An Ode To Roy

I've never regarded myself as one of those silly women who palpitate over film, rock or sports' stars.

Brad Pitt, Justin Timberlake, Johnny Depp, David Beckham, even George Clooney in his heyday, they all leave me cold. I've always fancied the flesh-and-blood guy down the street instead.

But Roy Keane... I've been in love with Roy Keane for years. No-one will watch more adoringly as he lines up against Israel next Saturday.

It's not that he's that good-looking. He's rather ordinary actually. I wouldn't give him a second glance in a bar. But everything else about him, I worship.

I travelled to Thailand in 2002 to be able to watch the World Cup at a decent hour. I was one of those unreconstructed fans. When Keane walked out in Saipan, I refused to support the Irish team.

I sat and cheered every country that played against Ireland, which possibly wasn't the wisest thing to do in the Irish bar in Ko Samui.

But Keane inspires that kind of intense devotion. He is all you could possibly want in a man – principled, passionate and unpretentious.

Okay, he'd be hard work at times. He wouldn't tell you that you looked great when you didn't or that the food was brilliant if it wasn't. The feel-good factor wouldn't get a look-in.

Of course, he can be far too self-obsessed. There'd undoubtedly be temper tantrums, moods, and impossibly high standards. But what woman worth her salt doesn't want a challenging male?

And there'd never be any half-measures. Keane throws his heart and soul into everything. He'd always be straight with you, he'd make you laugh, and he'd be intensely loyal.

Nothing would go to his head. The temptations of the shallow social circuit would be meaningless to him. Rebecca Loos wouldn't stand a chance.

I'm sure he'd drive you up the wall every day but his searing honesty and humour would always bring you back down again. Unlike many successful men, he's never pompous. He knows his faults.

He isn't egotistical either. He can ridicule himself. He was "a prick" as Alan Shearer had taunted, he admitted in his autobiography. Asked if he would like to manage the Ireland team, he quipped: "Yeah. Nobody would play for me but we'd have great facilities."

You would, of course, have to be prepared for a lifetime of battle. "Take that you cunt. And don't' ever stand over me sneering about fake injuries," he raged as he assaulted Manchester City player Alf Inge Haaland in 2001.

He'd be regularly ranting about "muppets" and telling people to rot in hell and you'd just have to live with it and support him. Because Keane sees everything in the starkest terms. It's "them" and "us". He doesn't do grey.

But that's fine because usually his judgement is spot on. It's not like having to stand by an 'Ole! Ole! Ole!' shouting moron. Keane is intelligent.

Indeed, he's often been ahead of his time in his pronouncements. Jack Charlton and Mick McCarthy were plonkers but it wasn't popular to say so.

Maybe I warm to Keane so strongly because in the North there's a tradition of straight talking and not keeping our heads down in certain situations.

We have a soft spot for "disruptive influences" from civil rights' leaders like Eamonn McCann and Bernadette Devlin to the Rev Ian Paisley. We don't genuflect to authority just because it's there. Respect must be earned.

Even on the North, Keane has shown his worth. Most local, let alone national, football stars steer clear of commenting on the sectarian nature of Northern Ireland football. Not Keane.

In his autobiography, he rounded on Linfield Football Club and its supporters for their attitude to Catholics over the years. He recounted the abominable sectarian behaviour of Northern Ireland fans at a 1993 World Cup qualifier against the Republic in Windsor Park.

Keane's simmering sense of injustice and his gut instinct that, despite all his success, he remains an outsider, are immensely attractive qualities. He will never be a suit. There isn't a smug bone in his body.

You wouldn't slip into a life of middle-aged boredom with him. He'd never make you go to barbecues or those mind-numbing dinner parties that the middle-classes of a certain age settle into. It wouldn't be a case of just having the big house and cars and two holidays a year. He'll still be driven and hungry in his 40s and 50s. Keane has never heard of the comfort zone.

Nottingham Forest scout Noel McCabe recalls the young Keane's eagerness. "I felt that here was a boy who would swim to England if asked." And he'll still be the same when he's a pensioner.

Keane surprises you too sometimes. Who would have thought he'd take to yoga classes and discovering his inner hippie with the old dears in his local school hall?

For someone who can often be so black-and-white, Keane is certainly not uncomplicated, although the tortured soul stuff is over-played.

But he does have inner demons and women like that. We're also attracted to men who are confident yet possess a raw vulnerability as Keane does. He can be bolshie and self-assured one minute; then shy and socially awkward the next.

Keane's big pull is that none of this is manufactured. He's the real thing.

He is the hero and the boy down the street too, but with more balls.