Keegan wore heart on his sleeve and fans loved him for it
Farewell King Kev
1951-2026
21 Jul 2026 - THE DAILY TELEGRAPH / Sport
By Jim White
When Kevin Keegan was a young, football-mad lad growing up in Armthorpe on the South Yorkshire coalfield, he once waited for hours at the door of the Doncaster Rovers stadium, hoping to get a player’s autograph.
The first man to come out of the door – and Keegan, with typical decency, never revealed who it was – brusquely dismissed his request, thrusting his proffered book away, mocking his enthusiasm. A polite, shy boy, Keegan was not going to make a fuss. But he remembered the incident for the rest of his life. And made it his business whenever possible to accede to a fan request for an autograph or a selfie. A passionate, sensitive soul, he knew how rejection felt.
It was a habit which, at his peak in the 1970s, meant he spent a lot of time scribbling his name in books and smiling for pictures. Because for nearly a decade, King Kev, the Mighty Mouse, Special K, as he was variously called, was the bestknown sportsman in Britain and Europe, a man whose renown stretched well beyond the confines of his game. He was a prototype for Sir David Beckham: his image was gold dust.
True, he was not the first celebrity footballer, George Best had taken that accolade a decade earlier. But he was very different from Best, his profile was not of the self-indulgent womaniser, but of the cleancut family man. He might not have had Best’s prodigious talent, or indeed half the natural flair of other Seventies mavericks, such as Stan Bowles, Alan Hudson or Frank Worthington; what he did have, though, was 10 times their resolve.
This was a man driven by the absolute insistence on making the most of himself. As anyone who saw him crash off his bike in his reckless determination to win the television series Superstars, then get up and demand to race again, will recall, nobody pushed themselves as Keegan did. This was a man hellbent on victory.
Driven by a father who told him never to sell himself short, from a young age, conscious of his slight frame, and hurt by his rejection from Doncaster as a youth player for being too small, he followed his own relentless fitness regime. Few in football have ever trained with the urgency he did. And the world saw the results when he was dismissed for fighting in the 1974 FA Charity Shield. As he left the pitch, he stripped off his shirt, revealing a gleaming, bantamweight boxer’s physique. These were muscles he had worked on, muscles that, on a football pitch, gave him a burst of pace, muscles that lifted him to challenge for headers he should never have reached.
And what results his persistence delivered. After signing for a mere £33,000 from his first club, Scunthorpe United, he scored within 12 minutes of making his debut for Liverpool. He then went on to lead the club’s first golden age, a central part of three titles, one FA Cup, two UEFA Cups and, in his last game for the club, the first of their collection of European Cups.
And in every match he played, for every second he was on the pitch, he gave his all. He had a remarkably close relationship with Bill Shankly, the manager. He regarded the Scotsman as a surrogate father, while Shankly treated him like a son. The pair had a bond rarely seen before or since in the game. Indeed, the main reason Keegan decided to leave Anfield, even at the height of his powers, was because he was angered by what he saw as the club hierarchy’s dismissive treatment of Shankly after the manager had retired. This was a man who cared.
Mind, as he always did, he chose the moment of departure carefully. Just as he was unwavering in the gym, so he was in contract negotiations. Keegan preferred to sort everything out for himself. He was good at it from the start: when Shankly offered him £45 a week to sign from Scunthorpe he insisted on £50. And got it.
He did later get an agent and by the time he was ready to move on from Anfield, his stock was substantially higher. Knowing he could get better terms if no transfer fee was involved, he let his contract with Liverpool wind down, then signed for Hamburg for £500,000 where he earned £100,000 a year, which in 1977 was the highest wage of any footballer across the Continent. Likewise, when it came to discussing terms with Brut or adidas or the manufacturer of products that enlivened his infamous bubble perm, he was lynx-eyed in securing a good deal.
