Of all the things that a journalist can be, the worst – the very worst – is to be a windsock.
You’ve seen those, right?
You find them at little airfields and other places where the weather needs to be monitored all the time. Whichever way the wind is blowing at any given moment, that’s the direction they are pointing in.
I should have known that last weekend wasn’t going to go according to plan when he wrote, on the morning of the game, that we would win and suddenly started pouring honey all over Ange.
I should have felt the deep sense of foreboding that if Keevins was tipping us that disaster was only but a hairs breath away.
That’s how consistently he’s wrong.
But of course, it’s not being wrong as much as it’s about being grotesquely ignorant of the sport he is supposed to be covering. He gets caught out over and over again.
But this clown has somehow made an entire career out of looking like an idiot.
This morning he’s back to lashing Celtic. All the praise of last week is forgotten, transformed, changed in a single result.
He’s back to bigging up Van Bronckhorst, who he had hilariously predicted would go through the league campaign unbeaten shortly before we cleaned both of their clocks in February.
One defeat we’ve suffered, domestically, since September … it wasn’t enough to win us praise until we won at Ibrox. It’s not enough for Keevins to offer a realistic and fact based assessment of our chances of winning this title now.
Keevins is a windsock. Blowing whichever way the wind is moving.
A windbag, puffed up and full of self-importance.
Nothing that a good fart wouldn’t cure.
Falling back on Helicopter Sunday over and over again is one of the laziest trick in the media book. We shot ourselves in the foot that day and no mistake but it was something you could see coming across the horizon.
I never felt totally confident during that run-in, we looked shaky and frightful, like a team on its last legs.
This team is very different.
And he thinks that Ange was quoting Russell Crowe when he said last week, “Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall.” Apart from it being Confucius who said it – which I didn’t expect this clown to know – I thought he might at least reference one of the many, many, many figures in sports who’ve said it down through the years, from boxers to football bosses.
It’s the kind of thing that any sports journalist should readily have to hand.
But of course not. He thinks “Ange went all Russel Crowe in Gladiator”; a movie in which those lines are never spoken.
A movie which doesn’t have anything remotely like them in the entire script.
Reading Keevins this morning, I detect more anger than insight.
(Insight is too much to hope for even on his best day. You may as well Ask Alexa.)
He’s angry because he did do a full back-flip reversal and suddenly go all AngeBall crazy last weekend after months of sticking to Van Bronckhorst like a shit on the bottom of a shoe … and he is pissed because once again he looks like a fool.
But he should be used to it now.
And with that change in the weather, he’s shifted his position.
That is not what somebody remotely credible does. That’s what a fraud does.
That man is a wage thief.
There are guys propping up bars, too drunk to see straight, who could produce better copy than him.