given stuff and will respect it and take what is available. Stephen has enough about him to know who's who."

* * * * *

Thirty-four years ago last Easter Monday, Kerr won his first league title with St Pat's; the same year, he signed a young defender from Belvedere. His name was Stephen Kenny.

Like Kerr, Kenny didn't make it as a player; like Kerr, he excelled early on as a manager; at a press screening of the documentary 'Kerr's Kids' in the Sugar Club two years ago, the older man recalled the impact the impish upstart made.

"We had a friendly with his team up the mountains and he was going mad on the sideline, as if this was the biggest game of his life. He subbed a guy who'd already been brought on and I said to him, 'How are you f**king doing that?' He didn't blink an eye."

Kenny also managed at Pat's (U-21s) and when Kerr then invited him to join a backroom team at an underage tournament in 2000, an important lineage was being established.

From Liam Tuohy through to Kerr and now Kenny, from teams of boys to men, from home-town heroes to dreamers of international glory. The first two were bruised by the experience. Can Kenny survive? Can Irish football, can its team, its country, give him time and space to do so?

"I'm sure he'll build up a relationship with the team whenever we get going," says Kerr, "and then within those first few days, they'll get to know a thorough, enthusiastic, experienced coach who has achieved a lot. Not having managed in England won't matter.

Uninspiring

"And then they'll all get on with it. The football has been fairly uninspiring so maybe that can change. And then after that the manager and the team has to do their stuff. But once the match starts, there's only so much you can do."

It is at once an important job but also so unimportant; Kerr used to be genuinely moved by people who would shake his hand but also unnerved as to why so few shook the hands of a bus driver or a nurse.

"That always humbled me but I think at this moment in our history, we are appreciating certain jobs and there's less talk about the aura of football managers. Now that aura surrounds people whose job it is to keep life going in our hospitals and nursing homes, or even to keep normality going, whether it's bus drivers or the people in supermarkets and shops.

"Maybe after this all passes, there will be a better balance in observing the relevant merits of how somebody is doing in all our jobs. Including the Ireland one."

Perspective, however, has always been lacking when it comes to managing your country.