But then he believed in doing his bit in return. This was no take-themoney-and-run chancer. Keegan hated the thought of letting anyone down. At Hamburg, he won the Bundesliga and was runner-up in the European Cup, winning the Ballon d’or twice. When his contract was done, many expected him to move to Juventus. Instead, he went to Southampton, where he linked up with fellow horse-racing enthusiast Mick Channon.
But always the football romantic, he moved from there to his late father’s favourite club, Newcastle, where he was received like a visiting deity. He loved it at St James’ Park, dragging the club into the First Division, scoring 48 times in 78 appearances. He felt he had arrived at his destination: if only his father had lived to see him in the black-and-white shirt.
But then, in the spring of 1984, during an FA Cup tie at Anfield, he attempted to sprint for a forward pass and was easily outpaced by Mark Lawrenson. Hurt by what he saw as telling evidence of physical decline, invariably self-critical, he immediately announced his retirement. He was not one to play in second gear, he said. He was 33.
It was the end of a glorious playing career. At least in the club game. For a deeply patriotic soul, it hurt him that his time coincided with England’s international nadir. He always gave his best for the national side, but could not showcase his talent at the 1974 or 1978 World Cups, and by 1982 he was slowing down.
No one was more frustrated than him when, after recovering from injury, he came off the substitutes’ bench for just the last 10 minutes of a World Cup game against Spain that England needed to win to progress. Then, with the chance to fulfil the Messianic possibility opening up for him, he missed an open goal. He was inconsolable.
For his first eight years in retirement he dedicated his time to family life with his wife, Jean, his involvement in football restricted to the occasional television co-commentary. But in 1992, he took a call from Sir John Hall, owner of Newcastle, who were in danger of slipping into the third tier.
Would he become manager? Indeed he would. And while he did not consider himself a tactician, he applied his energy, enthusiasm and ambition to the task with characteristic gusto.
What a success he made. Gathering a team who reflected his attacking instincts, he gained promotion to the Premier League, then looked as if he might win the club their first title in 70 years.
In January 1996, his swashbuckling team were miles ahead of the rest. But as spring arrived, Sir Alex Ferguson’s Manchester United were closing the gap. With Ferguson getting under his skin and the clubs neck and neck, Keegan wobbled live on television, emotionally insisting “I will love it if we beat them, love it”. Newcastle duly finished second. As they did the next season, despite Keegan luring Alan Shearer to the club for a record fee. Frustrated by his inability to land the big one, he resigned. He was then attracted to Fulham by owner Mohamed Fayed’s promise of unlimited funds. But when Glenn Hoddle was dismissed as England manager in 1999, he received the offer he had craved. Captaining his country, he always maintained, was his proudest moment in football. To manage them as well, for him, was the ultimate accolade.
It was when in charge of the national team, however, that he was properly confronted by his own shortcomings. He did qualify for Euro 2000, but could not get his team out of the group stage.
Though they liked him, the players appeared less than responsive to his portfolio of anecdotes about Shanks. And his tactical limitations were writ large in his failure to read a match and make compelling substitutions. Not much more than a year after taking the job, in the aftermath of defeat by Germany in a World Cup qualifier, he tearfully offered his resignation in the lavatories at Wembley. It was the moment he regarded as the lowest in his professional life.
He tried club management again, at Manchester City, then in a return to St James’ Park. But he resigned from both, frustrated by lack of support from owners. Indeed, he was proud of the fact he was never fired as a manager. He always knew when it was time to go.
He spent his later years ducking the spotlight, occasionally making an after-dinner speech. He was hugely popular on the circuit, clients remarking on his professionalism and enthusiasm. Plus the fact that he would invariably be the last person to leave after happily signing every autograph for which he was asked. That was Kevin Keegan: the fans’ man to the last.
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Shearer pays tribute to ‘my friend and my hero’
21 Jul 2026 . THE DAILY TELEGRAPH / Sport
By Luke Edwards NORTHERN FOOTBALL WRITER
Alan Shearer led the tributes to Kevin Keegan, who has died at the age of 75.
The Liverpool, Newcastle United and England legend’s family released a statement announcing his death yesterday afternoon, saying Keegan “had been battling cancer and was surrounded by his wife and daughters in his final moments”.
As Newcastle manager, Keegan signed Shearer for a world-record £15m in 1996 and the former England striker told Telegraph Sport: “He was my hero. He was my manager. For Newcastle and England. He was my friend. A man everyone loved. For his passion. For his energy but most of all for his friendship. He loved football and he loved Newcastle more than anything. I’m so honoured to have known him. We will miss you, Kevin.”
Keegan scored 68 goals in 230 appearances for Liverpool, winning the League title three times while at the club.
He won the Ballon d’or, for the best player in the world, two years running while playing for Hamburg in 1978 and 1979. Hamburg issued a statement, saying: “We mourn the loss of Kevin Keegan. World football loses one of its most defining personalities.”
Keegan, who began his career at Scunthorpe United, scored 21 goals in 63 games for England. He returned to England from Germany in 1980 to play for Southampton, then from 1982 for Newcastle.
He inspired Newcastle to promotion from the old Second Division before returning as manager in 1992. He saved Newcastle from relegation to the third tier in his first season in the dugout before leading them to promotion to the Premier League in his second.
In 1996, Newcastle missed out on a first English title since 1927 in agonising fashion. Keegan stepped down the following year and went on to manage England.
“We are devastated to learn of the passing of Kevin Keegan, one of the most iconic, influential and deeply loved figures in our club’s history,” Newcastle said. “Kevin was more than a legendary footballer and manager. He was the beating heart of Newcastle United for generations of supporters.”
Liverpool said in a statement that Keegan’s “indomitable spirit and remarkable contribution will be forever etched in our history”.
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Pride: Kevin Keegan and Phil Thompson (centre) celebrate
an England goal against Scotland at Wembley in 1979
Inspiration who turned my beloved Liverpool into a global superpower
One of the most important signings in club’s history, Kevin had stardust Shankly needed to build winning team
21 Jul 2026 - THE DAILY TELEGRAPH / Sport
Phil Thompson Former Liverpool and England defender
Kevin Keegan was Liverpool’s first football global superstar, helping transform my beloved club into a superpower.
When judging the legacy of the most influential figures to ever pull on the famous red shirt – or indeed any jersey across English football – Kevin will forever warrant a chapter of his own.
My old club recently ran a poll naming our 100 greatest players. Naturally, it was an extensive list, but when Kevin finished 14th, my initial thought was: “I’m not sure who is voting, but they must all be too young to remember how big his impact was.”
Some footballers are remembered for their brilliance; others shine because along with their immense talent they changed the course of a club’s history.
For my generation, the modern Anfield as we know it begins with Ian St John, Ron Yeats and Roger Hunt – the pioneers who were so integral to Bill Shankly’s first great side, taking Liverpool from the old Second Division and making us champions.
When those legends reached the end of their careers in the late Sixties, there was a lull. As I made my way as a teenage Anfield apprentice into the first team, many now forget that we went seven years without winning a trophy.
Shankly built a new team and needed a catalyst to bring it together. Kevin was that influential player. He possessed the extra stardust we needed to transform us from a promising side into winners of the title, FA Cup and UEFA Cup, and, most memorably, European champions for the first time in 1977.
Kevin was one of the most important signings in Liverpool’s history. If he were still around, there is no doubt Shankly would rank Kevin alongside St John and Yeats as critical to a new era of success.
My first memory of Kevin was when he joined in 1971. He turned up at Melwood in his brown Cortina with the engine revving at such a pelt, I asked him if it was souped-up with extra firepower. “Nah, I’ve got a hole in the exhaust,” he said, laughing at the idea.
Within a few reserve games, we had a glimpse of his amazing character. We were playing away at Southport and he was in midfield. At half-time it was 0-0 and he came into the dressing room fuming.
“We’re never going to score playing like this,” he shouted. The reserve team manager at the time was Ronnie Moran – a legendary member of the Anfield bootroom who no one dared take on.
Ronnie turned to Kevin and shouted back: “If you think you can do better, why don’t you play as a striker yourself, then?” Kevin accepted the invitation and scored twice in the second half.
Shortly after, he demonstrated his class in our annual pre-season friendly fixture when the reserves played the first team. It was Kevin’s last game for the second XI; his double earned him his Liverpool senior debut three days later, where he scored after 12 minutes against Nottingham Forest.
The rest is history. Shankly fell in love with Kevin. You could never find a manager and player in such synchronicity. The description of their relationship being like father and son is accurate. Shankly was born to manage Liverpool, and Kevin was born to play for Shankly. He was everything he wanted in a player because he maximised all he had – epitomising his manager’s values. He was a pocket dynamo who could leap like a gazelle.
In the modern world we talk about the “high press” and strikers defending from the front. Watch the old clips of Kevin in a Liverpool shirt. He was a pressing machine, torturing some of the greatest defenders of all time.
He established a “Liverpool way” for all the strikers who followed, not least Ian Rush, who became famous for following Kevin’s blueprint of being so much more than a goalscorer.
There are so many great individual performances to list from 1971-77, when he was pivotal to us rising to the greatest heights. His 1974 FA Cup final performance against Newcastle United was typical of a player who always delivered when it most mattered. He replicated it when Germany’s Bertie Vogts was run ragged in the 1977 European Cup final.
Ask Liverpool supporters about their favourite moment and many will mention Molineux in 1976, when we needed a point against Wolverhampton Wanderers on the last day of the season to win the title. Kevin’s goal with 14 minutes to go kick-started a late flourish ending in a 3-1 win, sparking some of the greatest celebrations of any Liverpool title win.
Kevin’s single-mindedness and determination were two of his greatest assets. As the fashions changed in the Seventies, another of Shankly’s great backroom team, Reuben Bennett, kept telling Kevin to get his hair cut. He was having none of it.
He would rail against anyone telling him what to do if he did not think it was going to help him, certainly off the park. Shanks would never go against Kevin because when it came to performance on the pitch, he was all in, always 100 per cent.
He was quick to recognise his value on and off the pitch, the first player I knew to have an agent – Harry Swales – who secured the kind of commercial deals that are now so common.
If George Best was the first footballer in Britain to fully maximise his celebrity status, Kevin was not far behind, although it never distracted him from his football. The power of his Anfield legacy became even more obvious as the years passed. Liverpool’s European success in the Seventies attracted huge support worldwide, and a generation of overseas supporters and future players always mentioned Kevin as their inspiration. Norway’s manager, Stale Solbakken, recently said that Kevin was his boyhood hero. That is the measure of an impact. Like that of George Best it transcended football.
Kevin and I played together again for England at the 1982 World Cup, when we were unfortunate to go out unbeaten as he and Trevor Brooking were recovering from injury.
But above all this, as his former team-mate and friend, what I will most remember about Kevin is what a truly great guy he was. I will remember how he would never say no when asked for an autograph. I will remember how whenever he saw a group of young supporters, he would make time for them, understanding and appreciating how much he meant to them, and reminding them what they meant to him. I will remember his sense of humour, and how much he enjoyed a laugh. And I will remember the glorious nights we shared, winning trophies for the club we loved.
It is incredible that the first game of the new Premier League season pitches Newcastle United against Liverpool, two clubs connecting Kevin. They have so much in common; the passion, the humour and a love of football which spoke Kevin’s language.
There can be no more poignant and deserving tribute to one of English football’s greats than both sets of fans standing side by side to appreciate the joy he brought to their lives, and pride he brought to their clubs and city.
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